When I say I hate “dumb comedies,” I’m referring to comedies that pander to the mentality (if that’s not too sophisticated a word to use in this context) of simian-level moviegoers who love films like Balls of Fury. But if a comedy conveys the attitude and world-view of characters who are really and truly idiotic (and can’t help it or don’t care that they’re so afflicted), then I collapse into helpless spasms. I love stupidity, but only the kind that’s earnest and convincing.

Parts of Dumb and Dumber are hilarious to me. Ditto Bill Pullman‘s “dumbest guy in the world” character in Ruthless People. I worship The Music Box, that classic Laurel and Hardy short about trying to deliver a piano in a big wooden crate. That moment in William Friedkin‘s The Brinks Job when Allen Garfield opens up a storage-room door at a gumball factory that a sign on the wall says to not open….hilarious.

My all-time favorite stupid line is in What’s Up, Tiger Lily? when that colorfully- dressed Oriental warlord shows Phil Moskowitz a small map and says, “Here is Shepard Wong‘s home” and Moskowitz replies, “He lives in that piece of paper?”

Please don’t list scenes that show run-of-the-mill stupidity. “Stupid” isn’t funny unless a character (or characters) really mean what they say. We’re talking about serious conviction, about dumbness that is solid and genuine…not affected or used as an “act.”

Memo from Universal marketing to American moviegoers: How would you like to see a sexy, sophisticated film about a smooth and tuxedoed Tom Hanks romancing the rich and super-fetching Julia Roberts over champagne and caviar while the man in the middle — the cerebral, schlumpy, moustachioed Phillip Seymour Hoffman — looks on apprehensively and wonders where the bathroom is so he can go take a leak while these two pitch woo as they conspire against the Soviet empire?

New Universal one-sheet for Charlie Wilson’s War, which is being previewed exclusively by Coming Soon.net

We’re just kidding about the Soviet empire, heh-heh. What Soviet empire….who, us? Why would we ever make a movie that has something to do with (cough, choke ) the Soviets? And please don’t believe any of those stories you might have read about Charlie Wilson’s War also being about….we can’t say it! And we won’t! Our movie is about three very light-hearted people having a grand old time being clever and clinking champagne glasses as they orchestrate deft political maneuvers.

We at Universal take the feelings of the American public seriously, and have therefore listened to and understood your determination to avoid Middle Eastern sand movies at all costs. Unlike certain online voices who’ve called you the “leave us alone!” ostrich brigade, we respect your wishes in this matter. Hence, our new one-sheet for Mike Nichols‘ Charlie Wilson’s War. Please come and see our film. We don’t want to die like all those other Middle Eastern sand movies. Please…not us.

Okay, it slipped out. Our film has something do with (we hate using this word) Afghanistan. We don’t like to admit it because we know you guys aren’t into fine distinctions. Our film is set in the early 1980s — 20 years give or take before 9/11 — and we know you guys won’t give a damn because you don’t read reviews or in-depth articles or go online to learn about this or that film. (Michael Cieply‘s 10.28 N.Y. Times piece saying that many American moviegoers might have trouble telling the difference between Grace is Gone and In The Valley of Elah was very persuasive in this respect.)

Oh, and apologies for forgetting to put a question mark at the end of the copy line that reads “who said they couldn’t bring down the Soviet empire.” We don’t like question marks. They make people feel….we don’t know, inconclusive. What do you care, right? If you don’t read reviews or go online to learn stuff, why should you care about correct punctuation?

Leaving aside OTX’s suggestion that Hollywood distributors need to cough up for a more specific and intensive marketing survey system, there’s a bothersome sentence in Michael Cieply‘s 10.28 N.Y. Times piece about Hollywood’s flooded market for serious prestige dramas.

Cieply writes that “you can’t blame a potential customer who can’t see the difference between In the Valley of Elah from Warner Independent Pictures and Grace Is Gone from the Weinstein Company. Both are about dead Iraq veterans.” Correction: knuckle-draggers who haven’t yet mastered the art of going online and reading about upcoming films might be confused, but I don’t see how this would be a problem for others.

I don’t care that much about baseball, but if I wanted to know about a particular team or player, I could and would find out everything within a matter of four or five minutes, no prob. We’re talking minimal effort for anyone with a junior high school education.

Is Ciepley saying that the United States become a nation of dumb beasts, grazing on a sloping hillside and going “baaah”? Is it really that difficult to investigate the differences and similarities between the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway? Is it that much of a hassle to do a Google search on Grace is Gone and then go a Rotten Tomatoes or Metacritic search on In The Valley of Elah?

The Film Experience/Naked Gold Man blogger Nathan R. says there’s an apparent shortage of potential Best Supporting Actress candidates. I don’t see what he’s talking about — there are at least seven strong candidates right now.

Nathan is figuring Amy Ryan in Gone Baby Gone (likely), Jennifer Jason Leigh in Margot at the Wedding (doubtful), Jennifer Connelly in Reservation Road (forget it), Leslie Mann in Knocked Up (a reach), Marisa Tomei in Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead (definitely) Kelly Macdonald in No Country For Old Men (a good suggestion — McDonald has a small role but she wrings exceptional feleing and presence), Cate Blanchett‘s “Bob Dylan” perf in I’m Not There (without question), and Saorsie Ronan in Atonement (absolutely).

To these I would add Vanessa Redgrave in Atonement and In The Valley of Elah‘s Susan Sarandon.

Redgrave, Sarandon, Blanchett, Ronan, Tomei, McDonald and Ryan make seven. What other serious contenders should be added to the list?

Having seen about a half hour’s worth of New Line’s The Golden Compass, Fox 411’s Roger Friedman said today “it will be the big holiday smash hit for which Hollywood is so desperate, without a doubt. It’s full of fantastic animals, all busy shape-shifting, talking and clawing their way to the front of the screen. From what I’ve seen, not only kids but adults too will want to go back and see The Golden Compass a second time for the menagerie alone.”

Is Friedman saying that even special-effects-hating, CG-animal-despising movie columnists who felt tortured by the Lord of the Rings series will want to go back and see it a second time, etc.? Having liked The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, I’m hoping this atheist-minded CG children’s epic will be as good, but let’s take a couple of steps backward and remind ourselves that no one can tell anything about a movie from watching a half hour’s worth….nothing.

Anyone hip to marketing tricks knows that 30-minute product reels can be the equivalent of fool’s gold for early-word-spreading journalists. Product reels for Gangs of New York and World Trade Center hoodwinked several Cannes journalists into thinking the full-length films would be better than what they eventually turned out to be. I was once shown a 30-minute portion of Charles Shyer‘s The Affair of the Necklace and came out thinking, “Wow…could be Barry Lyndon-level!”

The most likely reason that J.J. Abrams doesn’t want William Shatner in the new Star Trek movie (despite having hired Leonard Nimoy to make an appearance as Spock) isn’t hard to figure. Ever since playing an amusingly wackjob version of himself in Robert Burnett‘s Free Enterprise nine years ago, Shatner has basically been a self-satirizing comic figure — the older eccentric actor who doesn’t realize (and wouldn’t care if he did realize) that he’s completely insane. This persona has paid off for Shatner in numerous ways, but one of the offshoots of the nutter persona has been the surrendering of the authority and heroic gravitas that he once had when his name and face were synonymous with Cpt. James Kirk.

After quoting ex-CIA Valerie Plame‘s thoughts about who might portray her in a film based on her book “Fair Game” (i.e., “I just hope it’s someone with intelligence and good skills…that’s a lot to ask in Hollywood”), New York‘s “Vulture” column quips that Plame apparently “hasn’t yet heard that Kate Beckinsale will play her in a movie.”

They’re referring to Rod Lurie‘s currently-lensing Nothing But The Truth, except Beckinsdale plays a Judith Miller-type character — a younger Miller who’s marred with kids. The Plame character is played by Vera Farmiga.

Update: Having read this item earlier this afternoon, Lurie sent along the following: “It seems that every press report I have read about my new film Nothing But The Truth refer to it alternately as Judith Miller or Valerie Plame-inspired. It would be coy not to fess up that the Miller incarceration provided the seed for my film, but, really, the movie has its own story.

“The real dynamic of the film is what would happen if the reporter and the screwed-over subject of an article she wrote, had young children that went to school together. I’m not going to get into the specifics of the story here or anywhere, but anybody looking for a recounting of the Wilson-Plame affair should go see the film version of Fair Game once it is shot. (I’ll be one of them). By the way, there are many great actresses to play both Judy and Valerie when that film comes to fruition. Judy could be portrayed by Sigourney Weaver or Judy Davis and Plame (I am basing this on the resemblance) by Naomi Watts or Robin Wright Penn.”

New York magazine’s Mark Jacobson referees a fascinating phone conversation between former Harlem heroin dealer Frank Lucas and Lucas’s onetime rival Nicky Barnes. Denzel Washington plays Lucas as a flamboyant but tightly disciplined businessman in American Gangster, and Cuba Gooding plays Barnes as a full-of-himself superfly.

Jacobson: “Which one of you guys had the best dope?” Lucas: “Mark, here you go! Stirring shit up. Man, I had the best dope in the world. I had 98 to 100 percent pure.” Barnes: “Frank had a nice package, no doubt. I had to get a pen and a pad and mediate my stuff. But when you took the mix out, my thing was close to his. Close enough for somebody not to wait on one when they could get the other. Frank, you were mostly on 116th Street, right?” Lucas: “Yeah.” Barnes: “Well, I had powder in all five boroughs. Not just uptown.” Lucas: “You were big, Nick, all over.”

Denzel Washington as Lucas; Cuba Gooding

I was talking with a friend yesterday about scenes in movies that aren’t intended to be funny, but which some of us laugh at anyway. Because we have a perverse sense of humor, if not an out-and-out cruel one at times. I’ve repeated this observation often since I began writing this column in October ’98, but the cruelest jokes are always the funniest. (Mort Sahl said it.) In any event, two of my personal faves came to mind yesterday.

One, the crow attack upon the school children in Hitchcock’s The Birds. I only started to see the humor after my kids started laughing at it, which first happened when they were 12 or 13. These kids are so fake in every which way that none of us are laughing at actual children being terrified by predatory birds — we’re laughing at bad child actors being pecked and scratched to death by CGI birds…there’s a difference. Okay, I don’t exactly “laugh” when I see this scene. I smile and chuckle and say to myself, “Get ’em!”

Two, the moment when the lights go out on Charles Bronson in The Great Escape, when he’s on the little wheelcart in the escape tunnel. His character, Danny the “tunnel king,” has been grappling with claustrophobia all through the film, so it’s not surprising when he’s alone in the tunnel and suddenly everything goes black that he freaks out and goes “whuhhnn!!” I’ve had this reaction for decades because I don’t believe it. It’s too sudden of an emotional shift for the character — Bronson’s moans are too broad. I only know I’ve been getting a good cackle out of this for years.

There’s another moment in The Great Escape that I don’t find “funny,” but gives me great satisfaction all the same. It’s the moment when “Ives” (Angus Lennie) finally loses it and is shot to death by the Germans as he tries to scale the barbed-wire fence.

Staring at poor little Ives as he hangs lifelessly from the barbed wire fence.

I despise the broad and very calculated theatrical manner in which Lennie performs — the over-sold Scottish accent, always trying to angle everything the cute Scottish way (i.e., the inflection he gives to the line, “Are you there, Hilz?”), that little lopsided smile, the fact that he stands about 4′ 10″, etc. My feelings are such that I don’t distinguish between Lennie’s acting style and the character. I only know that when Ives takes several machine-gun bullets in his back, I always feel the urge to stand up in my living room, raise my fist in the air and go “yes!”

Will the retooled, slightly shorter version of Richard Kelly‘s Southland Tales, which is opening on 11.14 via Samuel Goldwyn, pass muster as a satisfying surreal experience? Will it at least end up as a favorite in the cult movie section at Blockbuster?

The reason I tend to mistrust and sometimes avoid trippy, off-the-planet movies is that it’s a very tall order to create an alternate universe that hangs together on its own terms.

Movies with a deconstructionist attitude that invest in oddball imaginings for their own sake (as Terry Gilliam‘s films tend to do) can feel like a drag after 15 minutes if they haven’t been fortified with serious thought. You need a scalpel-like brain, a furious belief system and a unified vision, and sometimes a bent sense of humor thrown in to give it that extra schwing. That diseased-but-refined quality that guys like David Cronenberg, Luis Bunuel, David Lynch, Alex Cox and Ken Russell have dispensed in the past. My favorite all-time trippy movies include Repo Man, Mulholland Drive, Naked Lunch, Mahler, Lost Highway and Scanners.

The second half of the version of Southland Tales that bombed in Cannes 17 months ago was, I felt, pretty remarkable. It was the first half and especially the first 20 or 30 minutes or so that threw most people off. Like Kelly’s Donnie Darko, the recut Tales will probably play better with the under-35s. Every person I saw get up and walk out of that calamitous early-morning screening in Cannes was, I distinctly recall, gray-haired.

The Southland Tales press conference at the Cannes Film Festival — Sunday, 5.21.06.

I called it “a very long throw of a surreal wackazoid football — a stab at a great, sprawling GenX apocalyptic nightmare about an Orwellian police state running things a couple of years from now.

“I liked portions of Kelly’s film here and there (especially the musical numbers and the wild fantasy stuff that kicks in toward the end), but mostly it felt like a struggle and a muddle. I’m sorry to say this because I think Kelly is one of the best younger filmmakers around, but this is the kind of difficult film that only an audacious visionary could make.”

In an interview with N.Y. Times contributor Dennis Lim, Kelly reveals that “the most significant change in the new cut is a brisk prologue that charts the major developments in the film’s post-nuclear America. Kelly [also] added special effects ($1 million worth) and reordered and tightened scenes (it now runs 2 hours 24 minutes, 19 minutes shorter than the Cannes version).

“The major casualty, lopped off at the studio’s urging, was a subplot with Janeane Garofalo as a general,” Lim writes. Kelly also rerecorded costar Justin Timberlake‘s voice-over so it would sound less sarcastic and more like Martin Sheen‘s narration in Apocalypse Now.

“Kelly’s new cut may be easier to follow,” Lim writes, “but he has not altered the movie’s kaleidoscopic structure or diluted its psychedelic nature. In other words, it’s still far from commercial.”

As I wrote a year and a half ago, “Reservations aside, this is one of those films you have to see just to see how much you can get on the first take. I’m definitely going to take Kelly’s advice and see it a second time.” I’m seeing the new cut this evening, in fact.

“[Last] Friday it became clear to us that management’s plan is to stall the talks until the final hours and divide us with a low-ball eleventh hour offer. This sort of brinkmanship will likely be met by fear, confusion, and even acrimony. All that is natural and expected. Therefore, we must be strong and steadfast in our convictions so that we convey the proper message to our employers, to our allies in the entertainment community, to the industry at large, and to each other: That, as much as we don’t want a strike, we want a bad contract even less.” — from 10.28 letter to general WGA membership from WGA West President Patric Verrone.

Writing about the Wes-and-Owen chat video that went up on Friday night, ABC News columnist Sheila Marikar is calling it a regrettable new form of celebrity spin. Regrettable, in part, because celebrity-controlled internet chats have the potential to diminish the drawing power of the big networks and news stations.

“It used to be that controversy-saddled celebrities sidled up to big-name reporters when they were ready to tell their tales, revamp their public image and revive their careers,” she writes. “Gary Condit came clean to Connie Chung, Monica Lewinsky cried to Barbara Walters, Britney Spears sobbed to Matt Lauer and Paris Hilton pledged philanthropy to Larry King.

But “now that internet video has come into its own, thanks to the popularity of YouTube and the advent of highly produced shows on sites like MySpace, fallen stars have a far more appealing option: Cut the pesky journalist out of the mix and tell all, on their own terms, on the Internet. It’s the ultimate form of image control.”