Year: 2008

I had a conversation on Skype a while ago with Jett, who’s attending Syracuse University’s London annex until early December. I asked if he was thinking of going to Quantum of Solace this weekend. “Yeah, I might go…maybe,” he said. The average British moviegoer has a different attitude. Quantum of Solace earned $8 million yesterday on its opening day of business, making it the biggest Friday opener of all time in the U.K. Variety’s Archie Thomas reports that the “previous Friday best was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with $6.5 million .”

Fantasy Moguls’ Steve Mason is reporting that while High School Musical 3 should win the weekend, it “may” be down a mind-blowing 77% from last weekend for a Sunday-night finish of $9.5 million. Well-liked movie! Great word-of-mouth! Saw V is expected to finish second with $9.1 million, followed by Clint Eastwood‘s Changeling with $9 million. Kevin Smith‘s Zack & Miri Make a Porno is “a disaster,” says Mason, with just $2.3 million Friday and a likely $6.9 million and a fourth-place finish by Sunday night. I’m sorry about this. Zack and Miri is Smith’s best film in a long while. It deserved a lot more attention.

Baz Luhrman‘s Australia (20th Century Fox) will open down under on 11.13.08, and in this country on 11.26.08. No one I know has seen it yet, but two Australian cinemas are pre-selling tickets. One reports a duration of 170 minutes; the other reports 177 minutes. It hasn’t been officially rated or timed so both could be incorrect, but someone clearly knows something.

A “Conversations With History” talk with Studs Terkel, the Chicago-based author, columnist historian, actor, and broadcaster who was born in 1912, died earlier today. He told it straight and blunt and with great flavor, had done and seen incredible things, and came to know everything and meet almost everyone. A great man, a great life. What it must have been to have been 18 years old at the start of the depression, and what a great book he wrote from it — Hard Times, published in 1970.

The traffic around West Hollywood is murder due to Santa Monica Blvd. having been shut down for tonight’s Halloween festivities. I was in car hell for over two hours because of this. I recognize that the West Hollywood Highway Patrolmen didn’t stop traffic just to mess with me alone, but it was nonetheless awful. I guess I’ll wander around tonight and take pictures.

West Hollywood resident Danny Lindsey in front of Holloway Cleaners on Santa Monica Blvd. — Friday, 10.31.08, 2:25 pm

I love checking in on Vulture’s “Oscar Futures” chart every Friday, despite always having disagreements with one or two calls. That Gran Torino trailer, for example, hasn’t translated into a down-arrow cycle in my realm or that of anyone else I know. I disagree also with their Anne Hathaway judgment, although I chuckled at the sly way they try to stick it to her: “This category is getting pretty competitive,” they write offhandedly. “Was [Hathaway] really as good as everybody thought two weeks ago?”

“Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.” — Paul McCartney, “I’m Looking Through You,” Rubber Soul.

Achtung — Spoiler Warning!: New York critic David Edelstein today described the documentary Dear Zachary as “another dead-child saga, among the most enraging I’ve ever seen, and while it’s fine and heartfelt and I commend it to those of you with strong constitutions, it is the film that has finally broken me. Folks, I can’t take this anymore. I know children suffer and die in this cruel world; I know we can never be too vigilant on their behalf. But the number of movies [with this theme] is simply disproportionate.

“Come awards season, dead children seem to factor in every other prestige picture, immeasurably ratcheting up their emotional stakes. In the past weeks, we’ve had Rachel Getting Married (which earns its anguish), Changeling (which doesn’t), I’ve Loved You So Long (a psychological striptease with a cheat ending), The Boy in the Striped Pajamas (dead children plus the Holocaust); and, as I write, I see on my desk a DVD of this year’s Israeli drama My Father, My Lord — six-sevenths of which is subtle and poetic, until the boy protagonist ventures into the surf while his strict Orthodox rabbi father is too busy davening to look up.”