Hit Job?

Scott Feinberg reported earlier today that an 11.28 “Vulture” article by Claude Brodesser-Akner has ignited the beginnings of what feels like a suspiciously-timed smear campaign against The King’s Speech. It basically has to do with an eight-year-old Guardian article about Hitler-kowtowing on the part of Colin Firth‘s King George character.

It suggests not so much an anti-Semitic attitude on George’s part as an indifference to the plight of European Jewry at the start of World War II. Maybe so, but things weren’t as cut and dried as they seem from today’s perspective.

Two days ago Feinberg received a letter from “an Academy member” who claimed “there are a LOT of us who won’t vote for King’s Speech” due to the following Brodesser-Akner passage:

“Seeing as Speech is Oscar bait in extremis, this blogger feels morally compelled to note that while the film largely glosses over the Nazi-sympathizing past of the tongue-tied monarch (Colin Firth) and deals with his relationship to an Aussie-born speech therapist (Geoffrey Rush), when it came to actively working to stymie Jews fleeing Hitler’s Germany, George actually communicated quite eloquently.”

Brodesser-Akner was referring to an April ’02 Guardian piece by Ben Summerskill called “MPs Want Quick Release of Queen Mother’s Papers.” It includes the following reference to a public domain document:

“In the spring of 1939 George VI instructed his private secretary to write to Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax. Having learnt that ‘a number of Jewish refugees from different countries were surreptitiously getting into [British] Palestine’, the King was ‘glad to think that steps are being taken to prevent these people leaving their country of origin.’ Halifax’s office telegraphed Britain’s ambassador in Berlin asking him to encourage the German government ‘to check the unauthorized emigration’ of Jews.”

How commonly known in 1939 was the Third Reich’s plans to exterminate European Jews? My understanding is that some of pertinent facts were conveyed to President Franklin D. Roosevelt (and presumably other heads of state) in the early ’40s, but who knew for sure in 1939?

Here’s another wrinkle, which is also contained in Summerskill’s article:

“Support for appeasement of Hitler was common among the British establishment during the 1930s,” he wqrites. “Conservative MPs who publicly opposed the policy, such as Winston Churchill, were threatened with de-selection.

“The historian Andrew Roberts believes that Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain‘s appeasement policy ‘commended itself to the royal family on a number of levels. It was, correctly, considered axiomatic that another war would spell doom for the British Empire.'”

In other words, support for Hitler among the British establishment in the late ’30s was the reigning herd instinct among the tepid and the cautious. Now, what other herd instincts that led to massive disasters can we think of? How about U.S. Congressional support for the 1964 Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, which led to the Vietnam War and was based on total bullshit? Or support by the vast majority of U.S. Senators and Congressmen for invading Iraq in ’03 based on the belief that Saddam Hussein was harboring weapons of mass destruction?

That said, this alleged-Nazi-sympathizer thing could — let’s face it — hurt The King’s Speech among older Hollywood Jews if it’s not quickly turned around. I always thought it was the former King Edward (played by Guy Pearce in the film) who was the alleged Nazi sympathizer, not Bertie.

Malkovich

Myself and a group of six or seven sat down with Marrekech Film Festival jury chief John Malkovich late this afternoon at La Mamounia Hotel, which has to be the swankiest and most super-deluxe hotel in all of Marrakech. Malkovich seems so cool, so Zen, so quietly thoughtful. There’s no sense of urgency in the man — everything about him is measured and settled. Is he pretending, hiding? Not so you’d notice.


John Malkovich in one of the Riyahd bungalows at La Moumania Hotel — Saturday, 12.4, 6:15 pm.

He pulled out a Marlboro Light, tore off the filter, delayed as he talked a bit, and then lit it. (Marrakech has no indoor smoking bans.) And Malkovich, let me tell you, knows how to smoke with elegance and style, like Robert Mitchum in Out of the Past.

He mentioned his fashion line, technobohemian, which is available in a few stores in Europe and a few in the States. The New York outlet is Blue Tree (1283 Madison Ave), and the Los Angeles outlet is Church (7277 Santa Monica Blvd.).

I asked if the deflated indie-film economy has led to actors such as himself doing more paycheck roles vs. roles in quality fare, and Malkovich just shrugged out an answer that seemed honest and matter-of-fact and…whatever, that’s how I play baseball. Listen to the

WMA file to hear it. (I tried converting to mp3 but something wasn’t working.)

It was gently sprinkling as I waited for the interview to start. Hundreds of tiny droplets on the perfect blue pool water. The rosey terra cotta walls and dark gray clouds went well together. And then the rain stopped.

Big Hurrah

I attended a one-hour “Tribute to French Cinema” last night at the Palais de Congres. I was expecting to see a Chuck Workman-like tribute projected on the big screen, but it was mainly about cheers and glitter. Several French actors and filmmakers (Costa Gavras, Catherine Deneuve, Charlotte Rampling, Nicole Garcia, Marion Cotillard, Guillaume Canet, et. al.) came on stage and took bows.

Martin Scorsese, Catherin Deneuve, Costa Gavras — Saturday, 12.4, 8:55 pm.

Martin Scorsese, the nominal headliner, was the first to be introduced. He delivered some genteel boilerplate remarks about the history and importance of French cinema, and spoke about how he’s always considered Marrakech to be “a kind of home.” (He shot The Last Temptation of Christ here 23 years ago.) The folks in the audience seemed to enjoy it. I was enjoying a crane camera that slowly swooped right over peoples’ heads. Less than two feet away, I mean.

I took some video of the big finale. It took 90 minutes to load 60% of it this morning, and then the connection dropped and the upload was aborted. Naturally.

Sound The Retreat

Thank the Lord and praise Allah — I’ve booked myself a flight that leaves Tuesday morning. This is the beat that my heart skipped. The last time I was this desperate to escape a city was when I was in Fez with the kids in May 2009.

Wifi has been spotty since I’ve arrived at the Palace Es Saadi — weak, passable, fast, weak again — but this morning it’s been all but nonexistent. The concierge says it’s the city’s fault (“It’s bad on the weekend”) and the tech guy…let’s not go there. It’s tedious to read about this, but there’s really no point in being here with this level of service. I won’t be able to record Oscar Poker today because of this. The Moroccan atmosphere only goes so far.

On top of which access to talent isn’t as informal as I thought it would be. Press people have it pretty easy in Cannes, Toronto and Sundance in this respect, but they’re kind of relegated to the sidelines here. I suspect that talent isn’t that much into giving interviews; they’re here to kick back and sample the North African vibe, and I don’t blame them. (I’ve had opportunities to chat with Charlotte Rampling and Alan Parker, and I have a John Malkovich round-table at 5:30 pm.) And there’s not that much to discuss anyway.

Like dozens of other peripheral big-city festivals around the world that aren’t really in the swing of it, the Marrakech Film Festival is — understandably — basically about itself. It’s about the rich swells attending black-tie events and the festival nurturing good relations with filmmakers and promoting tourism. And the events and venues are located all over town, and at considerable distances from each other, so you’re either a slave to taxis or you have to take a map and an iPhone and try to find them on your scooter. A lot of stopping and getting honked at, let me tell you.

I’m filing this from the Palais de Congres press room, where everything is wired just fine. Yes, I could scooter down here every morning and post new stories and photos, but if I did something else would go wrong. So far it’s been one ordeal after another with short little breaks of enjoyment.