I saw Borys Kit‘s 1.10 Hollywood Reporter story about Michelle Pfeiffer being cast in Alex Kurtzman‘s Welcome to People, his DreamWorks-funded directing debut that begins shooting next week. And I thought, “Okay…another film to add to the high-hopes list.”
And then I went, “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute…Kurtzman as in Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci, the fisticuffs-and-fireballs screenwriting team? Described by the N.Y. Times three years ago as “the go-to screenwriters for mega-budget fare like Mission: Impossible III, The Island, Transformers,” etc.? Good God.
I wouldn’t call Kurtzman and Orci demonic but they’re certainly tinged with brimstone and sulfur for having written for Michael Bay. Orci and Kurtzman are producing Welcome to People and Kurtzman has written the script. Yes, we all deserve a second chance and I suspect that these guys are trying to climb out of the hole they’ve dug themselves into, and I sympathize. But they’re still Kurtzman and Orci. Forget the list for the time being. Forewarned is forearmed.
The film “follows a businessman who returns home after his estranged father’s death and discovers that he has an alcoholic sister with a 12-year-old son” and eventually “reexamine[s] his life while trying to form new bonds with his family,” blah blah. Chris Pine, Elizabeth Banks and Olivia Wilde are costarring.
Female contributor to Anthony Breznican-created Facebook thread about Giffords shooting, posted this evening (1.10): “There is only one to blame — the shooter. Not either political party. It’s a shame we have to turn this tragic loss into politics.”
The mug shot released today of Jared Lee Loughner, the 22 year-old assailant of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, is without question the most…what’s the adjective? Piercing, vivid…One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest-y? Call it the most expressive photographic portrait of an apparently deranged mind since the infamous shot of Charles Manson that appeared on a 12.18.69 LIFE magazine cover after Manson’s arrest for the Tate-LaBianca murders.
(l.) mug shot of Jared Lee Loughner, Rep. Gabrielle Giffords’ attacker, released by the Pima County Sheriff’s Office; (r.) infamous 1969 LIFE magazine cover pic of Charles Manson.
I also got a little bit of a James Arness-in-The Thing echo from the mug shot.
I’ve been attending and covering the New York Film Critics Circle awards ceremony for the last two years (i.e., since I moved to New York), but this year someone other than HE publicist pally Jeff Hill handled the invites and I didn’t hear squat from anyone about anything. Nor did I pester anyone (including NYFCC honcho Armond White) about attending so the hell with it. While the NYFCC soiree unfolds tonight, I’ll be watching the all-media of The Green Hornet.
The King’s Speech star Colin Firth and his DGA-nominated director Tom Hooper were toasted as an Academy and press luncheon earlier today. Nobody is more polite or gracious or easy to chit-chat with than these two. And let’s repeat again that TKS is an exceptionally well-made film of its type, and that I respect it fully and have no dispute with it being a Best Picture contender. It is deserving, in part because it knows exactly how to deal its hand.
King’s Speech star Colin Firth, director Tom Hooper at today’s honorary luncheon, which
The co-hosts of the event were journalist and former London Times editor Harold Evans and author Amanda Foreman (Georgina, Duchess of Devonshire and A World on Fire). At midpoint Evans got up and riffed on the film, singing its praises and noting that he’s senior enough to remember listening to the actual King George (i.e., Firth’s character) on British radio. He was followed by a q & a between Foreman, Firth and Hooper.
Also attending were Harvey Weinstein, distributor of The King’s Speech, CNN’s new prime-time TV interview guy Piers Morgan (i.e., Larry King‘s British replacement), King’s Speech costar Jennifer Ehle (i.e., Geoffrey Rush’s wife), screenwriters Geoffrey Fletcher (Precious) and Stephen Schiff (Wall Street 2) and the usual ragtag journalist types.
CNN’s Piers Morgan — I should have asked for his tablemate’s name but didn’t.
(l. to r.) Tom Hooper, Amanda Foreman, Colin Firth — Monday, 1.10, 1:35 pm.
True Grit co-directors Joel and Ethan Coen didn’t make the list of five Best Director nominees from the Directors Guild of America, which broke a few minutes ago. David Fincher, Tom Hooper, Darren Aronofsky, Christopher Nolan and David O. Russell are the DGA nominees, and if I have to tell you which films they directed then I don’t know what.
Others who didn’t make the cut include 127 Hours maestro Danny Boyle (the faintings did him in), The Kids Are All Right‘s Lisa Cholodenko (half expected) and Winter’s Bone director Debra Granik…tough, but somebody had to get left off.
It’s mildly interesting that The Alliance of Women Film Journalists has given its Best Film award to The Social Network despite early griping from some female critics that the David Fincher/Aaron Sorkin film pushed sexist stereotypes (which really didn’t add up when you factored in the strength of character and acute intelligence of Rooney Mara and the two women who played the deposition attorneys…hell, even Eduardo’s Asian girlfriend wasn’t terribly problematic).
Where were they going to go? What other film could the AWFJ champion at this stage of the game and still look credible?
I still think using the term “EDA Awards” is odd and a stopper since you have to Google it to understand the meaning. EDA is “an acronym for ‘Excellent Dynamic Activism,'” one site explains, “and the namesake of actress Eda Reiss Merin, mother of AWFJ co-founder Jennifer Merin.” I still don’t get it. EDA + ERM + AWFJ = alphabet soup
The great Peter Yates, bringer of the legendary Bullitt car chase, died in London yesterday at age 82. He was a highly respected craftsman and genre guy who wasn’t an auteur but really kicked ass as “Peter Yates” for about 15 years. And when he was good, he was as good as it got in his realm, which is to say intelligent urban crime movies about guys in tight spots, and always straight, plain and pared-down. He was an old-school, no b.s. professional.
Yates was lucky to have come along when he did and find his metier at a time when action films could be natural and reality-driven, before the Michael Bay aesthetic took things into a hyper-edited cartoon realm and completely polluted the action-film world and reset the rules so that nothing meant anything. Bleccch.
Yates’ directing career was alive and kicking for 42 years (from 1962 to 2004) but when you boil it all down he hit triples and/or homers only six times — with Robbery (’67), Bullitt (’68), The Hot Rock (’72 — a sublime male-bonding escapist fantasy), The Friends of Eddie Coyle (’73 — his absolute finest), Breaking Away (’79 — easily his most joyful and emotionally wholesome film) and Eyewitness (’81).
And that was it. Six films! If you want to be really tough about it you’d have to demote Robbery, The Hot Rock and Eyewitness down to the very-good-but-not-legendary file, so that leaves three. An entire career and the respect of everyone who knows anything about film stemming from Bullitt, Coyle and Breaking Away. Okay, add The Deep (i.e., the homina-homina over Jacqueline Bisset‘s soaking wet T-shirt) for a grand total of seven, but the rest were good-enoughs, duds and place-holders. And that’s okay. That’s how it goes. Quantity is overrated, quality endures.
All I know for sure is that I’ve got a Hot Rock DVD, a Criterion Eddie Coyle DVD and a Bluray Bullitt sitting on my bookshelf, and that makes me feel very content and right-with-the-world somehow.
I’m sorry but I thought Yates’ adaptation of The Dresser was just okay. He let Albert Finney get too hammy, I thought. I had seen the play twice (once in London with Tom Courtenay and Freddie Jones) and it just didn’t measure up the way it could have.
Things I love about the Bullitt car chase: (a) the sight of late ’60s muscle cars, (b) the wonderfully unmuffled engines, (c) both cars sliding sidewards and burning rubber as they corner, (c) the bad guys’ car side-swiping parked cars two or three times, (d) those hubcaps flying off as a result, (e) no schoolkids, women pushing baby carriages and senior citizens crossing streets at the wrong time, (e) again, those clouds of white smoke, (f) the unnaturally amplified shock-absorbers-gone-to-shit sound when the cars leave the pavement and come crashing down, (g) the cars that occasionally get in McQueen’s way and the super-cool way he drives around them without cussing or clenching his teeth, (h) those little around-the-hips seat belts, (i) no oncoming traffic to crash into high-speed downhill passing or sliding hairpin turns, (j) McQueen’s fastback Mustang twice sliding off the road onto dirt shoulders during the highway-chase section, and the second time into an irrigation ditch, and (k) the idea of scores if not hundreds of Haight-Ashbury kids tripping their brains out as this scene (and Bullit itself) was shot and Yates not paying the slightest attention, not even with a sideways glance.
