Day: February 15, 2013

Deadline‘s Pete Hammond and Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil are better at divining the tremors and handicapping the Oscar contenders than I. Their latest racetrack chat is spot-on as far as it goes, but where’s the real-deal undercurrent? Oddsmakers have to be analytical and dispassionate, but without sounding too glib. I love these guys but they could use a little of my attitude. What I wouldn’t give to hear Hammond say “here we are about to give Best Picture to another audience-pleaser that isn’t the best,” etc.

The best parts, I suppose, are about O’Neil challenging Hammond on his latest predictions (Emmanuelle Riva wining Best Actress, Robert De Niro taking Best Supporting Actor).

Because he has an admiration for Naomi Watts, Awards Daily‘s Ryan Adams is describing Anne Fontaine‘s Two Mothers as “interesting.” Did he read the Sundance reactions? Did he read about Fontaine’s confession to an Eccles audience that she was surprised at their guffawing, that she didn’t know she’d made a kind of comedy?

Two Mothers “is a rank embarassment,” I wrote on 1.20. “It’s middle-aged female-fortified soft porn without the soft porn (which at least would have been something), and with atrocious dialogue. I think it might have worked better if it had been spoken in French (i.e., Fontaine’s native tongue), but that would be absurd for a film set in Australia. I walked out after…what, 35 or 40 minutes? Way too much smiling, good-vibing, sensitivity. I don’t want to hear another actor or actress say to their son or daughter ‘are you okay?’ ever again.

Millions. I’m presuming, are about to see A Good Day to Die Hard. Perhaps waiting in long lines in Manhattan as we speak. Overheard: “I don’t care how shitty this latest installment may be — I have to see it anyway.” For Joe Popcorn quality is not the thing — it’s the return of a comfort brand. Any New Yorker with any kind of investment in seeing good movies or who knows or cares anything about the world in he/she lives will pay to see No this weekend.

Marshall Fine found a moment of clarity in his review:

“By the point Bruce Willis’s John McClane gets to this fifth outing, he’s like Roger Moore in one of those early 1980s James Bond abominations, like Octopussy or For Your Eyes Only: carried along by the conventions of the form and commenting on them, rather than simply being part of them. Suddenly he’s a guy who goes looking for people to kill, instead of fighting for his life.”

“Look, I don’t hate Dances With Wolves,” Grantland‘s Brian Koppleman wrote yesterday. Hah! We all know what’s coming, right? But we all agree emphatically with what’s about to be said and we’re already on our feet and cheering in the stands. Let ’em have it, Brian!

“Unlike most of my film-snob friends, I actually have a soft spot for [Dances]. I remember watching it in the theater and being moved enough to want to see it again. I cheered when the tatonka finally showed up and Kevin Costner‘s Lieutenant Dunbar got to ride to the American Indian camp and rouse them to the hunt. And speaking of Costner, I really like him, too. From Silverado to Company Men to the vastly underrated Thirteen Days, Costner’s appearance on screen always brings a smile to my face. And he directed the film with craft and artistry. So I have no problem with Dances With Wolves (and Costner himself) getting nominated in 1990.

“But if you’re asking me to be okay with the fact that both the film and Costner beat Goodfellas and Martin Scorsese? The answer would have to be: Go fuck yourself. Because that is undoubtedly the greatest travesty in Oscar history.”

In her favorable review of Pablo Larrain‘s No (which I’ve been raving about since catching it at last year’s Cannes Film Festival), N.Y. Times critic Manohla Dargis says that anyone who doesn’t challenge brute cops who are hurting a loved one is a coward. Inside a police station? Under a brutal South American dictatorship?

“As it is, Rene [Gael Garcia Bernal] is one of those compromised characters whose obvious virtues run a tight race with his flaws. In one early scene he doesn’t just stand by when [his ex-partner and mother of his son] Veronica is beaten by cops; he also recoils from the violence. It’s unclear if Rene is a garden-variety coward, afraid of physical harm, or whether his fear is a manifestation of a deeper moral stain.”

If you’re afraid of getting punched or kicked or clubbed you’re a candy-ass? Everybody recoils from violence. I’ve been there and the first reaction is always to flinch and withdraw. You have to push past that and do the stand-up thing, of course, but I’m not sure that being “afraid of physical harm” constitutes cowardice.

We all like to think that we’d all “do something” if someone near and dear is being shoved around by the bulls, and I agree that anyone who cowers in fear in such a situation lacks intestinal fortitude. You need to rush forward and gesture and say or shout something — “Hey, leave her alone! Get the fuck off her!” But a guy who dives right into a group of cop thugs who are shoving and beating their captives…? I’ve tasted this. Anyone who’s been in the immediate vicinity of brutality knows what I’m talking about.

A single meteorite or a cluster of meteorite fragments slammed into earth a few hours ago. It happened about 50 miles west of Chelyabinsk, adjacent to Russia’s Ural mountains, around 9:20 am. (Which is what…2:20 am NY time?) Decent video captures. It hit at a shallow angle, which seems curious if you don’t know anything about air density and the tendency of any brute missile entering the atmosphere to plane and be deflected. But that’s how it works, I think.

I’d love to hear recordings of the impact, which these videos don’t really deliver. No one was killed, but more than 700 people were hurt by flying glass shards. Chelyabinsk is about 950 miles east of Moscow. Who would ever want to visit, much less live, in a place like this? Bartender, pour me a double right now.

If Steven Spielberg used this occurence in a movie, he’d show Russians looking up at the meteorite with their “awe faces” as a white Kaminski light flares up the exposure.