“It would be too easy to say that Spike Jonze‘s Her is about the new way we’ve found to fall in love — virtually. But it’s not improper to suggest that many of us are choosing not to engage with the world anymore. Maybe porn has become so readily available and satisfying that real people are unnecessary, real bodies are kind of a hassle. There’s that messy business with satisfying the other person, and the potential to be tossed aside for a more alluring lover. How much easier it is to nestle safely in the arms of a world that will never reject you because it doesn’t ask anything of you.

“There is nothing that can replace the warm flesh and blood of a lover in your arms — even with the complications, even with the inherent risks of getting hurt, even with the fear that you can’t be what they want. This is what we were born to do — fumble towards each other, make a big mess of our emotions. Fuck and laugh and argue. Maybe it all comes to nothing — but maybe, just maybe, you get to take part in the beauty of it all. The track marks of love are the bread crumbs left behind that take you back to the best places you’ve ever been. Reach for them. Hold them dear. Or die trying.” — from Sasha Stone‘s 10.13 riff about Her.

It’s strange, but I was kind of shocked yesterday (or was it the day before?) when I finally realized, more than two decades after she became famous on Seinfeld, that Julia Louis-Dreyfus is really, really loaded. She’s the daughter of billionaire Gerard Louis-Dreyfus, chairman of the Louis Dreyfus Energy Services. Forbes says her family is worth about $3.4 billion. Some superstars are worth $150 million or $200 million (i.e., Brad Pitt, etc.) but there’s something about the word “billion” that has a huge impact of some kind. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch her again in quite the same way.

In the view of New Yorker critic David Denby, All Is Lost “wouldn’t have been as moving with a man of, say, George Clooney’s age; it wouldn’t have had the nobility of endurance to the same degree. Now seventy-seven, Redford is in great shape, and the cheekbones and the jaw, despite a wrinkled shell, have held up—a visual sign of character surmounting age. The anxiety in his eyes as death approaches is unsettling, since it may be something that Redford the man feels, too. He does more acting in this movie than he has done in all his earlier movies combined. “

At last night’s L.A. premiere of 12 Years A Slave, director Steve McQueen, star Chiwetel Ejiofor and costar Lupita N’yongo were asked about Madonna having allegedly texted (and reportedly agitating those sitting near her) during a New York Film Festival screening. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning when I first heard about this. It’s obviously arrogant to text during a film, especially one as great and gripping as 12 Years A Slave. Madonna knows this, of course (she’s not stupid) but headstrong Type A’s sometimes do what they want and to hell with the rules. I’m wondering, however, why Madonna turned on her phone in the first place. I’m guessing she wanted a release from the intensity of the film, and is therefore may be a kindred spirit of the screenwriter I quoted yesterday. Which bothers me somewhat. Texting in theatres is like coughing during a play.

A respectful salute is hereby offered to Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone for laying her feelings on the line about Academy members who seem reluctant to even see 12 Years A Slave, much less afford it the respect and Best Picture consideration it obviously deserves. She was responding to the implications of Steve Pond’s 10.14 Wrap story about how a recent Academy screening of Gravity drew a huge crowd but only 500 to 600 Academy members showed up for Sunday night’s Slave screening –a respectable tally but obviously indicating a certain reluctance to see McQueen’s film given all the talk (which is 100% on-the-money) about it being a masterpiece and a Best Picture nominee slamdunk, etc.

The All Is Lost team is indebted to Grantland‘s Mark Harris for completely dismissing the chances of J.C. Chandor‘s widely-hailed film (10.18) to even be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, although Harris puts Robert Redford at the top of his list of Best Actor contenders. This is how exceptionally good films get pushed off to the sidelines. Guys like Harris come along and go “very impressive but naaaah, don’t think so” and then the buzz starts to tilt a little more in that direction and before you know it it’s set in stone.

Note: In this piece I’m pasting DDI (i.e., Definitely Deserves It), SDI (i.e, Sorta Deserves It) and DRDI (i.e., Doesn’t Really Deserve It) after mentioning and/or discussing each film. Except, of course, for those I haven’t seen.

Harris’s list is a little weird in other ways, if you ask me.

12 Years a Slave (DDI) is his top pick, and yet Steve Pond’s 10.14 wrap piece provides yet another indication that Steve McQueen‘s masterpiece is encountering pushback from some complacent, brutality-averse Academy milquetoasts. Then comes Gravity (DDI) at position #2 (agreed — it’s a Best Picture lock) and the brilliantly composed but kinda-mid-rangey, not-exactly-earthshaking Captain Phillips in third place. The Butler (DRDI), a nicely-performed Black History Month high-school play captured on film, is Harris’s pick as the fourth likeliest Best Picture contender of 2013.

Based on an original Cormaac McCarthy screenplay about a non-criminal (Michael Fassbender) getting involved with violent drug dealers, Ridley Scott‘s The Counselor (20th Century Fox, 10.25) has been regarded from the get-go as a vague relation of No Country For Old Men, a violent drug-business tale based on a McCarthy novel. We all know that Joel and Ethan Coen always apply a dry, art-filmish tonality and that the less austere-minded Scott tends to aim for a kind of high-style pulp effect. A guy who’s seen The Counselor tells me the photography by Dariusz Wolski (Prometheus, Sweeney Todd) is beautiful, and that it contains (a) a noteworthy simulated sex scene involving a pantie-less Cameron Diaz and the windshield of a car and (b) a pleasant oral-sex scene between Michael Fassbender and Penelope Cruz.

Magic in the Moonlight, the just-announced title of Woody Allen‘s south-of-France period film that costars Colin Firth, Emma Stone, Eileen Atkins and Marcia Gay Harden, sounds a little sappy. It would be a different kettle if it was called Magic Is The Moonlight (i.e., a tune sung by Cliff Richards and Dean Martin) but Allen’s versions sounds…well, a little ding-a-lingy, a little Tiny Tim-ish. The film, apparently set in the 1920s, also stars Hamish Linklater, Simon McBurney and Jacki Weaver (who was at last night’s 12 Years A Slave premiere at the DGA). Pic wrapped in early September and will most likely debut at the 2014 Cannes Film Festival — the geographical connection alone would seem to lock that in.

(l. to r.) Magic in Moonlight costars Colin Firth, some guy and Emma Stone during filming in the South of France.