Apparently Ben Affleck‘s Bruce Wayne is seething at Henry Cavill‘s Superman over that interminable fight with Michael Shannon‘s Zod at the finale of Man of Steel. I don’t care how pissed Wayne is — Mr. Krypton can still kick the shit out of him with one hand tied. Haunting 9/11 image at beginning with dust cloud enveloping Affleck. The fact that Jesse Eisenberg‘s Lex has hair indicates there’ll be a whole sub-story about how he loses it…thud. Did I miss Jason Momoa‘s Aquaman? It’s okay with me. Jeremy “paycheck” Irons adds a touch of class. Why was Wonder Woman thrown into this?

As much as I despise ComicCon culture for its heinous influence upon popcorn cinema (except when it comes to standouts like Ant-Man, Avatar, the two Captain America flicks and The Empire Strikes Back), I wouldn’t have minded being in San Diego last night for that panel and the Star Wars musical-concert-under-the-stars and the fireworks…the whole thing. You could feel the vibes right through YouTube and all the way up the 405.

Last Tuesday (7.7) I wrote that the aspect ratio of Hou Hsiao-hsien‘s The Assassin seemed, going by the trailer, to be something close to 1.37:1. And yet the credit block in Justin Chang‘s review describes it as “partial Academy ratio.” I’m now informed that the film is mostly in 1.85 and that only the first five minutes uses a somewhat boxier (1.37 or thereabouts) aspect ratio. So the Variety description was technically correct.

I’m rolling up to Santa Barbara this morning, partly to catch an unpublicized, members-only, Santa Barbara Film Festival screening of James Ponsoldt‘s End of the Tour at the Riviera theatre. And then a private reception for Ponsoldt and costar Jason Segel, whose performance as the late David Foster Wallace captures something about writerly solitude and existential gloom. His low-key performance is a low-flame, simmer-in-the-skillet thing — a visually distinctive look (hulking, two-week grungy beard, white bandana) with a certain thorny, hangdog integrity. I’m not a huge fan of the film, but I “respect” it, as I would any character-driven film, if for no other reason than the minimalist two-character template.

The remainder of the day will be spent in the company of Santa Barbara Film Festival honcho Roger Durling, one of the gentlest and most perceptive fellows I know in this racket. Zak is coming as he doesn’t travel much. And it’s a beautiful day.

It doesn’t matter that Minions is likely to earn $120 million this weekend. Never went, don’t intend to go…forget it. There was a woman in a yellow Minions outfit in the Arclight lobby the other night; that’s as close to this film as I’ll ever get. I was invited to see What We Did On Our Holiday (the weekend’s best-reviewed opener) but I don’t do family excursion films as a rule, and certainly not ones in which a stressed-out beardo dad falls asleep at the wheel. (Funny!) Self/less and Boulevard seemed instantly dismissable, particularly the latter with a morose Robin Williams performance being an apparent definer. Tangerine is far and away the weekend’s best newbie, but it’s only playing in New York, Los Angekes and I forget where else.