Day: December 2, 2017

What kind of oddball, left-field choices will the Los Angeles Film Critics Association share tomorrow (i.e., Sunday, 12.3)? If past award picks are any guide LAFCA will probably vote for someone or something of an eccentric cast. If nothing else LAFCA members will want to live up to their well-earned reputation as the quirkiest and foodiest of all the major critic groups.

As noted last year, LAFCA is the only prestigious film critic group that notoriously interrupts its voting process halfway through so the members can chow down on toasted bagels, scrambled eggs, potato salad, lox, cream cheese, cole slaw and red onions. Bon appetit! But LAFCA members have another reputation to live up to, and that is a determination to choose way outside the realm of semi-conventional, emotionally-centered thinking.

A nominee or two, I mean, that will win an award because of some kind of arbitrary, socially progressive, possibly Jen Yamato-endorsed notion or belief scheme of the moment. A choice, I mean, that will feel like the right kind of politically correct fulfillment or projection — a choice that will point the way and especially defy the Gurus of Gold and Gold Derby-ites. Has LAFCA’s eccentricity reached a point of self-parody? Could some members be fearful of letting people down if they don’t give an award to at least a couple of unlikely contenders? Sure seems that way.

Last year, for example, the Yamato cabal brought about a decision to give the org’s Best Supporting Actress award to Certain Women‘s Lily Gladstone, mainly because Gladstone was playing a lesbian Native American (two p.c. check marks) who was obsessively in love with Kristen Stewart. Another what-the-eff was LAFCA handing its Best Actor award to Adam Driver for his portrayal of a quiet, poetry-loving bus driver in Jim Jarmusch‘s Paterson. Driver had delivered a gentle, honestly spiritual vibe, but the main reason that LAFCA voted for him was that they were psychologically and constitutionally incapable of voting for Manchester By The Sea‘s Casey Affleck, the front-runner by a country mile.

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There’s no question that certain currents in my life have been neurotic or obsessive. Perhaps the strongest neurotic theme has been a lifelong tendency (and I mean going back to my early childhood) to feel greater emotional attachments to movies and movie stars than to my own family members. Aside from my mother, whom I loved start to finish, I’ve always thought of my family relationships as unremarkable, and at times trying and downish. Certainly when it came to my father, brother and sister.

I first realized this when my father, with whom I had a conflicted relationship, passed in June 2008. (Here’s what I wrote the next day.) I realized then and there that I felt much sadder after the passing of Cary Grant, whom I’d long regarded as a kind of family member in a sense. I choked up when I heard about Grant’s passing on 11.29.86, and I remember feeling a pall in my soul for a day or two after. All my life he’d been my pal, my debonair uncle, my role model, a guy I’d always admired.

Snapped outside my parents’ home in Wilton, Connecticut, sometime around ’85.

Off-screen Grant was no day at the beach. I’d read that he could be a mood-swinger and a neurotic prick on a certain level, but that wouldn’t have dimmed my feelings if I’d tasted this first-hand. I felt a blood bond with the guy.

But when I heard about my dad’s death 22 years later (on 6.20.08) I felt…well, not a great deal. A little misty but only that. I felt relief for the poor guy, as he’d been seriously unhappy with the deteriorating quality of his life over the previous two or three years. And I felt a bit glum, of course, about his testy, often crabby manner when I was a kid, and how he’d inspired me to join Al Anon in the mid ’90s, but also how he’d inspired me to take a crack at writing and, later on, to embrace sobriety. Jim Wells was a fine, honorable fellow whom I admired and respected when I began to find myself in my mid 20s, but Cary Grant was kin.

I managed to shake Grant’s hand in early ’84 during an Academy after-party for George Stevens: A Filmmaker’s Journey. Too many people were crowding around so a couple of pleasantries was the sum of our exchange. There was so much I could’ve said and shared.

I’m an odd duck and I know it, and my weirdnesses are my own. I’m presuming that few out there have felt a greater emotional alliance with this or that actor or musician or politician, even, than he/she felt for someone of their own blood or tribe. But if anyone has, please share.

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I don’t know what’s behind Bryan Singer‘s absence from the London-based Bohemian Rhapsody shoot over the last week or so, but I strongly suspect that it’s not due to a “personal health matter,” which is how a spokesperson has explained the situation.

Rhapsody, which will tell the saga of Freddie Mercury (Rami Malek) and Queen and which is already being eyed as a 2018 award-season hopeful, has been temporarily shuttered due to Singer’s diverted attention, according to a 20th Century Fox statement released Friday. The term “unexpected unavailability” was also used to explain Singer’s situation.

via GIPHY

The 52 year-old director reportedly hasn’t shown up since the end of the Thanksgiving holiday, or over the last five days. It’s obviously possible that some health issue is a factor, but something doesn’t sound or smell right. Something else seems to be going on. There are rumblings…who knows?

Variety has reported that “a representative for the director said the halt was due to a personal health matter concerning Bryan and his family,” and that Singer “hopes to get back to work on the film soon after the holidays.” Okay, here’s hoping.

Bohemian Rhapsody director Bryan Singer.

Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury.