Month: December 2017

Wonder Guys

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The Wonder Wheel quartet — Kate Winslet, Jim Belushi, Juno Temple and Justin Timberlake — sat for a 10 pm q & a last night inside the Arclight Cinerama Dome. Moderator Pete Hammond presided over what turned out to be a lively, somewhat competitive conversation.

Winslet, trying to land one of the five Best Actress nomination slots (and in so doing will have to dislodge one of the well-ensconced pack leaders — Frances McDormand, Sally Hawkins, Meryl Streep, Saoirse Ronan or Margot Robbie), scored first with a riff about the high-quality script, the responsibility of making a melodramatic, life-and-death piece come to life, and the excitement of working with director-writer Woody Allen.


(l. to. r.) Wonder Wheel costars Juno Temple, Jim Belushi, Justin Timberlake, Kate Winslet, Deadline‘s Pete Hammond.

Then it was Justin Timberlake‘s turn, but he took too long in telling about his initial meeting with Allen. (Woody doesn’t audition his actors — he just smiles and says “hi.”) Then the effusive Belushi had the mike (both he and Timberlake stood up and acted out portions of their stories), and then the British-born Temple, who arguably gives the most open-hearted, least-denial-imprisoned performance in the film, had a couple of minutes. And then Winslet took over again. And then Timberlake and Belushi got into a joust.

It was a four-way competition of sorts, a friendly scrimmage about who could score with the most interesting observations and/or pass along the most amusing anecdotes.

For some reason the Arclight staff refused to turn up the lights, which made the actors harder to see, caused the photos to look grainy and rendered the brief video clip I shot all but worthless. Winslet, Belushi and Timberlake were immediately swarmed by security guards when the chat ended. Temple, on the other hand, was cool with mingling and posing for selfies, etc.

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Cruel, Scrooge-Ugly, Naked Greed

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I had trouble laughing last night, or feeling any kind of mirth for that matter. One of the most grotesque and calamitous tax revision bills in U.S. history, passed by gargoyle righties and abetted by Sen. Susan Collins (R., Maine) and Sens. John McCain and Jeff Flake (so much for their recently burnished reputations) + a tax-bill provision that will damage the effectiveness of the Affordable Care Act + a decent chance that Alabama Senatorial candidate Roy Moore, sexual misconduct allegations notwithstanding, is going to defeat Doug Jones. (Or maybe not.)

“With barely a vote to spare early Saturday morning, the Senate passed a tax bill confirming that the Republican leaders’ primary goal is to enrich the country’s elite at the expense of everybody else, including future generations who will end up bearing the cost. The approval of this looting of the public purse by corporations and the wealthy makes it a near certainty that President Trump will sign this or a similar bill into law in the coming days.

“The bill is expected to add more than $1.4 trillion to the federal deficit over the next decade, a debt that will be paid by the poor and middle class in future tax increases and spending cuts to Medicare, Social Security and other government programs. Its modest tax cuts for the middle class disappear after eight years. And up to 13 million people stand to lose their health insurance because the bill makes a big change to the Affordable Care Act.” — from 12.2 N.Y. Times editorial, “A Historic Heist.”

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Quirky Calls From Eccentric LAFCA Foodies

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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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Depth of Feeling

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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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Not That Hip But…

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The top image is a 1953 or ’54 Rene Magritte painting called “the Dominion of Light.” The bottom image was snapped a couple of weeks ago at the corner of Wilshire Blvd. and Stanley Drive. I wasn’t trying to duplicate “The Dominion of Light” — I only noticed the similarity a few days ago. I realize that Magritte’s work has never been taken seriously by anyone in the know. I’m just…fuck it, I’ve said it.

1.37 vs. 1.33 Headache

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A horrible feeling came over me while reading a recently-posted DVD Beaver review of Criterion’s Young Mr. Lincoln Bluray. It was a statement by Gary W. Tooze that John Ford‘s 1939 film is being presented “in the correct aspect ratio of 1.37:1.”

In other words, the 1.33:1 aspect ratio used for two previous DVD versions (Optimum Classics, Criterion) was slightly incorrect. Tooze’s declaration reminded me that I’ve been suppressing my confusion over the exact dimensions of “boxy” aspect ratios for years. I know that 1.37 is correct by today’s understanding (ask any dp) but I used to think that 1.33 was slightly more correct when it came to older films (i.e., those made in the 1950s and before).

I’ve been a film journalist for nearly 40 years, and I must have typed “1.33” at least a couple of thousand times. Was 1.33 always a myth? Has it been 1.37 all along? I can’t believe that I’m still not entirely sure about this.

That Time Of Year

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The 2018 Sundance Film Festival (1.18 thru 1.28) begins six and a half weeks from now. Hollywood Elsewhere and the intrepid Jordan Ruimy need a third person to share expenses on a large one-bedroom condo (bedroom, living room couch bed, two bunks, two bathrooms, kitchen, fireplace) in the centrally-located Park Regency. A two-week rental that exceeds the festival. Saturday, 1.13 thru Saturday, 1.27. Your end would be $650, and a Sundance share doesn’t get any cheaper than that. Consider a two-year-old sublet from the Creative Coalition [after the jump] that was regarded in some quarters as a good deal. No snoring tolerated — sorry but that’s the one thing we can’t abide. We’d like to tie things up no later than 12.10. Thank you. 5:55 pm update: Tracking Board‘s Ed Douglas has signed on — problem solved.

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Big Deal

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Three days ago it was reported that “archaeologists” working in the Guadalupe sand dunes have dug up an intact plaster sphinx head — one of 21 sphinxes that were part of an Egyptian movie set built 95 years ago for Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments. The 300-pound artifact is the second head to have been recovered from the wind-swept area. The latest discovery is noteworthy, according to Dunes Center Executive Director Doug Jenzen, because it’s covered with the original brown paint.

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What’s The Real Story?

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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.

Claes Bang is a Great Name

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My first thought during my initial viewing of Ruben Ostlund‘s The Square was “hmmm, the lead actor is appealing. He has a low-key Pierce Brosnan sexy thing going on, and those thin red designer glasses he’s wearing are very cool.” His name, I quickly discovered, is Claes Bang, a Danish actor and musician. Right away I thought, “He could be the new 007”, but that notion was kicked around and dismissed fairly quickly. Bang is 50, or 13 years younger than Brosnan, but perhaps not quite young enough if you figure that Daniel Craig is around for one more film.

But he has this quality, this vibe. I’d definitely like to see him in more stuff. So would Tatyana.

Not long ago CB came to town, and so I asked to meet him. We sat down for 25 minutes inside the West Hollywood offices of Sunshine Sachs. His name, he told me, is pronounced “Clayhs Bahng.” Not synonymous with “dead bang” but at the same time not “buhng.” He was (and presumably still is) open, matter-of-fact, attuned. And yet reserved, measured. However you want to define X-factor…

Who has seen The Square, and what was your opinion? 5:35 pm update: That many, huh? Well, it’s easily one of the best films of the year. Your loss.

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Graft and Corruption

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A friend asked about what kind of gifts and goodies had arrived over the past few weeks to promote the various award-season films. He mentioned the pink stuffed Okja pig as an example. My response: “The Okja stuffed pig wasn’t graft. It wasn’t a gift. It was a pink nightmare. It was repulsion and indigestion. I had one thought when I unpacked this ugly beast, and that was “aackkhh!….into the dumpster”! What a grotesque thing to have lying around your home or apartment. Tatyana loved it, wanted to keep it. I threw it out the moment she wasn’t looking. She hasn’t asked since but if she does I’ll just say to her ‘what pig?’ And she’ll say, ‘The cute pink pig…I liked it so much!’ ‘Oh, right,’ I’ll say. And then I’ll say, ‘Uhm, I spilled coffee on it last week and it looked really bad so I threw it out. The spotless pink perfection thing was ruined…sorry.'”

“The Net Is Closing”

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Posted by Chris Cillizza, CNN Editor-at-large, earlier today — Friday, 12.1: “The guilty plea by MichaelFlynn is different — and more serious — than the charges against one-time Trump campaign chairman PaulManafort. Manafort was a part of Trump’s inner orbit for a handful of months during the spring and summer of 2016. But he was long gone by the time Trump won the White House. And the charges against Manafort have to do with money laundering and the Ukraine, not Russia.

“It’s also impossible for Trump to dismiss the role Flynn played in his campaign and White House as he did with George Papadopoulos, who pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI about interactions with foreign officials close to the Russian government.

“The Flynn guilty plea comes from someone who, until the day he was reluctantly fired by Trump as national security adviser, sat at the absolute epicenter of Trumpworld. And, unlike Manafort, Flynn’s charge deals directly with his interactions with the Russian ambassador — and goes to the very core of Mueller’s investigation into Russia’s interference in the 2016 election and any possible collusion between Russia and the Trump campaign.

“The following things are facts:

“Mueller was appointed as special counsel by Trump Justice Department deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein. Flynn was an extremely close and influential adviser to Trump as a candidate and as president. Flynn pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI about his interactions with Russian ambassador Sergey Kislyak.

“There’s no ‘fake news’ media in either of those three sentences. Or Democrats. Or hoaxes. Or witch hunts.

“And, with the Flynn guilty plea, there is absolutely no thinking person who could possibly believe that Trump’s presidency is not in some level of peril now.

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