Vicky Jewson‘s Close looks and feels like a reasonably servicable bodyguard-protects-rich-client action flick. “Loosely inspired” by the actual exploits of Jacquie Davis, one of the very few women to excel in the male-dominated bodyguard profession. Pic began principal photography in August 2017. Netflix will debut Close on Friday, 1.18.

It’s time to finally stop saying “two thousand” when speaking of any 21st Century calendar year, and start saying “twenty.” We are now in the year twenty-nineteen, and not two-thousand nineteen. Year after year people (including news anchors for CNN and MSNBC) have stubbornly insisted upon “two thousand” this and that. I’m asking everyone to please stop it. For the next 80 years we’re going to be in the twenties, not the two-thousands.

The pronunciation of Stanley Kubrick‘s 2001: A Space Odyssey screwed things up for God knows how many millions. I realize that the first year of the 21st Century had to be pronounced two-thousand, and of course the following year had to follow the Kubrick. (Nobody in that 1968 classic ever said “two-thousand one,” by the way.) But for too many years people have been sticking to that absurd verbal tic, and after 20 years of living in the 21st Century I really think it’s time to stop it once and for all.

We’ve now lived through two full decades in which the year has begun with the number 2. For a century before 12.31.99, the year began with nineteen-something. When John F. Kennedy was elected president no English-speaker ever said the year was “one-thousand nine sixty” — they said “nineteen sixty.” Years are always pronounced as a pair of two-digit numbers. The Declaration of Independence was signed in seventeen seventy-six — not one thousand seven seventy-six. Abraham Lincoln was assassinated in eighteen sixty-five, not one thousand eight sixty five.

You don’t know what the term “aural torture” really means until you’ve been in a room with someone who’s slurping soup or eating yogurt and granola out of a glazed clay bowl, or who’s stirring a powdered drink in a glass.

I’m talking about a person who won’t stop stirring the soup over and over and rythmically at that…clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink. Or who feels the need to keep stirring and overturning the yogurt-granola mash…eat, savor, swallow and then clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink. Or someone who’s poured a packet of Emergen-C into a glass of water and then won’t stop stirring it…clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink.

I’m telling you that after listening to these clink-clinks for the 17th or 18th time and realizing that you’re going to be listening to them for the remainder of your life on this planet…this is when the insanity virus will begin to seep into your system, and after this point it will never leave you alone.

“Five years ago, All Is Lost premiered at Cannes to deserved acclaim. But when it opened later that fall, the film was a noteworthy commercial disappointment, and the awards magic never happened for Robert Redford. I think I understood why. All Is Lost was ingeniously made, and a true experience, yet the stark fact is that it was slow. Arctic, as effective as it is, may face a similar challenge (at least in the U.S.), precisely because of the rough-hewn, trudging-through-the-tundra, one-step-at-a-time honesty with which Joe Penna works. [It’s] the anti-Cast Away. Yet that’s what’s good and, finally, moving about it. It lets survival look like the raw experience it is.” — from Owen Gleiberman‘s Cannes Film Festival review, posted on 5.10.18.

…the heavier the anvil chained to the Academy’s ankle becomes.

Just remember that if the host that Donna Gigliotti, Dawn Hudson and John Bailey finally hire has the slightest uh-oh hiccup in his/her Twitter feed…if he/she shared some kind of casually thoughtless remark while bombed at a party or during a hung-over breakfast in 2005…if there’s anything in his/her history that the p.c. commissars can seize upon and run with, this person will become instant social-media mincemeat and then they will learn first-hand what truly profound suffering can feel like. **

Yesterday The Hollywood Reporter‘s Scott Feinberg posted a “Jesus, are they gonna choose somebody or what?” article.

Didn’t Feinberg once suggest Bill Hader? He’d be perfect. Now Feinberg is suggesting John Legend and wife Chrissy Teigen as co-hosts. Okay. I guess.

There is only one totally bulletproof ratings magnet who could handle the task with aplomb. I’m speaking of a guy who can be funny and urbane but has the common touch, and who writes like a scholar and is in business with Netflix and has excellent across-the-board relations with talent, and who most recently was the author of a Best Films of 2018 list that became the talk of the town. Yes, that’s right — Barack Obama. I’m perfectly serious. How could he lose if he took the gig? How could he not win?

I love this paragraph: “What is known is what the Academy and ABC, which broadcasts the Oscars, do not want. They do not want someone who is socially divisive (especially after the Kevin Hart debacle), having concluded that politically-outspoken hosts have contributed to the show’s ratings declines in recent years; and they do not want someone who primarily appeals to older viewers, who are likely to watch the show regardless of who hosts.”

What the hell does “socially divisive” mean? The primary definition, I presume, is “someone with a Twitter past,” but does it also mean someone who has feelings about the decline and corrosion of this once-proud nation due to the Cheetoh factor? About how streaming is now the moat popular way to watch films these days, and how megaplexes have devolved into serving almost nothing but Roman colosseum-type fare?

What the hell does socially undivisive mean? A silly billy who mainly likes to smile a lot and has no strong thoughts or feelings about anything? Emily Blunt or someone in that vein?

Noteworthy Feinberg quote #2: “Further complicating matters is the Hart factor. Anyone who has been approached since Hart’s withdrawal knows — and knows that everyone else will know — that he or she was a backup option, a second choice. Moreover, people who might consider hosting in other years, such as Dwayne Johnson, are probably reluctant to accept this year, not wanting to look like they are benefiting from the misfortunes of a friend.”