Calculating “Glass Onion” Casting, Costs

A press release has gone out about Rian Johnson‘s Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery (Netflix, 12.23). The film, partly set on the Greek island of Spetses, will star Daniel Craig as Detective Benoit Blanc and costar Edward Norton, Janelle Monáe, Kathryn Hahn, Leslie Odom Jr., Jessica Henwick, Madelyn Cline, Kate Hudson and Dave Bautista.

One of the two photos in the Glass Onion press release is a shot of director-writer Johnson and Monae. Which suggests that Monae, Craig aside, has the lead protagonist role. Which means she’s probably playing an equivalent of the Ana de Armas role in the original Knives Out — a pure of heart, relatively innocent, non-white woman up against a demimonde of scurvy, slimy skunks and serpents.

Norton, I’m guessing, has the Chris Plummer role, except given Glass Onion‘s Mediterranean vacation vibe…well, let’s just use our imagination and presume that Norton’s character is at least partly inspired by the cruel, manipulative James Coburn character in The Last of Sheila. Or something in this vein. Why hire the rapscallion Norton if you don’t want him to play edgy and a tiny bit wicked?

Sheila, which played with the same kind of Agatha Christie “whodnit?” formula that the Knives Out films are modelled upon, was shot along the French Cote d’Azur.

Which reminds me: how come Johnson and his producers chose Spetses for their Greek location when Maggie Gyllennhaal and Olivia Colman‘s The Lost Daughter shot there only a couple of years before? Of all the hundreds of exotic Greek island locations they chose the same damn island?

Netflix paid $468 million for rights to both Knives Out sequels, but the actual production budget (per Wiki) was only a little more than $40 million with over $100 million in fees paid to Johnson, Daniel Craig and producer Ram Bergman for their work on both productions. (Nice payday!) That totals out to $140 million and change, maybe a bit more. Call it $150 million.

That leaves roughly $318 million in expenditures for the second sequel. What is Johnson going to shoot in that second sequel? Will he sink a 300-foot yacht a la Titanic and then stage a battle between the cast and the Kraken from Clash of the Titans?

Sorry but I’m only going by the numbers in the Wiki page.

The $468 million paid by Netflix (a result of a bidding war) is humungous, historic. Last year a well-placed source told Variety‘s Claudia Eller that “the math doesn’t work…there’s no way to explain it…the world has gone mad…it’s a mind-boggling deal.”

Anxious, Unhappy Family

Most Zoomers haven’t a clue who these guys are; ditto a fair percentage of Millennials. The saga of the turbulent Fondas (Hank’s emotionally frosty vibes in the ‘40s, absent mom’s suicide, Jane’s constant emotional insecurity, Peter’s “I know what it’s like to be dead”) is familiar only to boomers, for the most part, and older GenXers.

I’m guessing this was taken sometime around mid ‘63, at which time Hank (58) was on screens in Spencer’s Mountain (don’t ask), Peter (23) was appearing in Tammy and the Doctor (ditto) and Jane (26) was taking bows for her starring role in the light-hearted (if barely watchable) sex comedy Sunday in New York.

Two things got my attention — one, the Kennedy-era Fondas, enveloped in obvious financial comfort, knew how to present the right kind of well-tended vibe in front of well-connected photographers, and two, Hank was still the most attractive of the three — slender, radiant eyes, ruddy complexion, broad shoulders, good taste in sporty golf shirts.

I’m relating because my family was also moderately miserable. Or I was, at least.

I See Red

…when some Facebook guy asks if readers “like” a long-dead screen legend.

Earth to Facebook guy: Whether or not readers “like” Bette Davis or Errol Flynn or Cary Grant or Wallace Ford or Joanne Dru or Edna May Oliver or John Ireland is, no offense, totally and completely beside the point.

The lore and reputations of these performers were carved into eternal granite a long time ago. Due respect but nobody of any consequence gives a damn if you “like” them in a present-tense context. The question can only be “do you understand their histories within the context of their heydays and do you get what their accomplishments amounted to in the long view?” If you don’t, fine — maybe you’ll tune in down the road. Or maybe you won’t. But 2022 social media “likes”? Go away now.

Leon Vitali Mattered A Great Deal

As one who knew and even hung a couple of times with Leon Vitali, the former actor and devoted Stanley Kubrick associate throughout the ’70s, 80s and’ 90s, and as one who badgered him a few times during the Barry Lyndon aspect-ratio brouhaha of 2011, I’m very sorry to hear that he’s passed.

I loved Filmworker, Tony Zierra‘s 2017 documentary about Leon and his historic life. I’ll probably watch it again tonight.

Leon was a fine fellow and a true believer. He understood hardcore devotion as well as anyone I’ve ever known in this racket has.

Longtime HE readers will recall the Barry Lyndon aspect ratio contretemps, which ranged between 5.23.11 and 6.21.11. Retained by Warner Home Video as a technical consultant on a spate of Kubrick Blurays, Vitali insisted that the WHV Lyndon Bluray be issued at 1.77:1 rather than 1.66:1, an a.r. previously adopted when WHV released the 1975 classic on laser disc.

I hit the roof when I read about this. I argued, howled, seethed.

Then Glenn Kenny posted a 12.8.75smoking gunletter, leaked by Jay Cocks and written by Kubrick and sent to U.S. exhibitors. It stated that Barry Lyndon had been shot in 1.66 and should ideally be projected this way.

The Lyndon debate was of the most bitterly fought and not incidentally triumphant a.r. battles in Hollywood Elsewhere history, the other being the Shane a.r. battle of 2013.

A Seasoned Twosome Who Belong Together

I hate the way CBS Sunday Morning sells soothing little fairy tales about famous people who are wealthy and happy and blah blah. Married for 40 years, Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo may well be in a good place together…enjoying a fine, fulfilling relationship. But watching this piece made me frown and recoil. I don’t believe anything I watch on CBS Sunday Morning, even if it’s true. Because the idea is always to soothe, which is to say narcotize.

Kids Are Up To Something

It took me a few months to catch up with Eskil Vogt‘s The Innocents. I finally streamed it last night, and wow…easily one of the most unusual and strikingly rendered creep-out films I’ve ever seen. A series of eerie, first-rate jolts that accumulate into a feeling of being sucked in and tied down. And yet a film that leads to a moral reckoning.

It definitely ranks alongside The Witch and The Babadook and films of that ilk, films aimed well above the heads of your average horror-loving sloths who prefer the usual formulaic slasher crap. I’m not, however, calling it a slice of elevated horror because Vogt, who also co-wrote the screenplay of Joachim Trier‘s The Worst Person in the World, never allows the film to step into flat-out psycho screamville. But he certainly gives you the willies.

And I loved the fact that The Innocents focuses entirely on four pre-pubescent children living in a high-rise Oslo apartment complex, and what they’re seeing, feeling, channelling and manipulating by way of ESP, mind-reading and telekinesis, and how their parents never realize what’s actually going on. Start to finish the parents don’t have clue #1.

It’s about one of these kids (Sam Ashraf‘s Ben, a ten-year-old of Indian descent who lives with his single mom) having discovered the ability to move small objects via telekinesis, and Ben revealing this gift to Ida (Rakel Lenora Flottum), a quietly observant lass of relatively few words (or certainly when her mom and dad are around) who seems around eight years old. Ida has an older sister, Anna (Alva Brynsmo Ramstad), who’s suffering from non-verbal austism, and yet once Ben allows them to marvel at his special abilities Ida and Anna start to acquire a vague form of ESP and mind-reading on their own.

Soon added to this equation is Aisha (Mina Yasmin Bremseth Asheim), an eight-year-old neighbor with vitiligo who intuitively “reads” Anna, who in turn gradually starts to communicate and even talk as she picks up on the tremor-like powers of the vaguely weird Ben.

Alas, Ben soon reveals himself to be a demonic little sadist who doesn’t blink an eye as he drops Aisha’s cat from a high stairwell, and then crushes the poor thing’s head. And that’s just the beginning of the killings. I won’t reveal Ben’s other victims, but I did find fault in the matter of a certain adult who winds up dead on a kitchen floor. Ben is no dummy, and he surely understands that dead bodies have to be buried or burnt or they’ll stink the place up. I don’t know why Ben (i.e., Vogt) doesn’t attend to this basic no–brainer situation.

Telekinesis, thought transference…you can sense early on that increasing weirdness is right around the corner, and that Ben will eventually turn into a version of that little Twilight Zone shit from 60 years ago who flatlined people he didn’t like and turned one alcoholic neighbor into a jack-in-the-box and then buried him 50 feet under a cornfield.

This is a very effective, highly original, low-key children’s tale that puts the hook in (it actually feels like a kind of serum) and never lets up.

Ben and his mom, of course, are immigrants of color (ditto Aisha and her mom). If and when The Innocents is remade for American audiences there’s no way the evil Ben character will be played by a young actor of color, and certainly not by a kid of African-American descent. Non-white actors of whatever age cannot play demonic killers. Okay, it’s possible, I suppose, but highly unlikely.

The Innocents premiered in Cannes under the Un Certain Regard program, but I wasn’t there. Nor was I at Austin’s Fantastic Fest when it showed there in September ’21. IFC picked it up but did the film no favors by labelling it as an IFC Midnight thing, which suggests it’s a genre film aimed at low-rent horror fans. It’s much better than that — it’s an elegant, odd little spooker that could have been a Jack Clayton or Roman Polanski film in the mid ’60s.

Son of Most Idiotic Battle Scene Ever

[Originally posted on 12.28.14]: “In my 80% positive 11.12 review of Clint Eastwood‘s American Sniper I mentioned a scene that I found hugely irritating. And still do, having seen the film twice now.

“It’s an Act Two scene in which Bradley Cooper‘s Chris Kyle is suddenly caught in a Iraqi firefight while speaking to his stateside wife Taya, played by Sienna Miller. She’s naturally startled, and as the battle quickly intensifies she gets more and more alarmed and as she cries out to Cooper, asking him what’s going on and is he okay and so on (“Baby? Baby?”).

“As soon Miller said those words, I literally slapped my forehead with my right palm. Miller knows, of course, that Cooper is in a combat zone and that firefights are part of the basic drill. Is she hoping he’ll put down his weapon and say, “Hi, baby…yeah, yeah, I know…they’re shooting at us now…but don’t worry! Anyway, I can’t really talk right now, okay? I might get, you know, killed if I don’t defend myself so if it’s cool I’ll call you back later. I’ll be okay, sweetheart. I just have to put the phone down and focus on killing the enemy. You understand, right? It’s not that I don’t love you or don’t want to talk to you. It’s just now is not the best time to talk…okay?”

I Remember “Sicario”

In my 7.20.22 review of Nope, I wrote about the difficulty of understanding Daniel Kaluuya: “As Eddie Murphy might say if he catches Nope, ‘I don’t what the fuck this guy is sayin’.’ Remember Murphy’s imitation of James Brown with those scat riffs? That’s how Kaluuya sounds. I understood him maybe 20% of the time, if that.”

I’d forgotten that I said the same thing in my 6.9.15 review of Sicario: “Emily Blunt’s partner is played by Daniel Kaluuya, and I’m telling you here and now and forever I didn’t understand a single phrase from this guy. It was like he was speaking Farsi. Seriously, dub his ass for the U.S. release.”

Excerpted from that same review, which was titled “Su-Su-Sicario…Nope, Phil Collins Disapproves“:

Sicario is basically about heavily militarized, inter-agency U.S. forces hunting down and shooting it out with the Mexican drug-cartel bad guys, and at other times flying here and there in a private jet and driving around in a parade of big black SUVs and so on….zzzzzz.

“It’s a strong welcome-to-hell piece, I’ll give it that, but Sicario doesn’t come close to the multi-layered, piled-on impact of Steven Soderbergh‘s Traffic, portions of which dealt with more or less the same realm.

“The tale, such as it is, is told from the perspective of Emily Blunt‘s FBI field agent, who, being a 21st Century woman who’s in touch with her emotions, is of course stunned and devastated by the unrelenting carnage blah blah.

“You know what I’d like to see just once? A female FBI agent who isn’t in touch with her emotions, or at least one who tones it down when it comes to showing them. Too much to ask for, right?

“One of her battle-hardened colleagues, a senior veteran with a semi-casual ‘whatever works, bring it on’ attitude, is played by the ever-reliable Josh Brolin.

“My favorite character by far was Benicio del Toro’s Alejandro, a shadowy Mexican operative with burning eyes and his own kind of existential attitude about things. Benicio the sly serpent…the shaman with the drooping eyelids…the slurring, purring, south-of-the-border vibe guy.

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Purpose of Great Cinema

If a movie doesn’t make you feel a little extra something, perhaps a slight sense of elation or the good kind of sadness, or a deeper appreciation of how radiant or cruel life can seem at times or how quickly it’s all over…if a movie doesn’t intensify your feelings about life to some degree then what the hell’s the point?

Who besides downhead critics would want you to see a film that makes you feel a bit less enthused about the basic experience of living, a film that imparts a slight sense of gloom or depression or resignation about the daily struggle of trying to keep our lives focused and sensible and semi-productive and on track, and without succumbing to stupid, life-diminishing addictions…I’ve seen plenty of films that have left me with feelings of terrible depression, and many of these films have been escapist in nature. Then again I was also deeply brought down by The Power of the Dog.

So I guess I’m basically asking “what sad or solemn or melancholy films have left you with an enhanced appreciation of life?”

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