On the occasion of tonight’s big AFI Fest premiere of Pablo Larrain‘s Jackie (Fox Searchlight, 12.2), which I’ve seen twice, I need to lay a couple of things on the line, just to keep the conversation open and frank and upfront.

One, Jackie really is “the only docudrama about the Kennedy’s that can be truly called an art film,” as I wrote after catching it in Toronto. “It feels somewhat removed from the way that gut-slamming national tragedy looked and felt a half-century ago, and yet it’s a closely observed, sharply focused thing. Intimate, half-dreamlike and cerebral, but at the same time a persuasive and fascinating portrait of what Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy (Natalie Portman) went through between the lunch-hour murder of her husband in Dallas on 11.22.63 and his burial at Arlington National Cemetery on 11.25.63.”

And two, after seeing it the second time I went back and re-read a 2.12.10 draft of Noah Oppenheim’s script, which is a whole different bird than Larrain’s film. Pablo cut out a lot of characters and a lot of interplay and a general sense of “this is how it happened” realism, and focused almost entirely on Jackie’s interior saga. And honestly? I discovered that I liked Oppenheim’s version of the tale a little more than Pablo’s.

The script is more of a realistic ensemble piece whereas Larrain’s film is about what it was like to be in Jackie’s head. I fully respect Larrain’s approach, mind, but I felt closer to the realm of Oppenheim’s script. I believed in the dialogue more. The interview scenes between Theodore H. White (played by Billy Crudup in the film) and Jackie felt, yes, more familiar but at the same time more realistic, more filled-in. I just felt closer to it. I knew this realm, these people. 

Am I expressing a plebian viewpoint? Yes, I am. I’m saying I slightly prefer apparent realism, familiarity and emotion to Larrain’s arthouse aesthetic.

If anyone who’s seen Jackie wants to read the February 2010 Oppenheim draft, get in touch and I’ll send it along. But you have to see the film first.

Somebody asked for my feelings about Sony’s recently-popped 40th anniversary Bluray of Taxi Driver. Seven words: “No, thanks, not even for $9 dollars.” I own the 4K Bluray that came out in 2011, and that’s about as good as it gets. Qualifier: If Scorsese ever comes to his senses and approves a re-coloring of the Lower East Side shoot-out sequence the way it looked before the MPAA demanded changes because of all the blood, which led to Scorsese diminishing this sequence with a desaturated brownish tint…if Scorsese decides to release the original red-blood version of Taxi Driver, the one he was happy with before he was told to change it, fine — I’ll buy that. But until then, naah.

Posted on 3.11.11: Yesterday Digital Bits editor Bill Hunt posted a discussion with respected Sony restoration guy Grover Crisp about the forthcoming Taxi Driver Bluray (due on 4.5.), which represents a serious restoration effort on Crisp’s part, especially given the input from director Martin Scorsese.

I was naturally most interested in Crisp’s explanation of the sepia-toned/brown blood shoot-out sequence at the finale. As I put it two months ago, “There can be no legitimate claim of Taxi Driver having been restored without the original natural color (or at least a simulation of same) put back in. The film was shot with more or less natural colors, was intended to be shown this way, and has in fact been shown that way for the last 35 years except for the final shoot-out scene. There’s nothing noble or sacred about the look of that final sequence. The fact that it was sepia-toned to get a more acceptable MPAA rating is, I feel, a stain upon the film’s legacy.”

I don’t celebrate being one year closer to death but it was nice to hear from all those software-prompted Facebook friends who wished me all the best (seriously, thanks) and it was extra-nice to be treated to grass-fed beef sliders, cole slaw and chocolate cake by HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko and editor-producer David Scott Smith.

It all happened at Mel’s on Sunset — an honest restaurant serving honest,’70s-era food.

The only problem was that the a.c. made the indoor climate feel like 45 or 50 degrees.

HE to waitress: “Wow, it’s nice and chilly here…good thing you guys are being considerate to your customers because it’s like 95 degrees outside, like Palm Springs in July.”

Waitress: “Oh, thank you. We aim to please!”

HE: “Uhm…I’m kidding? It’s 60 degrees outside, and it feels like a refrigerator in here? Does it have to be this cold?”

Waitress: “Oh, hah-hah…got it! I don’t call the shots, the manager does.”

HE: “Would you mind asking the manager to turn up the thermostat?”

Waitress: “I’ll ask her.”

HE: “And if she refuses, do you have some blankets?”

With HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko, just before blowing out the candle.

In Peter Berg and Mark Wahlberg‘s Patriot’s Day, Melissa Benoist (a.k.a. Supergirl) plays Katherine Russell, the hijab-wearing wife of Boston bombing conspirator Tamerlan Tsarnaev (Themo Melikidze). Watch this trailer and tell me what the clip of Benoist refusing to provide info about whether there are more bombs stored or further acts of terror planned….tell me what this seems to convey about where Patriot’s Day is coming from. I’m sorry but suddenly this film, which should probably be re-titled Boston, Fuck Yeah!…suddenly it’s feeling like a kind of Donald J. Trump production. All along it’s felt like a rah-rah chant for the ever-vigilant Americans who will always be on the lookout (guys like Wahlberg’s Sgt. Tommy Saunders, an everyman cop) and will swiftly arrest and punish “the other”. Except now it seem as if Patriot’s Day is aimed right at the hearts of super-patriots like Steve Bannon, the alt-right Breitbart guy who was just hired as Trump’s senior White House counsel. Don’t misunderstand: Nobody felt more gratified than myself when the Boston authorities got the radical Boston bombing brothers, but I’m getting odious rightwing vibes from this film. Last Tuesday’s election has bled into this film and vice versa.

I have this thing about conservative blondes. Or I used to, I should say. The other day I heard from a certain rightwing lady I dallied with 12 or 13 years ago. She had written to wish me happy birthday, but she also quoted the Bible while letting me know she was happy about Donald Trump‘s victory. Our discussion quickly became contentious. I’m sorry but I saw red.

Rightwing blonde: “The wicked are overthrown and are not, but the house of the righteous shall stand. A man shall be commended according to his wisdom, but he that is of a perverse heart shall be despised.” — Proverbs, 12:19.
HE: Bible verses make me sick, no offense.
Rightwing blonde: “The lip of truth shall be established forever; but a lying tongue is but for a moment. Deceit is in the heart of them that imagine evil, but to the counselors of peace is joy.” — Proverbs, 12:20.
HE: You’re quoting the Bible while celebrating Trump’s victory?
Rightwing blonde: Of course. You choose hate and it’s sad. We the country chose [our President], like it or not!
HE: Cancer, heart attack, dementia…all of these or just one or two? As always, best wishes.
Rightwing blonde: The Devil is under my feet. You are powerless over me. I love my enemies but hate the sin!
HE: I sincerely hope that you meet your maker one day. Hey, wait a minute…you will!

I’m about to catch the latest digital restoration of Citizen Kane (4K, nitrate negative) at the Egyptian. Donald Trump is a big fan of Orson Welles‘ 1941 classic, and two days ago a Buzzfeed piece by Allison Willmore pointed out the similarities between Trump and Charles Foster Kane: (1) They both carved out their own empires with the help of family money, Trump in real estate and Kane in newspapers; (2) They both divorced twice, though Trump, unlike Kane, would marry a third time; (3) They both own cavernous Florida estates with fanciful names, Trump’s Mar-a-Lago and Kane’s Xanadu; and (4) when both run for office, it’s on a platform that stresses personality and pugnaciousness over policy.

John Madden, Jonathan Perera and Jessica Chastain‘s Miss Sloane (Europacorp/Film Nation, 11.25) is a moderately decent governmental potboiler. But it feels more like a cable series pilot than a theatrical stand-alone. A couple of critic friends were creaming over it — my reaction was more circumspect. It’s very plotty, very Aaron Sorkin-esque, very Newsroomy. Except the setting is a progressive D.C. lobbying firm instead of a Manhattan cable news station.

I’m presuming that women will like Chastain’s steely, take-no-prisoners samurai personality and maybe some guys, but it’s basically a two-hour pilot for a Showtime series about a ruthless but effective superwoman lobbyist who cuts through the bullshit and always aces her enemies, even though she has no life, pays for sex and takes pills to sleep (or is it to stay awake with?). But every week she wins.

Somebody really should pitch this — seriously. Brittle, tough-as-nails super-lobbyist who advocates for the right things and pisses off the male establishment. Tough shit, guys, but this lady will leave welts on your ass.

It’s definitely not Michael Clayton (which one critic friend compared it to), and it’s a whole different package than what Spotlight served or had in mind, and Chastain, trust me, played a much cooler character in Zero Dark Thirty. She’s basically playing Jeff Daniels in The Newsroom but with a different set of hang-ups and much hotter gams and a totally killer wardrobe. The presence of costars Sam Waterston and Allison Pill also reminded me of The Newsroom.

I always regarded Leon Russell in somewhat the same light as Doctor John, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Gregg Allman — southern blues rockers with raspy, gravelly voices and a grizzled, studly rock-star flamboyance. Born in Oklahoma, Russell broke into the music business as a session man in 1958, and then suddenly became a headliner around 12 years later. A friend who was a big blues aficionado back then always thought Russell was an inauthentic, egoistic poseur…really? That always sounded harsh to me. Russell peaked in the early to mid ’70s (“A Song For You,” Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour , and probably most famously when he sang his “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” and “Young Blood” medley at George Harrison‘s “The Concert for Bangladesh” (during which he and Harrison also sang harmony as Bob Dylan sang “Just Like A Woman”). Yes, he became an overweight Father Christmas figure with a huge, snow-white beard, but he kept on playing and playing. And now he’s gone — sorry. Condolences to friends and fans, due respect, etc.

If I had somehow appropriated Ethan Coen‘s witty, mordant humor and written his N.Y. Times “2016 Election Thank You Notes” piece myself, nearly the exact same article would have resulted. I would have, however, added four extra “thank you!”s to the eight Coen listed.

9. Low-information black voters who stopped Bernie Sanders’ momentum and more or less ensured Hillary Clinton’s victorious lead in the Democratic primary race. We can argue the reasons for Hillary’s dark electoral fate, but we now know for sure that losing was in the cards all along. Millions of us believe that Sanders, who caught on bigly because he spoke to the same working-class frustrations that Trump did, could have won in the end. (A Presidential race between two change candidates would have been tight, but I really think Bernie would have edged Trump out because of his obvious moral decency and intellectual superiority.) But his campaign died when southern African American voters shunned him at the polls. The reason was that they weren’t “all that familiar” with Sanders, and that they felt a natural kinship with Clinton because she’s associated with the liberal largesse of her husband’s administration. Nobody wanted to say that “aren’t all that familiar with” was code for (a) lazy, incurious, low-information attitudes and (b) a brilliant presumption that despite Sanders having gotten arrested for demonstrating for civil rights in the mid ’60s, a U.S. Senator from a mostly all-white state (i.e., Vermont) can’t be trusted to understand or respond to the concerns of black voters. Well done, fellas!

10. Jon Stewart for his refusal to launch his own Presidential campaign in the wake of his retirement from The Daily Show. Don’t kid yourself — the first serious Jewish presidential candidate would have beaten the pants off Trump. People don’t care if you’re a professional politician or not — they just want to vote for someone they like and trust and can relate to. Stewart is smart, passionate, personable, knows his stuff. If he’d had gone all-in, he could’ve done it. I’m not joking — he really could’ve saved us from a Trump presidency. But he decided to spend time with his kids instead. Final thought: Spending time with your kids at the breakfast table is well and good, but kids learn and grow by their parents’ example.

Hulu has all but deleted the little black girl’s allusion to female genitalia in last night’s SNL skit about kids discussing Donald Trump — i.e., “His name’s pussy.” What they kept in was “ussy.” (Not a typo — they cut out the “p” sound.) Here’s what the girl said in the actual skit. “[Trump] unleashed racism and xenophobia. We now must return to the dark ages of white presidents. Also my dad said that Donald Trump will stop and frisk my cat. We have a black cat. His name’s pussy.”