The new Criterion Bluray of John Frankenheimer‘s The Manchurian Candidate (’62) is 90% to 95% glorious. Lionel Lindon‘s black-and-white cinematography has never looked so rich and crisp and fully harvested. Time and again as I sat on a footstool in front of the Sony 65″ 4K I was going “wow…wow!” And yet the other 5% to 10%, oddly, looks soft or fuzzy at times. Lindon’s work, I mean — shots with soft-focus foregrounds in favor of sharp backgrounds. Odd. Weak tea. I guess I never realized how underwhelming this 5% to 10% looks because for the first time the other 90% looks so stand-out great. Smooth and detailed, serious celluloid textures but clean as a hound’s tooth.

Richard Tanne‘s Southside With You is basically a Barack and Michelle getting-to-know-you thing in the vein of Richard Linklater‘s Before Sunrise. I missed it during Sundance (I’m gifted at this) but that was how everyone was describing it. A smart, engaging piece that you could call a form of soft-sell propaganda if you want to be dickish about it. You can tell right off the top that Parker Sawyers and Tika Sumpter are poised and confident as well as convincing stand-ins; you can also tell it’s charmingly well written. Miramax and Roadside are partnering on an 8.19.16 release.

I’ll eventually get used to all the menu and sub-menu options and finicky calibrations and togglings that you have to suss when you get a Sony 65″ Black Ultra HD 4K LED 3D HDTV XBR-65X850C, but I have to be honest and say that I kind of liked the Samsung 65″ 4K (i.e., the one I just returned) a little better. There seem to be too many visual variables on the Sony, and for whatever reason I was unable to find picture quality that I really liked 100% when I was testing it last night with the Criterion Graduate Bluray. It either looked too vivid, not vivid enough, too yellowish, too grainy, too murky, overly bright or too smooth. I never had any picture issues with the Samsung — I only dumped it because it didn’t have HDR (high dynamic range). It’s always something.

I’m pretty sure this was taken in the late summer of ’99. Outside the Bruin theatre before a screening. Myself, David Poland, the late Marvin Antonowksy. I was at Reel.com and working at the time on a streaming movie-talk discussion show of some kind, which was a ridiculous concept as most of the world was grappling with 56K speeds at that point. And yet one of the greatest ever movie years was unfolding as we spoke…glorious. And we were all 17 years younger.

Depending on how you gauge things Joel and Ethan Coen‘s Hail, Caesar!, which nobody liked all that much, was either a bust or at best a break-evener — cost $22 million to produce, earned $53 million worldwide. Then I checked local listings and was shocked to find it’s still playing here and there — Sundance Sunset, Arclight, Landmark. It’ll be hitting Bluray/streaming sometime in June, apparently.

It was on my mind because I listened this morning to a great little Karina Longworth podcast about the real Eddie Mannix, the MGM fixer who’s played by Josh Brolin in the film. Mannix was scuzzy, all right, and no saint, but he kept the MGM image clean by keeping things private, finessing the authorities, making payoffs, etc. I never bought into the idea that Mannix may have had something to do with the death of George Reeves, but Longworth sounds half-convinced.

Yesterday a former film critic who for some left-field reason has requested anonymity posted the following on Facebook: “Just want to remind everyone: If you ever run into an actor, writer, singer or whatever [whom] you don’t know and ask for a picture with them, you’re being, no matter how well-intentioned, a horrible person who turns strangers into props for the sad validation of their grim insecurity. And if you ‘have to do it for work,’ quit that job.”

Autographed scripts of John Logan’s Any Given Sunday and Robert Towne’s Chinatown. I got everyone to sign the Logan script during an Any Given Sunday junket in ’98, and the Towne script at a 20th anniversary Chinatown gathering at LACMA in ’94.

I’ve never asked any celebrity for a selfie in my life, and I never will. And I’ve only asked for autographs twice, and that was to sign screenplays at an invitational event. Autographs are much more intimate than selfies. A signature is so personal and expressive while a selfie smile is just a mask.

I have to admit that when I got out the Any Given Sunday screenplay this morning and saw that I’d gotten Cameron Diaz‘s signature, I smiled. It felt good. But selfies are grotesque.

Before last night i had never paid to read a National Review article, but I took the plunge when I heard about Kevin Williamson‘s “The Father Fuhrer“, which posted last weekend and is contained with an issue dated 3.28. The piece caused a bit of a ruckus in conservative circles for saying that the rural under-educated whites who worship Donald Trump are basically trash and that their downmarket communities are “vicious and “selfish” and deserve to die.

This is why I paid to read it — I wanted to wade into the words of a presumed conservative who despises submental rurals as much as I do.

Here’s the passage that everyone was talking about yesterday: “It is immoral because it perpetuates a lie: that the white working class that finds itself attracted to Trump has been victimized by outside forces. It hasn’t. The white middle class may like the idea of Trump as a giant pulsing humanoid middle finger held up in the face of the Cathedral, they may sing hymns to Trump the destroyer and whisper darkly about ‘globalists’ and — odious, stupid term — ‘the Establishment,’ but nobody did this to them. They failed themselves.

“If you spend time in hardscrabble, white upstate New York, or eastern Kentucky, or my own native West Texas, and you take an honest look at the welfare dependency, the drug and alcohol addiction, the family anarchy — which is to say, the whelping of human children with all the respect and wisdom of a stray dog — you will come to an awful realization.

Hollywood Elsewhere will be smack dab in the middle of Vietnam (specifically somewhere between Dong Hoi and Hue) when local second-tier journos have their all-media looksee at Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice on Tuesday, 3.22. Like I said before, I’m cool with this. I’ll catch this Warner Bros. release when I return on 3.28, by which time its fate will be sealed so what do I care?

Too many respected critics who’ve seen Richard Linklater‘s Everybody Wants Some (Paramount, 4.1) at South by Southwest have given it strong thumbs-up reactions (RT 93%, Metacritic 85%) so it’s looking like my previously voiced concerns or suspicions about SXSW “ether” may not have been warranted.

I’m told by a reliable source that the One-Eyed Jacks restoration, which began last fall under the aegis of Universal and Martin Scorsese‘s The Film Foundation, will be completed “sometime in April.” And yet the classic Marlon Brando western will not have its first-time-anywhere screening at the TCM Classic Film Festival (4.28 thru 5.1), which is generally regarded as a prized destination for recently restored classic films.

The source states that while Jacks “will not premiere at TCM, it should have its first theatrical viewings “in late spring and/or early summer.” The Jacks Bluray, he says, will “more than likely not be coming out until early fall after a series of screenings that are currently being planned in conjunction with TFF.”

My guess (and it’s only a guess) is that One-Eyed Jacks might have its big premiere at the Cannes Film Festival, which kicks off two months hence. I’m figuring that with Scorsese expected to be in Cannes for the world premiere of Silence, which I’ve heard is a likely festival pick, it would make sense for him to also introduce and bring attention to Jacks. A Cannes debut would obviously result in a bigger, broader journalistic impression than a showing at TCM, which is basically a gray-haired film buff event that only resonates nationally.

Another suspicion is that the restored Jacks might have some kind of special screening at the 2016 Toronto Film Festival, at which Silence may possibly be shown.

A partial rundown for the 7th annual Turner Classic Movies Film Festival (4.28 to 5.1) was unveiled today. I always look for first-time-ever screenings of recently restored films that haven’t hit Bluray or streaming, but somehow seeing a 25th anniversary restored version of John Singleton‘s Boyz in The Hood doesn’t exactly tingle the blood. I was also hoping for a screening of the nearly-completed restoration of Marlon Brando‘s One-Eyed Jacks, but that’s not in the cards.

For me the only announced festival attraction that excites so far is a special presentation of Jack Cardiff and Mike Todd, Jr.‘s Scent of Mystery (a.k.a. Holiday in Spain), which will be presented at the Cinerama Dome in “Smell-O-Vision.”

What could have motivated the highly respected Jack Cardiff to direct this thing? (Besides money, I mean.) The costars are a remarkably young-looking Denholm Elliott (he was 37 during filming) and a bloated Peter Lorre. A foxy, bikini-wearing Diana Dors has a marginal role. Elizabeth Taylor (i.e., widow of the deceased Mike Todd, Sr. and therefore the producer’s mother-in-law) isn’t in the trailer, but she makes an uncredited cameo appearance.

Wiki page summary: “Scent of Mystery was developed specifically with Smell-O-Vision in mind. Although Scent was not the first film to be accompanied by aromas, it was the most technologically advanced. Todd, son of the late Mike Todd, engaged in such hyperbole as ‘I hope it’s the kind of picture they call a scentsation!’ He also got help from newspaper columnists such as Earl Wilson, who lauded the system, saying Smell-O-Vision ‘can produce anything from skunk to perfume, and remove it instantly.’ New York Times writer Richard Nason believed it might be a major advance in filmmaking. As such, expectations were high.

“Scent opened in three specially equipped theaters in February, 1960 — in New York City, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Unfortunately, the mechanism did not work properly. According to Variety, aromas were released with a distracting hissing noise and audience members in the balcony complained that the scents reached them several seconds after the action was shown on the screen. In other parts of the theater, the odors were too faint, causing audience members to sniff loudly in an attempt to catch the scent.

In my glowing review of Bob Nelson‘s The Confirmation (Saban, 3.18) I wondered why it didn’t play at the 2016 Sundance Film Festival. The absence in Park City made no sense. Either Saban didn’t submit it, I figured, or they did and it was turned down, which is nuts as it’s obviously good enough to have made the cut. Well, guess what? I just finished doing a phoner with Nelson, who’s here in Los Angeles for interviews plus tomorrow night’s premiere screening, and he says, believe it or not, that Sundance programmers saw it and passed.

I’m sorry but ixnaying a film as good as The Confirmation is absurd, especially when you consider that Sundance is obliged to screen a certain number of films each year that one could describe as mezzo-mezzo or mediocre. It’s inevitable. So a film like The Confirmation comes along, a film that definitely works and coheres and holds water and all the other superlatives of a B-plus or A-minus film, and Sundance says no? There’s really no excuse.