Criterion’s Bluray of Wim Wenders‘ The American Friend (’77), which was announced today, will be presented within a 1.66:1 aspect ratio, which is how it was projected at the New York Film Festival a little more than 38 years ago. The American Friend “is one of those films that I wanted to literally move into,” I wrote last year. The gloomy Hamburg realm was, at the time, a reflection of my own personal weltschmerz and vice versa. It inspired me to pitch a column to a couple of publications called ‘Hollywood Weltschmerz.’ I was (and perhaps on level I still am) Dennis Hopper taking polaroid photos of himself while lying on a pool table. In late ’77 or early ’78 I tried to figure a way to paste my face onto Bruno Ganz‘s in that famous poster, but I couldn’t get it right.”

I’ve heard second-hand poop from a guy who’s seen Angelina Jolie‘s By The Sea (Universal, 11.13), which will open AFI Fest on 11.5. It’s been described as “an old-fashioned European art film” and, the source added, a good one in that vein. But now Jolie is describing it as a grief movie about her mother. I’m telling you right now that bummed out feelings are not, in and of themselves, anyone’s idea of compelling subject matter for a film.

I’m saying this having just struggled through Reed Morano‘s Meadowland, another grief movie. Nobody can tell me much about downish mood pits, trust me, and I sure as hell don’t want to sit through a film that tries to soak me in someone else’s quicksand. Thanks but nope.

In a new Vogue interview, it’s said that Jolie “wanted to explore bereavement — how different people respond to it. She set the action in the ’70s, when her mother was in her vibrant 20s, and began simply with a husband and wife. She gave them a history of grief, put them in a car, and drove them to a seaside hotel to see how the pair — Roland, a novelist with a red typewriter, and Vanessa, a former dancer with boxes of clothes and hats — attend to their pain. Vanessa is frail, tortured, hemmed in. She feeds her mourning a diet of pills and suicidal fantasies. Roland is defeated by the seclusion of her anguish, and drinks. And so it goes on until innocent newlyweds move in next door…”

You know and I know that the only Danish Girl performance that anyone has spoken about since Toronto is Alicia Vikander‘s supporting turn as Gerda Wegener, i.e. Mrs. Eddie Redmayne. Vikander vs. Carol‘s Rooney Mara, Youth‘s Jane Fonda, Love & Mercy‘s Elizabeth Banks and (if you ask me) Spotlight‘s Rachel McAdams. In the Best Actress rundown I still say Joy‘s Jennifer Lawrence, Suffragette‘s Carey Mulligan, Room‘s Brie Larson, Brooklyn‘s Saoirse Ronan and Truth/Carol‘s Cate Blanchett. Update: I didn’t mean Redmayne is out-out. It’s entirely possible he’ll land a Best Actor nomination, but a win will never happen.

“I always enjoy Bond movies but of course they are daft, and you need very intelligent actors to play them with just the right twinkle in the eye.” — The Guardian‘s Peter Bradshaw in a 10.16 post.

They weren’t always this way. Bond films didn’t start sipping the crazy water until Goldfinger. The first two, Dr. No and From Russia With Love, were tongue-in-cheeky with a light, self-amused attitude, but they didn’t stand on a rooftop and shout “look how batshit ludicrous we can be!” That attitude started to creep in with Goldfinger, gained traction with Thunderball and then went full-tilt boogie with You Only Live Twice.

Back to Bradshaw: “But the promotional machine insists that these intelligent people pretend to be glassy-eyed devotees in the cult of Bond and all its luxury-brand sponsors, for the benefit of journalists and hype-merchants who are themselves pretending. Perhaps the Bond cast will just freak out, en masse, on the red carpet and start screaming their hatred of Bond — like 12-year-old piano prodigies forced to practice 17 hours a day who end up deliberately smashing their fingers in a car door.”

It was obvious from the Toronto get-go that Marc Abraham‘s I Saw The Light, the latest biopic about a self-destructive musical genius, wouldn’t be cutting the award-season mustard. I called it a “mostly downish, spotty and not very enjoyable Hanks Williams biopic,” and a majority of the critical community — 69% if you apply a reverse Rotten Tomatoes subtraction — agreed that it was less than essential viewing. So it’s no surprise that Sony Pictures Classics has decided to bump I Saw The Light from a previously slated (and costly) 11.28 opening to 3.25.16 — the elephant’s graveyard. SPC Co-President Tom Bernard has told Deadline‘s Pete Hammond they were “happy” with the reception the film received at TIFF and that this “wasn’t a factor” in shifting the date. If you want to believe that, go right ahead.

I swear to God, time and eternity that the two finest openers this weekend are James Vanderbilt‘s Truth (Sony Pictures Classics) and Cary Fukunaga‘s Beasts of No Nation (Netflix + select theatrical)…far and away, no question, irrefutable. The educated 40-plus audiences who are thinking about seeing Steven Spielberg‘s Bridge of Spies really need to rethink this — Truth is way more stirring and far less familiar for the cultured cineaste. (With Spielberg and Tom Hanks working together again for the fourth time, you’re going to get “familiar” — trust me.) If you want to see Room you’re going to do that…fine. And if you’re looking to savor one of the most beautifully designed horror flicks of this century, you’ll have to catch Crimson Peak. But the two best openers are the two best openers — plain fact, I don’t lie.

Do you speak Room? Has Room lifted your heart or at the very least parted your waters? After seeing Room did you climb to the nearest rooftop in order to sing and shout for Brie Larson‘s all-but-certain Best Actress nomination? With A24 proudly releasing it today the Room Brigade, composed of journalists and industry folk who saw Lenny Abrahamson‘s film in Telluride or Toronto or in recent local screenings, will either acquire new believers this weekend or it won’t. I’m presuming that it will as Room has seemingly struck some kind of chord. Bigger than me, bigger than Hollywood Elsewhere. Who am I to stand in the way or talk shit?

I’ve declared once or twice over the last couple of weeks that I’m out of the Room discussion. I have no dog in it, no stake, nothing to prove or lose. Room will do what it will do. I only know I’m unable to connect with it save for a certain admiration for young Jacob Tremblay‘s performance (i.e., he makes the final scene work), and my attitude is basically that of Han Solo on a Millenium Falcon cruise through the solar system….”watch this!”

Han looks left as he passes by Planet Room, an ecstatic world filled with deeply moved, maternally-inspired women and feminized male critics. He can feel the passion and the delight and celebration below, but he knows this planet is not for him so he pushes on.

Han looks to his right as he passes by Planet Bridge of Spies, and again he shakes his head and goes, “A smart, decent film, okay, but a Best Picture nominee? And all because of Lou Lumenick and other guys in his corner of the room.” When Chewbecca hears the name “Lumenick” he goes “oowwwwgghhhrrrr!”

“Audacious, clever, entertaining, smart, harrowing. It’s the economy, stupid! Pic explains how a few guys brought the global economy to its knees in 2008. Carrel and Bale are great in leading character roles. One of the more praiseworthy films in a season of terrific movies. Which is not to say it will get Oscar noms.” — Another guy who attended last night’s DGA screening of The Big Short.

A screenwriter friend has flipped for Adam McKay‘s The Big Short (Paramount, 12.11), which screened tonight at the DGA for friends of the filmmakers, various industry types and select press. Based on Michael Lewis‘s 2010 book “The Big Short: Inside The Doomsday Machine,” it’s about guys who figured out what the big predators were doing — the wolves who created the conditions that led to the housing and credit bubble meltdown of ’08 — and profited by it. “It’s a 9 or a 9.5…a very strong film, full of energy, breaks the fourth wall…totally adrenalized and extraordinarily entertaining” the screenwriter says. “It’s going to upset the apple cart. It’s definitely Best Picture material, and Steve Carell, for sure, is the stand-out…the Oscar nominee. They’re all supporting but Carell’s is the most satisfying performance — he’s jaw-droppingly good. Ryan Gosling is Gordon Gekko, Christian Bale is a kind of financial idiot savant, and Brad Pitt has a fairly small role. I was a big fan. It’s not a comedy but it has a sense of humor…it’s as comedic as House of Cards, put it that way.” The after-party was held (where else?) at the Chateau Marmont.

Singer, dancer, choreographer and director Alan Weeks, who made his big-screen mark as Willie the drug dealer in a memorable first-act scene in The French Connection and particularly for being racially harassed by Gene Hackman‘s Popeye Doyle for “picking your feet in Poughkeepsie,” has died at age 67. Weeks ironically taught theater in Poughkeepsie in the latter stages of his career; he also directed productions for the Capital Repertory Theater in Albany. Weeks had spent the last 30 years as a performer and educator in the Albany region, according to a Times Union obit. Weeks had lived in Rensselaer County since 1985. He had a featured role in Barbara Streisand‘s original 1964 Broadway production of Funny Girl at the Winter Garden. Weeks later performed in The Wiz and Ain’t Misbehavin’. He also directed and choreographed 1992’s The High Rollers Social and Pleasure Club.

Joan Leslie, James Cagney’s romantic costar in Yankee Doodle Dandy, passed three days ago in Los Angeles. She was 90. Condolences to family, friends, fans. Leslie was a plucky, likable second-lead type who could cry on cue. Her career peaked for two years due to (a) a small role in Raoul Walsh‘s High Sierra, and (b) two lead roles that followed — Gracie Williams, the fiance of Gary Cooper‘s Alvin York, in Howard Hawks‘ Sergeant York (’41) and Mary Cohan, the singing girlfriend and then wife of Cagney’s George M. Cohan in that nominee for the 1942 Best Picture Oscar, which was directed by Michael Curtiz. Honestly? I only remember Leslie from Yankee Doodle Dandy. I remember that Cooper’s mother was played by Margaret Wycherly (a.k.a., Ma Jarrett in White Heat) but I don’t remember Leslie, and I swear to God the only actress I remember from High Sierra is Ida Lupino.

36 and 1/2 years ago Saturday Night Live fans saw a musical skit called “Bend Over, Chuck Berry.” Season 4, episode 17 — 4.14.79. I don’t recall that this skit was included in the SNL 40th Anniversary Special that aired last February. It’s understandable if it wasn’t used because it’s obviously politically incorrect by today’s standards. It made fun of gays and gay culture as well as The Village People, who were riding high back then. But it was really about the horror that was late ’70s disco music. It was about the love that SNL writers felt for real rock ‘n’ roll and how much they despised the shit they had to listen to when they visited Studio 54. “Bend over, Chuck Berry / Put your guitar away / ‘Cause they’re playin’ disco music / From New York to L.A. / Take a look around you / There’s no more rock and roll today / So bend over, Chuck Berry / Disco is here to stay.” Don’t kid yourself — gay urban men were virtually required to worship disco back then, and in my eyes that made them the aesthetic enemy. In ’78 or thereabouts I owned a T-shirt that said “Death to Disco.”