Paul Feig‘s Spy appears to be boilerplate Melissa McCarthy material splattered upon an old-fashioned espionage canvas. The Heat minus sisterhood element with perhaps a tiny bit more smarts and sophistication than Tammy, let’s say. The bit where McCarthy can’t handle the scooter with a roof and falls over…nothing. I really don’t want to see McCarthy wearing that awful older Midwestern woman curly-haired wig in too many scenes…please. The presence of Jude Law and especially Jason Statham = upgrade. Costarring Rose Byrne and Allison Janey. Directed and written by Feig. 20th Century Fox — opening 5.22.15.

Click here to jump past HE Sink-In

A couple of nights ago a journalist friend told me that the late, great Billy Wilder would have admired the hell out of Birdman. Because in a sense Wilder made a somewhat similar kind of comedy in One, Two, Three (’61), an acrid, fast-paced, crackerjack farce — faster than anything Wilder had ever done — that depended upon sustained manic energy start to finish, and at just the right pitch. It’s a widely admired film today (everyone loves James Cagney‘s spunky, self-satirizing performance) but critical reactions were mixed when it opened on 12.15.61, and One, Two, Three actually lost money. So risks don’t always pan out. Then again if you don’t take risks you’re not much of a director.

If you ask me Alejandro G. Inarritu is every bit as ballsy a filmmaker as Billy Wilder was. He surely knew that his ass was on the line when he began to shoot Birdman — another sustained high-wire act that had to come off just so. And if he didn’t know it, he had the late Mike Nichols to remind him. Inarritu had lunch with the legendary director a week before Birdman began filming, and when Inarritu told him about the no-cut visual strategy, Nichols said, “Alejandro, you are running to disaster…you should stop now.”

“Nichols was a wise guy and a [expletive] to tell me that one week before,” Inarritu told N.Y. Times reporter Melena Ryzik. “But I hugged him and said thank you. The best thing he told me was, ‘Alejandro, once you have it, do it faster.’ And he was right.”

Birdman has found more success than One, Two, Three, of course — high praise, Oscar contention, a decent box-office return. Sometimes risks pay off. And sometimes a change of pace works also. Before Birdman Inarritu was more or less regarded as Darkman — an explorer of random tragic fate in Amores perros, 21 Grams, Babel and Biutiful. Then something happened.

In a post-Golden Globes analysis piece (dated 1.12), Hollywood Reporter columnist Scott Feinberg states a general rule about musical scores, i.e., “The score you hear the most in a good film is usually the one that wins [awards]” Okay, then why didn’t Antonio Sanchez‘s all-percussion score for Birdman win last night instead of Johan Johannsson‘s score for The Theory of Everything? Johansson’s score swirls around the film and viewer alike, lifting both into state of simulated cosmic wonderment, and so you can understand why it won. But Sanchez’s all-drumming score is a visceral knockout, all jazzy and punching and popping like corn on a skillet, totally unlike any score….oh, wait, it’s not actually “music”, is it? And so it’s not really a “score.” And so a regular-sounding score with violins and a piano and a brass section is preferable. Feinberg’s amended rule: “The traditional musical score you hear the most in a good film is usually the one that wins awards.”

I’m basically a motorcycle/scooter rider anyway so I’m easily down with buying a three-wheeled, Sting Ray-sized Elio for only $7 grand and change. It’s basically a motorcycle with a hefty engine and many of the comforts of a car (two seats, heat and air conditioning, protection from rain, iPad/GPS screen, radio with auxiliary input), and a relatively light (1200 pounds), energy-efficient thing that security-minded women will avoid like the plague. (Celebrities and young mothers are the main reason why there are so many SUVs on the road — both groups are convinced that big fat tanks are safer, and that the sensation of “safety” they bring is more important than the environment.) If I join the 38,000 who’ve already taken the plunge I’ll have a new black Elio in my garage by late ’15, or so they’re saying. Sales will slow down after somebody gets killed in a freeway accident but until then it’ll be smooth sailing. I’m no more afraid of an accident in an Elio than I am of getting into an accident on the Yamaha. It’s simply a matter of identifying the idiots, drunks, 80something slowpokes and road-ragers before they can hurt me. On top of which I rarely drive on freeways, which is where the bad stuff usually happens. I’m serious — I’m buying one of these things.

Now that he’s President of the United States, Frank Underwood (Kevin Spacey) can’t figure out ways to keep his hands clean? I realize that sociopaths can’t escape their basic natures but isn’t it supposed to be a whole lot easier to avoid the mud and the blood when you’re in the Oval Office? Presumably Underwood’s sordid past (like the murder of Kate Mara‘s Zoe Barnes) will come back to haunt him and he’ll have no choice but to shut people up by any means necessary. I for one want Frank to stay in office. No impeachment, no resignation, no dark fate. I want him to transcend his bullshit and become a better man.

Last night’s HE’s own Leviathan won the Golden Globe award for Best Foreign Language Film…terrific. A nice boost in the minds of Oscar voters. But during the presentation, the off-screen announcer and Lupita Nyongo both flubbed the pronouncing of the title. They called it “LuhVEEyaTHON” rather than the correct “LuhVYathun” — the “vy” rhyming with eye. It’s not like Leviathan is some wildly exotic term that only scholars and academics use. Would it have killed Nyongo and the announcer to simply check online for the proper way to say it? Which would have taken…what, two minutes? They sounded like idiots, and Nyongo is college-educated and was raised by highly educated, professional-class parents. On top of which the announcer pronounced the last name of director Andrey Zvyagintsev as “VAHgintsev”– basic research would have revealed that Russians say “ZvYAHgintsev.” By the way, isn’t Pawel Pawlikowski‘s Ida pronounced “EYEdah” and not “EEdah,” as the GG announcer called it?

Some of the comments last night suggested that I should bring on a columnist who focuses entirely on TV and cable fare. And another who would post two or three times weekly on superhero-fanboy ComicCon cultural-genocide crap. I would do that in a heartbeat as that would broaden the readership, but finding somebody good enough to cover either of those realms means paying them a decent salary and I’m already splitting HE’s ad revenue with my ad guy as it is. And if they’re really good they always move on to the next gig within a year or so and then you have to find someone to take their place. And hardly anyone would be willing to keep up with the day-to-day like I do. It’s a huge pain in the ass. If someone just wanted to post on their own — frequently, I mean — and manage to generate ad revenue on their own, fine…but finding that person would be a needle-in-a-haystack procedure. I tried working with other columnists seven or eight years ago and it just didn’t seem worth it in the end. For better or worse HE is a one-man-band operation, I’m afraid. It’s not like I ignore TV-cable fare. I pay attention with some degree of regularity (The Leftovers, The Affair, House of Cards, Mad Men, etc.) Plus I write about other stuff in life (sobriety, women, travel, party elephants, shrieking girls in cafes). Plus I’ll be running GoPro footage in a month or two. I cover a wide swath.

I’m thinking in particular of Emmanuel Lubezski‘s hand-held photography in Terrence Malick‘s The Tree of Life…photography that swoops and glides and swirls and float-pans in dizzy circles and basically goes “oooh, wow…the wonder of nature and life and the whole quiet, gobsmacking symphony of it all!” Well, the GoPro footage in this 18 month old promotional video beats Lubezski’s stuff all to hell because it can get into and top of more places and POVs. The result, I think, of GoPro‘s constantly expanding visual realm is that Lubezki-like nature-encountering photography will lose (or has already lost) its lustre because no director of photography can beat the GoPro stuff — the “wow” element is totally unchallengable. Which leaves the aesthetic of the cinematographer as the only distinguishing characteristic that can possibly matter at the end of the day — restraint, particularity, focus, stillness, this or that form of transcendence, etc. Or good old, straight-on cinematography that tells a story without getting in the way.

The big surprise of the Golden Globe awards, of course, was Wes Anderson‘s The Grand Budapest Hotel taking the Best Motion Picture, Comedy/Musical award. Some had claimed it was surging; others sensed that it was. Bad for Birdman, you say? I don’t think so. I’ve always loved Budapest Hotel but I think the Hollywood Foreign Press just likes to go quirky and regional every so often and spread it around. A filmmaker friend, however, thinks that Budapest might be bouncing out of the GG awards and surging bigtime in the Oscar race, and that it might elbow Birdman aside.

(l. to .r) Grand Budapest Hotel guys Adrien Brody, Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson at the Fox Searchlight after-party.

Birdman director Alejandro G. Inarritu, director Rodrigo Garcia in the Birdman corner of the Fox Searchlight party.

8:00 pm: Boyhood wins Best Motion Picture, Drama. IFC Films’ Jonathan Sehring on the mike. Gang’s all up there. All in. All over.

7:56 pm: Theory of Everything‘s Eddie Redmayne wins Best Actor, Drama. Also expected. So who wins the Best Actor Oscar, Keaton or Redmayne? I’m just shutting the MacBook Air off now…battery down to 14%! Game over, man.

7:52 pm: Julianne Moore wins Best Actress GG award for Still Alice. Not a shocker, totally expected, etc.

7:46 pm: Shocker win for Grand Budapest Hotel…but very cool at the same time. Hooray for Wes Anderson and the gang. Easily the biggest upset of the night.

7:33 pm: Birdman‘s Michael Keaton wins for Best Actor, Comedy/Musical. “I’m extremely grateful.” I hate tapping this out on the damn phone. MacBook Air battery down to 23%.

7:28 pm: Ruth Wilson wins Best TV Actress award for The Affair. HE-approved.

7:24 pm: Boyhood‘s Richard Linklater wins for Best Director. That settles it — Boyhood wins for Best Motion Picture, Drama.

7:19 pm: George Clooney‘s acceptance speech for Cecil B. DeMille award will be…well-written. It was well-written! And well delivered. We all forgive him for Monuments Men. “Thanks for helping to keep small films alive.” “If you’re in this room, you’ve won the brass ring.” “We will not walk in fear…we won’t do it…je suis Charlie.” Hey, he didn’t pronounce it “SharLEE”!

The Golden Globe party tents (including the 20th Century Fox viewing tent, where I’m typing this from) are surrounded by a sea of mud. A couple of hundred yards from the main ballroom, if that, and it’s all gooey, sloshy, slithery muck. It’s warm and dry inside the Fox party…elegant design, not too crowded, only the coolest…uhm, the most aggressively cool people. Smiling waiters darting around with all kinds of hors d’oeuvres. Wait…the show is starting.

Red Army, BRAND: The Second Coming dp Svetlana Cvetko.

Hollywood Elsewhere is leaving for the heavily-fortified garrison state known as the Beverly Hilton complex about 65 minutes from now. I’ll be live-blogging the Golden Globe awards starting at 5 pm, or as best I can from a viewing-party cocktail table What are the biggest possible upsets? I would be totally on-the-floor flabbergasted if Wes Anderson‘s Grand Budapest Hotel takes the Best Motion Picture, Comedy/Musical award away from Birdman, which some are suggesting could happen. I don’t expect that Cake‘s Jennifer Aniston will abscond with Julianne Moore‘s Best Actress, Drama award for her performance in Still Alice, but if this happens people will scream and howl and break champagne glasses. Selma‘s fate is, of course, already set in stone as far as the Oscar nominations are concerned, but if it wins the Best Motion Picture, Drama award tonight (which I believe is unlikely) and if it lucks out with a Best Picture Oscar nomination next Thursday morning (and the signs are not good for that either), people will start saying that Selma‘s shadow-over-LBJ stigma (i.e., having screwed the 36th President out of his proudest accomplishment in the eyes of impressionable none-too-brights who wouldn’t open a history book or consult a Wikipedia summary if their lives depended on it) has been lifted.