Randall Miller‘s CBGB will be viewable starting tomorrow on DirecTV Video on Demand. “There were two kinds of people who caught shows at CBGB,” I wrote on 4.29. “The first kind looked at the ‘CBGB and OMFUG’ sign and said, ‘Yeah, sure…stands for Country Bluegrass Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers.’ Which is what Kristal had in mind when he created the acronym. The second kind just went with the sound of CBGB and presumed that OMFUG was a uniquely New York mantra that combined the meditative ‘ohhhhm’ with FUG, which naturally associates with The Fugs (Tuli Kupferberg, Ed Sanders, “I couldn’t get high, oh no no!”).

If that Radar story is true about Jack Nicholson having quietly retired from acting because his ability to memorize lines has gone south, there’s a simple solution. Idiot cards. The entire second half of Marlon Brando‘s career was helped along by them. Brando didn’t have memory issues — he just couldn’t be bothered to memorize lines so he scrawled his dialogue on cards and taped them here and there on the walls of the set and just read his lines. This didn’t seem to damage his career all that much so why can’t Nicholson do the same? Plus he could use digital earbud prompters. Jack can’t retire. Retirement is death. It’s a way of saying to yourself and your community and God, “I’m done, the joy is over…now I’m just waiting for it.”

I’ve been TIFFing it for three or four hours now. Hangin’ at the Hyatt. All credentialed up and moved in. Porter flight from Newark was smooth and uneventful. Surfing, doodling, tapping stuff out for the last three, four hours. Nothing. Homework and research tonight. Figure out the next three, four days. A lot of invites to gala screenings, parties, etc. Play it conversative tonight, take it easy, prepare.

Three months ago I posted the following about Brad Furman‘s Runner Runner (20th Century Fox, 10.4), which has posted a new trailer: “This is basically Oliver Stone‘s Wall Street (’87) meets Ben Younger‘s Boiler Room (00) + Robert Luketic‘s 21 (’08). It’s Justin Timberlake as Charlie Sheen/Bud Fox and Ben “Batfleck” Affleck as Michael Douglas/Gordon Gekko, more or less. Furman’s The Lincoln Lawyer (’11) was sturdy and satisfying, but we’ve definitely seen Runner Runner before.”

Nothing whets my cinematic appetite like the prospect of hanging with a grossly pot-bellied 60something Norwegian guy with hairy flabby breasts. From the TIFF program notes: “A corrosive look at contemporary Norwegian society, Lars Daniel Krutzkoff Jacobsen‘s The Immoral may be one of the funniest, most provocative comedies you’ll see this year. Cutting across class lines and rampaging through notions of good taste, it sketches a harsh portrait of a society completely dominated by unleashed, insatiable ids.” On top of which Jacobsen has one more name than Short Term 12‘s Daniel Destin Cretton.

This video clip was taken on Pulaski Street in Brooklyn’s Bedford-Stuyvesant district around 11:15 pm last night. You work hard, you’re starting to wind down, maybe crash around midnight…actually, no. Because there’s a free “concert” going on outside, put on by a local entrepenuer who wants to someday be a professional deejay and is probably figuring he needs a little practice. Earlier in the evening I walked by this guy and his heavily-amped speaker system, which was mounted on a wooden table. Tallish, 16 or 17, beefy, pot belly. Backwards baseball cap, T-shirt, long shorts, basketball shoes..the usual outfit. Remember the good old days in the ’70s and ’80s when ghetto blasters provided endless musical merriment in all the parks?

Nobody remembers or cares about John Avildsen’s Neighbors (’81), a John Belushi vs. Dan Aykroyd comedy which played fast and loose (to put it mildly) with Thomas Berger’s same-titled novel, described on the Wikipage as “a satire of manners and suburbia, and a comment on emotional alienation with echoes of the works of Franz Kafka.” Everyone called it lowbrow and not that funny. But compare the tone of the trailers for the Avildsen vs. the upcoming Nicholas Stoller film with Seth Rogen, Zac Effron and Rose Byrne. The former almost seems like an Ernst Lubitsch film compared to the newbie, which seems like a metaphor for the downmarket mongrelization of mainstream comedy.

Variety‘s Peter Debruge has gone apeshit for Ron Howard‘s Rush, which will have its big debut at the Toronto Film Festival. “Too often Howard has played it safe, but here his choices are anything but obvious. He embraces the power of music to heighten the experience, but goes the opposite direction that one might expect with it, using Hans Zimmer’s cello-driven score to steer things to a deeper place. The same goes for the story itself: Who else would have imagined Formula 1 as an appropriate conduit for existential self-examination? And yet, you’ve seldom felt more alive in a movie theater than you will experiencing Rush.”

Because I live in a right-brain flotation fog, I have an annual tradition of leaving my passport at home when I leave for Telluride. Who needs a passport for Colorado, right? I don’t consider that I’ll be flying directly to New York and then Toronto hours after returning from Telluride, etc. So I had a friend send my passport to my son’s place in Brooklyn for pickup today. But the Labor Day holiday allowed for only an 8:30 am drop-off on Wednesday, which doesn’t work since tomorrow’s Toronto flight leaves from Newark at 11:10 am. But I was saved when FedEx screwed up and forgot to send the passport, so they offered to put it on a commercial flight today and deliver it in Brooklyn by 10:30 or 11 pm tonight. So all’s well. I slept 90 minutes on the red-eye so I took a nap this afternoon, and now I have a date with…uhm, a film at 6 pm.

Taken from a fifth-floor Airbnb rental at 515 West 48th, just off Tenth Avenue.

Snapped last night from a backyard patio on Sandy Cape Drive, Pacific Palisades, where I had dinner during a seven-hour stopover in Los Angeles after flying back from Telluride.

This week Sony will begin liberally screening Paul Greengrass‘s Captain Phillips (10.13), and not just for elite NY and LA press, I’m told, but also regional critics. Five weeks out that means one thing: Sony is very confident they have a winner. It also means they want the word-of-mouth circulating and building during the Toronto Film Festival and particularly during the lead-up to the film’s 9.27 New York Film Festival debut. Captain Phillips has been produced by Scott Rudin, Dana Brunetti and Michael De Luca. Pic is rated PG-13 and runs 2 hours and 14 minutes, or the same length as 12 Years A Slave.