It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that visual swing. Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson needed to gently illuminate the left side of the face of Social Network star Jesse Eisenberg with a small table lamp. If she was lucky she might’ve achieved an early ’70s Vittorio Storaro quality. I realize they were chatting at the notoriously dark Musso and Frank, but they’ve got all kinds of little lamps in there. It’s a pre-war place, been there since 1919.

I’m picking up little signals from my insect antennae that suggest things are shifting in the awards race. Things always shift, of course. Nothing is static. And I’m not saying I have better information that anyone else — far from it. But over the last 7 to 10 days little tingly intuitions have been telling me that (a) The Fighter is about to break out big-time, (b) The Social Network is in a kind of level holding pattern — it hasn’t dropped or gained but people keep saying it’s too temperamentally cool and there’s no one to root for (bullshit…root for the smart guy who knows exactly what he’s doing!), and (c) The Kids Are All Right is slowly slipping down the slope.

Or maybe the movement is elsewhere and I’m not getting a reading. So I’m asking — what allegedly award-worthy films have been dropping or gaining ever so slightly?

I’ve been talking to various people outside the journalist-industry loop over the last few days, and one of the things I’ve been hearing (and I’m not saying this to cause any grief) is “why are people so in love with The Kids Are All Right? It’s okay but it’s not that great. And I don’t get the Annette Bening thing either.” I explain to them that there’s a certain novelty and intrigue in wading into the life of a bright, somewhat neurotic, upper middle-class professional gay woman who’s dealing with what she regards as a serious threat to her family, and also that there’s an industry consensus that Bening has lost twice before and is therefore “due.” And they seem unmoved when I say this. Mostly they say, “Okay, but she’s just all right…what’s the boola-boola?”

All along I’ve been a sincere admirer of Tom Hooper‘s The King’s Speech as far as it goes. I regret to say that I’ve failed to fully define the meaning of those last five words in this context. Or at least, I haven’t defined it as well as New Yorker critic Anthony Lane has. Lane admires Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush‘s performances; he in fact calls them the film’s saving graces. But I defy any champion of The King’s Speech to read this 11.29 review and tell me it hasn’t affected their view of the film.

The Marrakech Film Festival (12.3 to 12.11), which I’ll be attending 75% of, is looking pretty damn good in terms of interview opportunities. I’ve been offered a shot at speaking with John Malkovich (jury chairman), Sigourney Weaver (doc jury chairman), possibly Martin Scorsese, Gael Garcia Bernal, Francis Coppola, Susan Sarandon, Eva Mendes, Luc & Jean-Pierre Dardenne, Harvey Keitel, James Caan, Charlotte Rampling and Alan Parker. A formidable group by any measure.

Cher‘s comeback is stillborn, apparently, and Christine Aquilera‘s film career is also dead on the tracks. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a stinker as obvious as Burlesque,” Marshall Fine posted this morning. “As a colleague and I noted afterward, it made us long for something as coherent and restrained as Showgirls. Or Glitter. Not that there’s all that much difference.

“Burlesque is Showgirls without the redemptively gratuitous sex and nudity. Or 42nd Street without the originality,” he adds. “The script is free of credible friction or jeopardy. The club shows look like post-Bob Fosse knock-offs. There’s nary a surprise to be had, except for Christine Aguilera’s apparent misconception that she has acting talent. And that’s not really so surprising.”

Other critics were chiming in on a recently launched awards-season chatroom.

“Thanks to Burlesque we now have the answer to the question ‘which film ended the film careers of both Christina Aguilera and Cher?,'” one guy said. “Holy FRACK…did anyone see Burlesque?,” another exclaimed. “Crossroads with Britney Spears was better, for God’s sake. ” “Yeah, I saw it,” a colleague commented, “in a screening room full of critics who were laughing out loud at every other line…except for the jokes.”

“I had a friend who was an insider at Screen Gems who told me months ago — I’m not making this up — that Clint Culpepper was gearing Burlesque up as their entry for the Oscars and wanting to get Cher another nomination…it was hard not to remember that as I watched that piece of crap.”

Another guy said, “Aaah, c’mon — Burlesque was fun. it’s totally disposable and derivative, sure. but it had some fun moments (mostly thanks to Cher and Stanley Tucci). I guess it’s the type of movie that critics love to savage regardless of whether or not it’s fun for what it is.”

In response to this a colleague wrote, “Stop it…stop it right now. It is not fun. It is pure torture aside from the unintentional laughter. How dare that movie be a full two hours filled up with absolutely nothing!?”

It was reported yesterday (but detected only a few hours ago by yours truly) that director George Hickenlooper accidentally offed himself “due to…mixing alcohol and painkillers,” according to an 11.22 story on Denver’s KDVR.com. An email received early this morning attributed his passing to “an overdose of ethanol and oxymorphone” killed him; a subsequent message claimed he died “of an overdose of alcohol mixed with a pain killer called Opana, which is a variation of Oxycontin.”

A 3.12.09 N.Y. Press story described Opana as “a powerful painkiller that went on the market less than two years ago [and] is twice as strong as OxyContin, with a potential for addiction that rivals the prescription drug that has ravaged the lives of thousands of abusers.”

I’m sorry but my reaction is one of disappointment. Mixing alcohol with any prescription downer is known the world over to be highly dangerous. If it turns out that Opana was in fact the substance George had in his system, how can the word “reckless” not apply to his mixing that and alcohol?

Hickenlooper was reportedly found dead in an apartment in or near downtown Denver on October 29. The world learned of his passing on Saturday, 10.30. (I had just returned from the mild-mannered Jon Stewart-Stephen Colbert rally in Washington, D.C.) In a statement Colorado governor-elect John Hickenlooper, George’s cousin, said he died of “apparent natural causes.”

Any film starring Matthew McConaughey is wearing a huge sign around its neck saying “watch it, caveat emptor, proceed at your own risk,” etc. That doesn’t mean The Lincoln Lawyer (Lionsgate, 3.18.11) is a problem, but how can you not feel wary? Marisa Tomei, John Leguizamo costarring. The director is Brad Furman, whose only previous feature is The Take (’07), which no one saw.

I’ve finally read John H. Richardson‘s Esquire interview with The Fighter costar Christian Bale, and it’s a real q & a wrestling match. Bale and Richardson argue, defy and challenge each other, shove and laugh and then argue some more. Bale hates the movie promotion-interview game, longs for a kind of invisibility, tries to switch roles and interview Richardson, etc. It reminded me of one of those New Journalism celebrity interviews that Esquire ran of the ’60s and ’70s. It’s good stuff.

My favorite part comes when Bale confesses to not liking musicals or romantic comedies. Not even the good ones. He not only hadn’t seen Bringing Up Baby when he spoke to Richardson — he hadn’t heard of it.

Richardson: ” So what’s with all the darkness and the miserable characters and the guilt?”

Bale: “What do you mean ‘the darkness’? What do you mean? Give me examples.

Richardson: “The Machinist.”

Bale: “All right, that’s an extreme example.”

Richardson: “I’ll say.”

Bale: “I don’t like to kinda look at any patterns in my movies. But I guess Harsh Times is kind of harsh. The New World. And the Batman movies. The Prestige. Rescue Dawn. 3:10 to Yuma. I’m Not There. Velvet Goldmine. I’m sure I’ve got some non-dark-guilt-ridden pieces.”

Richardson: “Newsies.”

Bale: “Newsies.”

Richardson: “But you were this singing, dancing, happy kid. What happened to you?”

Bale: “I’m still singing and dancing and happy. I just don’t like musicals, that’s all.”

Richardson: “Or romantic comedies, I hear.”

Bale: “I just don’t find them very romantic or funny much of the time.”

Richardson: “What about Bringing Up Baby?”

Bale: “Is that a movie?”

Richardson: “It’s Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn.”

Bale: “I don’t know it.”

Richardson: “The Philadelphia Story?”

Bale: “Never seen it.”

Richardson: “Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”

Bale: “Never seen it.”

Richardson: “Get the fuck outta here.”

Bale: “You’re not talking to a cinemaphile.”

Richardson: “But I bet you’ve seen Aguirre, the Wrath of God.”

Bale: “Yes.”

Richardson: “Blue Velvet?”

Bale: “Yes.”

Richardson: “What else?”

Bale: “I saw The Wild Bunch recently. I remember being rocked by Naked when that came out — and I hate the pretentiousness of that, referencing a Mike Leigh movie, but it really did fascinate me for some reason.”

Richardson: “It’s a very grungy movie.

Bale: “And Chris Farley was just phenomenal. Beverly Hills Ninja will always remain one of my tops.”

Richardson: “Now you’re lying.”

Bale: “I have watched that movie. One time I sat down and watched it two nights in a row, and cried with laughter both times. The guy just was a phenomenon, and is missed dearly in my household.”

Here’s Bale’s best extended reply to a “who are you?” question:

“I have to admit that yeah, it’s absolutely perverse, it’s contradictory, it sounds hypocritical, I like being invisible. ‘A fucking actor? Who says he wants to be invisible? Oh yeah, good choice, mate.’ But the point is, you do get to become invisible as an actor. And I know that much of that also comes from [his pitch keens high as he breaks into a mock lament] growing up, moving around, different towns, and all that kind of stuff, and then getting attention at a very young age when you’re not ready for it and you have responsibilities, financial responsibilities, stuff which other people don’t get until much later in life.

“So you go, ‘Man, wasn’t it great before all this happened? Back when I was eight years old and I could go shoplift and nobody knew who I was and I was invisible.’ You know? And what glory days those were, and how I lost ’em too early. You know?”

“You sure missed quite a show yesterday at Ronni Chasen’s funeral,” a friend wrote this morning. “Every hypocrite in Hollywood was there, claiming to have been her dearest pal. And check this pic of someone who didn’t get a seat at Ronni’s service, and who ended up standing around the edge but at least got his mug in this L.A. Times photo since photographers weren’t allowed any closer to the event and were forced to shoot the standees.”

The caption for this L.A. Times photo, which accompanies Nicole Sperling’s account of yesterday’s service, reads as follows: “Men mourn the loss of Hollywood publicist Ronni Chasen during her memorial service at the Hillside Memorial Park Cemetery in Fox Hills on Sunday.”