Final SBIFF Event…Shally!

7:35 pm: HE will drive back to Ojai this evening following the Timothee Chalamet interview/tribute (8 pm to 10 pm). I’ve enjoyed a warm, nourishing, profoundly soothing six days in Santa Barbara — thanks to HE’s own Roger Durling for the gracious and generous hospitality!

11:20 pm update — HE to guest moderator Josh Brolin: “The Brolin-Chalamet show was the greatest SBIFF interview hang EVER…hilarious, honest, surreal, liberating.

James Mangold called it ‘the Phil Donahue show’. I for one laughed and whooped my ass off. You were brilliant!! Your repeated jokes about Timothee’s green floral-print shirt were perfect, and when he left to take a leak…”that is art”…I almost fell out of my seat.

“In a way Mangold kind of brought everyone down with his par-for-the-course praisings. He was fine and eloquent, but you and Timmy were on a whole ‘nother level. You were on mescaline!”

Brolin replies to HE: “Jeffrey! So glad you had a nice time. I knew Timmy and I would [enjoy some] nice, real (if not quite mescaline-infused) banter. I was honored to do it.”

HE back to Brolin: “Not to mention Timmy lamenting the ticking of the clock at age 29 and the career pressure that comes with his being on the cusp of old guy-hood. Which will kick in, you remarked, when Timmy turns 31.’.

”This prompted you, of course, to joshingly imply resentment at this while announcing that your 57th birthday is imminent (actually today!…happy birthday!). Followed by Timmy and the entire Arlington audience singing the proverbial song…a truly joyful moment.

”The audience and I didn’t have a ‘nice’ time — we had a euphoric time. Last night will live in the SBIFF annals.

”I absolutely love that you sent your reply to my initial euphoric email at 4:10 am.

”Forgive me for not having not read ‘From Under The Truck’ yet. I meant to buy it after watching you talk about it on Joe Rogan.”

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Demi Moore’s Best Actress Sympathy Narrative Is Bunk

Bunk, I tell you! Don’t fall for it!

Scowly-faced Kris Tapley is basically asking “if Anora is locked in for Best Picture, why on earth would Mikey Madison not win the Best Actress Oscar?”

HE answer: I’ve said this two or three times but it has to be drilled in. Demi Moore is apparently going to win because SAG and AMPAS members have all accepted the narrative voiced by Moore after winning a Best Comedy/Musical Actress Golden Globe award five weeks ago (i.e., January 5th).

“Thirty years ago, I had a producer tell me that I was a ‘popcorn actress,’ and at that time, I [took] that to mean that…I could do movies that were successful and made a lot of money, but that I couldn’t be acknowledged, and I bought in and I believed that,” Moore said. “That corroded me over time, to the point where I thought a few years ago that maybe this was it, maybe I was complete, maybe I had done what I was supposed to do.

“And [just] as I was at kind of a low point, I had this magical, bold, courageous, out-of-the-box, absolutely bonkers script come across my desk called The Substance. And the universe told me that ‘you’re not done.’”

For the sixth or seventh time, Moore’s narrative is dishonest. She was not forced into a popcorn box by mean old Hollywood executives. She walked right into that box of her own volition, and she totally reaped the spoils (mainstream fame, huge paychecks, flush lifestyle) until she aged out. And then she pivoted into a body horror flick just like Bette Davis and Joan Crawford pivoted into hag horror in the early ’60s.

In the ’80s and ’90s Moore went for big, attention-getting, high-paying roles in mainstream films, and she became rich and famous from this. She chose this path while the choosing was good.

I’ve never read or heard that Moore tried to prove her arthouse mettle by appearing in edgy Sundance films, and she never tried to be in a critically-approved, Cannes-worthy, outside-the-box feminist statement film, and certainly not in a body-horror film.

She only took the lead in The Substance when she calculated that she’d aged out (duhhh) and a role like this was her only likely shot at revitalizing her career.

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“Brutalist” Pity Vote

Everyone knows by now that The Brutalist and Brady Corbet are finished as far as the Best Picture and Best Director Oscars are concerned…nice try, you’re not winning, maybe next time.

What this portends, unfortunately, is that the remaining Brutalist sympathizers will be voting to hand the Best Actor Oscar to Adrien Brody as a make-up.

This is a really misguided idea, of course, as the lead performances by Conclave’s Ralph Fiennes and A Complete Unknown Timothee Chalamet are far more transporting than Brody’s…please, c’mon.

In my book, Brody’s boo-hoo weeping scene at the bus station with Alessandro Nivola…this scene alone requires instant Oscar disqualification.

SBIFF Virtuosos Hoo-Hah Factor

SBIFF Virtuoso headliners, in alphabetical order: A Complete Unknown‘s Monica Barbaro, Emilia Perez‘s Selena Gomez, Wicked‘s Ariana Grande, Sing Sing‘s Clarence Maclin, Anora‘s Mikey Madison, September 5‘s John Magaro, I’m Still Here‘s Fernanda Torres, The Apprentice‘s Sebastian Stan.

I hereby apologize for expressing disappointment that A Real Pain‘s Kieran Culkin and Babygirl’s Harris Dickinson didn’t show up. I really wanted to sample Dickinson’s vibe, but another time. What was important was that SBIFF honcho Roger Durling managed to lasso eight seriously live-wire movie people — seven of them youngish and popping like well-oiled corn kernels over a flame, and the eighth (the attractively-seasoned Torres) was arguably the most ebullient of the lot.

The annual Virtuosos gathering is an elegant, time-honored showcase for this and that brand of talent and charisma, but it’s also a competitive event because when it’s over people always say “who won?” Well, nobody really knocked it out of the park but if you ask me the two standouts were Stan and Gomez.

Stan is currently shooting Fjord, a Romanian-language film for director Cristian Mungiu, and at one point moderator Dave Karger asked him to speak a little Romanian, and Stan passed with flying colors. Plus he amusingly dissected the coarseness and fraudulence of the Trump persona.

Gomez made a vivid impression because of her superior leg sculpture. Before last night I had never really thought of the Emilia Perez costar as a gal with great gams — now I can’t think of anything else.

Sidenote: Ariana Grande‘s Wicked performance as Glinda has landed a Best Supporting Actress nomination. In the film Grande’s wind-up-doll, pretty-in-pink mannerisms are offered as a satire of self-obsessed femininity, but last night….how do I say this tactfully?…she seemed to be playing Glinda as herself. (Or vice versa.) Grande is certainly not a “let it all hang out” fuck-all type. Her way of speaking, her body language…it’s all been carefully rehearsed.

Plus when Karger asked her to recommend a relatively unsung film for people to seek out and watch, Grande either (a) couldn’t come up with one or (b) chose not to for…I don’t know, possibly out of fear of sounding divisive or something. She said that people should watch “everything…all the movies” or words to that effect. She basically chickened out.

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Dental Effrontery

Before Sing Sing’s Clarence Maclin came along, was Flea the only famous guy to flaunt a toprow missing tooth? As a style statement, I mean.

We all understand that bad-teeth flaunting or calling attention to dental imperfections (a.k.a “grillz”) is a no-excuses, no-apologies Black cultural thing.

I guess what I’m really asking is if Flea is the only famous white guy to do the edgy gap-tooth. Would Adrien Brody be a leading Best Actor nominee if he had followed suit? How about Edward Norton?

Rainy, Chilly, Miserable

It’s nearly 8 pm on Thursday, 2.6, and the Ojai-Santa Barbara area has been radiating awful, rain-soaked misery all day long. Dampness at the break of noon, eclipses of both the sun and moon.

As a result I’m in a mostly foul, wrapped-scarf, huddled mood right now, but at least I have a third-row seat at the grand Arlington Theatre, and the big hoo-hah Ralph Fiennes tribute show is about to begin.

I did an interview with Fiennes for the N.Y. Daily News back in early ‘94 (or was it late ‘93?). The focus was his Oscar-touted performance as concentration camp commandant Amon Goeth in Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (‘93).

The title of my article was “The Reich Stuff”. Other journos have used the same expression, but my use of it was the first, I think.

Sitting on-stage with Scott Feinberg, Fiennes looks a tiny bit schlumpy…charmingly, I mean…legs crossed at the ankles, thick-soled comfort shoes, projecting a certain modesty but explicityly not trying to sell the theatrical conceit that he’s chatting with Feinberg in the least. Nearly every moment Fiennes, leaning forward intently, is addressing the Arlington audience.

Best Fiennes quote of the night (as of 9:07 pm): “I liked Julia Roberts [when we met around the time of Shakespeare in Love] — I don’t think she liked me.”

Will Mahershala Get Chomped?

Would that even be, like, allowed? You can’t eat Mahershala Ali — it’s just not done.

Friendo: “Wow, that Jurassic Park Rebirth trailer looks…kinda bad. They even repeat the scene from the first one when Sam Neill yells ‘Ian, freeze!’ at Jeff Goldblum when the big dino is behind him.

“I’m guessing Ali gets consumed. I know, I know, but he seems to have the Janet Leigh-in-Psycho role. Prominent but not too prominent. If he gets eaten the audience will go ‘Oh my God, the dino just ate an Oscar winner! Is anyone safe?!’ Plus ScarJo looks a bit ragged.”

In Hell Again

…due to a re-watch of The Brutalist. If I were to run into Brady Corbet on the streets of Ojai I wouldn’t take a poke at him — I’m a civilized human being — but I would probably give him a dirty look. Okay, I wouldn’t do that either — I would smile and go “hey!” and schmooze and whatnot. But I would hate myself for doing so.

Alienation Over “Freaky Friday”

Even before my movie journalism career launched in the late ‘70s, I always considered it vital to see films that had seriously impacted the culture, even if the general consensus was that they were shit.

So it means something, I think, that I never had the slightest interest in catching Disney’s Freaky Friday, a popular but allegedly pedestrian mother-daughter body-swap comedy, when it opened 22 years ago.

I regard women-friendly films of this type as cotton candy at best, and the costarring of Lindsay Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis seemed, in this context, like a formidable warning if not a flat-out repellent.

I therefore regard a 2.3.25 report that Cpt. Rebecca Lobach, who was killed on 1.29.25 when the Blackhawk helicopter she was co-piloting collided with an American Eagle commercial jet and caused the deaths of 64 passengers…reading that Lobach was a fanatical, repeat-watch fan of Freaky Friday is vaguely disappointing at the least, and kind of alienating, truth be told.

The 28-year-old Lobach was six or seven when Freaky Friday opened on 8.4.03. But her family kept re-watching it over and over and over, she later wrote. There’s no accounting for taste in films, needless to add.

A Comprehensive, No-Bullshit “Green Book” Saga

I’m thinking about writing a Hollywood book about the deranged and hysterical media war against Peter Farrelly’s Green Book (‘18), but also about something bigger and broader — how the Green Book maelstrom launched the not-fully-concluded era of the woke baddie-waddies —- the censorious, ultra-sensitive identity fanatics who all but suffocated the film business during the woke terror era (2016 to 2024).

With the winds currently shifting and woke mentalism beating a retreat like Napoleon out of Russia, it’s now okay, I’m thinking, to write a book that recounts an honest history about how extreme progressive scolds tried like hell to murder one of the gentlest and most unassuming stories (and a fact-based one at that) about racial reckonings and journeys of self-discovery ever created within the Hollywood realm, and yet how the pissheads couldn’t quite deliver the death blow.

A book (which Sasha Stone was going to co-write with me…now she feels that we’re too far apart on the Trump factor) about how the uglies tried to bludgeon a good, modest little film…how they did everything they could to kill its chances in the Oscar race, and how they wound up failing…tough shit, assholes!

A book about a now-seven-year-old film that didn’t mine as much as gently explore a relatively dark and indecent era in American culture as far as the racial divide was concerned, and yet a film that played its cards just so…deftly, I mean…a film that fair-minded movie lovers fell for and which wound up snagging a Best Picture Oscar.

I’m talking about a film that made Manohla Dargis, Spike Lee, Inkoo Kang, Richard Brody, David Ehrlich and a whole army of progressive haters see red…a movie that led to a thousand cursings and spit-takes.

I’m thinking of a book would examine on a deep-dish, inside-the-beltway basis the blow-by-blow wokester campaign to disembowel Green Book, starting with the big ecstatic debut at the Toronto Film Festival in September 2018 and ending with Peter Farrelly’s film taking the Best Picture Oscar on 2.24.19, not to mention Mahershala Ali snagging Best Supporting Actor (traitor!).

Augmented, of course, by the usual backstory and perspective reporting — (a) a history of previous takedown campaigns, (b) the eruption of pernicious wokeism itself in ’16 or 17 or thereabouts, (c) a history of the actual 1962 Green Book road trip, (d) a history of the Green Book project. and the various participants, how it all came together, the initial marketing, how the woke resistance formulated, and so on…whizzing bullet by whizzing bullet, grenade by grenade,

I’ve already written a good portion of this saga in Hollywood Elsewhere…I must have tapped out 10 or 12 adversarial columns at the very least.

And yet the hysteria that swirled around Green Book during the last four months of 2018 and the first two months of ‘19 is not a story many people know. [Sasha wrote the next three or four paragraphs.] You’d have to be on the inside of the insular bubble that the Oscars and Hollywood have become….a political climate that began with the emergence of this warm-hearted, crowd-pleasing flick about friendship and tolerance, and yet ironically resulted in one of the screenwriters being banned from the ceremony, the film’s director persecuted on phony sexual assault charges, one of the actors called a racist and a general upending of the way the Academy votes on Best Picture.

The shock of the 2016 Donald Trump election sent Hollywood reeling, but the combination of rising activism and woke ideology collided with old-fashioned storytelling to create a firestorm that the film awards industry still hasn’t recovered from.

The trouble began to brew the year after Trump won the presidency, when La La Land was deemed “racist” and lost to Moonlight. It intensified the following year when Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri was knocked out of completion because it, too, was deemed “racist.”

Green Book was the film that ignited a guerilla movement of woke scolding, instruction, obstruction and correction. 

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