I didn’t attend the Cannes Film Festival midnight screening of the 4K remaster of Stanley Kubrick‘s The Shining. I heard something about it possibly containing that deleted hospital room scene between Shelley Duvall and Barry Nelson (which I saw 39 years ago at the Warner Bros. screening room in Manhattan), but I guess not. It was drawn from a new 4K scan of the original 35mm camera negative. The mastering was done at Warner Bros. Motion Picture Imaging. The color grading was done by Janet Wilson with supervision from Kubrick’s former personal assistant Leon Vitali. The 4K disc pops on 10.1. I wouldn’t mind owning it, but the Bluray has always looked fine. I’d like to believe the 4K will deliver a bump, but I don’t think it will.
The Apocalypse Now: Final Cut multi-disc box set arrived today — six discs, two of them in 4K (Final Cut, Redux plus the original 1979 version) and four in Bluray format (all three versions plus George Hickenlooper, Fax Bahr and Eleanor Coppola‘s Hearts of Darkness plus an extras disc).
On my 65-inch Sony 4K HDR Apocalypse Now: Final Cut looks and sounds magnificent — better, if you ask me, than when I caught it on 7.25 at the Playa Vista IMAX facility. I’m very, very happy that I finally have this spiffy new version in my possession. Start to finish it looks delicious, like dessert.
But I have to be honest and admit something else. I wasn’t able to watch Apocalypse Now: Final Cut in 4K. I was forced to watch the Bluray version because the 4K disc wouldn’t play. I tried playing the alternative 4K disc (the one containing the original theatrical cut plus Redux) and that wouldn’t play either. “Cannot play this disc,” the Samsung 4K Bluray player announced. “The disc does not meet the specifications.”
I popped in my 2001: A Space Odyssey 4K disc, and it played without issue. I also played my 4K Revenant disc — not a problem. Then I called Samsung customer support to make sure that the player contains the latest firmware update, which was issued in April 2018. It’s up to date, the guy said. “Is there anything I can possibly do to enable this disc to play?” I asked. No, I was told. But the fault is almost certainly not in your player.
I can’t understand what’s wrong. I’d really like to watch Final Cut in 4K, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I wish this hadn’t happened. But man, the Bluray version looks great.
Per Jordan Ruimy, the latest big Telluride “maybe maybe” is Todd Haynes‘ Dark Waters (aka Dry Run). But who knows?
The hoo-hah premieres include Marriage Story, Ford vs. Ferrari, Uncut Gems, Judy, The Aeronauts, Motherless Brooklyn, The Two Popes, First Cow, Waves, The Kingmaker, Verdict, Lyrebird and Ken Burns’ Country Music.
The Cannes replays are A Hidden Life, Beanpole, Pain and Glory, Parasite, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, The Climb and Family Romance LLC.
Not to mention The Report and Varda by Agnes.
The Telluride Film Festival begins on Friday, 8.30. I’ll be flying out on LAX at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning, arriving in town sometime around 2 pm, give or take. Maybe sooner.
JJ Abrams: "We knew there was no way to tell the end of the Skywalker saga without Leia" #StarWars #D23Expo pic.twitter.com/ztx3fZ3WOc
— Variety (@Variety) August 24, 2019
“Maybe we should all be like Venice — just ignore everything you journalists and the PC media say with regard to gender equality and Netflix and do whatever we want, and then sit back and hear how we are the best festival in the world.” — the honcho of a major, big-deal festival, speaking to The Hollywood Reporter.
Most engaged, here-and-now, top-tier film festivals are playing ball with p.c. progressive agendas these days. This means “going Sundance” however and whenever possible, which is to say (a) programming as many reasonably good films as possible that have been directed by women, POCs and gays, or otherwise programming with an eye towards p.c. quotas, (b) selecting as many “instructive” films with diverse subject matter as possible, and (c) not exactly frowning upon films directed by straight white males but being careful to limit their inclusion, depending upon the quality of their relationships with well-positioned progressives in the filmmaking and film-festival community.
It goes without saying that films directed by men with checkered or otherwise troubling pasts (Roman Polanski and Nate Parker being two) need to face the strongest possible scrutiny if not out-and-out prohibition.
Venice Film Festival topper Alberto Barbera
It also goes without saying, and certainly in the wake of an 8.23 Hollywood Reporter article titled “‘Completely Tone Deaf’: How Venice Became the Fuck-You Film Festival” by Scott Roxborough and Tatiana Siegel, that Alberto Barbera‘s Venice Film Festival has mostly been ignoring these rules, certainly in terms of quotas and flagrantly by inviting Polanski’s An Officer and a Spy to screen in competition, and by slating Parker’s American Skin in the (noncompetitive) Sconfini section.
The thrust of Roxborough and Siegel’s article is that industry progressives regard Barbera as an obstinate, convention-defying dinosaur and that in a perfect world he would be cancelled and then banished to Kathmandu for the rest of his life.
The basic impulse of many p.c. types is to silence if not exterminate all agnostics or aetheists in the conversation. Roxborough and Siegel certainly have their ears to the train tracks in this regard.
However, there’s one small consideration that Roxborough and Siegel seem to be ignoring, and that’s the remote possibility that Polanski’s An Officer and a Spy or even Parker’s American Skin might be — am I going to get in trouble for saying this? — good. As in worth seeing and discussing, at the very least. Hell, one or the other might even be very good. Or even, God forbid, excellent. That’s certainly a possibility as far as the Polanski film is concerned. Or even, to be liberal about it, in Parker’s case.
The underlying point of the Roxborough-Siegel piece is that the people they’ve interviewed — Women and Hollywood founder Melissa Silverstein, Swiss Women’s Audiovisual Network co-president Laura Kaehr, Toni Erdmann producer Janine Jackowiski plus an unnamed female filmmaker — and perhaps even Roxborough and Siegel themselves are not rigorously concerned with matters of cinematic quality.
What concerns them is progressive tokenist statements by way of festival representation, and how inviting Polanski and Parker to Venice represents a slap in the face to #MeToo and #TimesUp. Which it arguably does in a certain sense.
If I were calling the shots I would bend over backwards to include as many worthy films from women, POC or gay directors as possible, within the limits of good taste. But I would insist on not programming any film on the basis of quotas alone.
Excerpt: “In an era when Hollywood has little tolerance for talent swept up in a #MeToo scandal — as when Amazon dropped Woody Allen‘s A Rainy Day in New York amid resurfaced allegations from his daughter Dylan Farrow that he molested her when she was 7 — and even notoriously macho Cannes has made strides with female award winners, Venice stands alone as the last major un-woke film festival.”
HE response to above paragraph: Woody Allen has contended in his lawsuit that Dylan’s accusation is “baseless,” as the facts overwhelmingly indicate. Alas, Amazon execs didn’t care about the facts and history or the holes in Dylan’s account or Moses Farrow’s May 2018 essay or anything else.
Great Jackowiski quote: “You can see how in America, if you don’t play by the rules, you’re out. Here in Europe, there’s still the idea of the ‘genius’ who is allowed to do anything and should be celebrated for it.”
Transpose this quote to the early to late 1950s, and imagine a conservative-minded European producer saying it: “You can see how in America, if you had associations with communism in the 1930s, you’re out. [But] here in Europe, there’s still the idea of the ‘genius’ who is allowed to do anything and should be celebrated for it. Jules Dassin, for example, is allowed to make films in Europe despite his commie-agitator background.”
Jackowiski explains that “she isn’t calling for a ban on films from ‘problematic’ men but says ‘the issues surrounding them should be discussed, and their films should be seen in that context.'” Fair enough.
The Venice Film Festival begins on Wednesday, 8.28 — four days hence. Telluride kicks off two days later.
I’ve never paid the slightest attention to HBO’s Ballers because of the Dwayne Johnson factor. In the realm of feature films the man has seemingly had it written into his contract that anything he stars in has to be shit-level, so I naturally assumed some of this attitude would rub off on Ballers. (Many critics have been underwhelmed.) Now that it’s been announced that Ballers‘ fifth season will be the last, I need to acknowledge for the record that I’ve never watched so much as a trailer for this series, and that I’m fine with that.
Justin Theroux‘s digitally augmented “Tramp” in the forthcoming live-action Lady and the Tramp (Disney, 11.12) doesn’t seem to have that robust, bright-eyed personality of his animated forebear. It may have something to do with those “dead” CG eyes.
On 11.28.16, or two and three quarter years ago, I noted that then-President Elect Trump was “living on his own fake-news planet, and millions of followers have probably bought into this. Campaign-trail bullshit is one thing, but when has a U.S. President-elect ever insisted upon a straight-faced investment in alternative facts?
“This is what tyrants and dictators do — this is Nero time. Tell me how it’s inappropriate to apply the term ‘insane’ to Trump as this stage. I’m serious.
“What’s the difference between Trump and President Mark Hollenbach in Fletcher Knebel‘s “Night of Camp David,” a 1965 thriller about a first-term Senator, Jim MacVeagh, who comes to believe that Hollenbach has mentally gone around the bend and needs to somehow be relieved of his duties? They seem similar to me.”
Here and now: It struck me today that Trump’s recent behavior and statements indicate a state of mind that is way, way beyond the fruitcake ramblings of President Hollenbach, and yet here we are. And poor Justice Ginsburg has been treated for a malignant tumor on her pancreas. I’m feeling a terrible sense of hovering doom.
Three days ago Paul Schrader, having just caught a theatrical showing of Apocalypse Now: Final Cut, said it’s basically a film at war with itself by trying to be two things at once.
“It’s like vibrating under the spell of juiced-up, pro-war amphetamines while, in the distance, hearing a dour somewhat confused country preacher declaiming war’s evils,” Schrader wrote on Facebook.
A filmmaker friend interpreted this to mean (although Schrader didn’t seem to actually be saying this) that there can be no such thing as an actual “antiwar film” because if your battle footage is depicted with any realism or honesty, it’s impossible not to convey the exhilaration of surviving an armed conflict (alluded to by that famous Winston Churchill quote about “nothing in life [being] so exhilarating as to be shot at without result”), and that this tends to neutralize any intended antiwar import.
Put more simply, if your war film seems to echo or confirm Churchill’s recollection, which is probably all but impossible, you can’t really make an “antiwar film.”
HE to filmmaker friend: “I don’t agree. The exhilaration of combat aspect has been understood since the first accounts of the military campaigns of Alexander The Great (Diodorus Siculus, Quintus Curtius Rufus), and certainly since Plutarch wrote about the adventures of Julis Caesar.
“But these and other accounts through the centuries (including Stanley Kubrick‘s Paths of Glory) have never negated the fact that the nature of war is to slaughter and destroy — to deliver horror and pain and misery en masse…to inflict cruelty without mercy, at least as far as the enemy is concerned. How can any honest depiction of this not be antiwar-ish?”
Schrader also said something that’s very clear and true about Apocalypse Now, which is that “the schizophrenic nature of the film goes back to the script itself. John Milius‘s original script was all bravado and gung ho crazy. Francis has the opposite sensibility. The Ride of the Valkyries, the surfers, the bunnies — that’s Milius. The Michael Herr narration, the plantation exposition, the meditations on evil — that’s Coppola.”
CBC Reporter: “What are the Koch brothers trying to achieve?” Jane Mayer, author of “Dark Money: The Hidden History of the Billionaires Behind the Rise of the Radical Right“: “They are very, very strident libertarians who want to shrink the government, reduce taxes, particularly their own taxes…they’re the biggest producers of toxic waste in America, and they’re also among the bigger polluters in terms of air pollution, water pollution and climate pollution.”
In short, along with his brother Charles, David Koch was the primary sponsor of climate-change doubt in the United States.
As recently as 1973 there was a drive-in theatre at the corner of Olympic and Bundy. Really. It was called (wait for it) the Olympic Drive-In. The street-facing side of the screen featured a mural of a 20something couple riding a wave. It opened on 4.4.45 and closed on 10.14.73.
The last time I even contemplated the memory of drive-in theatres was when I was watching that abandoned drive-in shoot-out scene in Michael Mann‘s Heat, which was 24 years ago.
The last time I saw a film at a drive-in was sometime in the early to mid ’80s. I think it was a Bob Zemeckis film (Used Cars or Romancing The Stone). Somewhere in the northern Burbank area, or in North Hollywood. My first drive-in experience was with my parents, somewhere in the vicinity of Long Beach Island on the Jersey Shore.
I’m kind of surprised to learn that 330 domestic drive-in theatres were in business as of two years ago. But only in podunk backwaters that nobody’s heard of, much less visited. Carthage, Missouri. Middle River, Maryland. Newville, Pennsylvania. Honor, Michigan. Russellville, Alabama. Sterling, Illinois. Driggs, Idaho. Lakeland, Florida.
Earlier today: I respect the affectionate feelings that some have shared about the drive-in experience, and I love the Americana aspect of drive-ins (those iconic images of ‘50s and ‘60s films playing to an army of classic Chevys, Impalas, Ford Fairlanes and T-Birds), and let’s not forget the most common aspect, which was the sexual stuff (mostly second-base and third-base action).
But if you cared even a little bit about Movie Catholic viewing standards (as in decent sound and tolerable light levels, and no headlights hitting the screen every five minutes) ) you avoided drive-ins like the plague. You went to drive-ins for the car sex, and you brought your own beer.
Wise guy to HE: “‘And let’s not forget the most common aspect, which was the sexual stuff (mostly second-base and third-base action).’ I guess this explains the affection for Elton John ballads. You really are from Connecticut, aren’t you?”
HE to Wise Guy: “What are you saying, that people actually got laid at the drive-in? Some did, I guess. But they sure kept it a secret.”
…a bright, well-educated, reasonably candid, even-tempered, emotionally mature human being was President of the United States. Less than three years ago…imagine.
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