Jeffrey Wells

The term “clear box” is synonymous with “story-less template,” which is how I put it the other day.

It should be understood that the 108–minute version of Ken Russell’s The Devils (‘71), which is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel, was dissed by Russell and star Oliver Reed before their deaths. The franker British version, which runs 111 minutes, is the one to settle into. The Criterion Channel makes no mention of this, although it does offer a doc about the film’s censoring, titled “Hell on Earth: The Desecration and Resurrection of The Devils.”

HE has no problem whatsoever with BAFTA’s Best Supporting Actor long list excluding May December’s over-awarded Charles Melton — obviously a modest momentum-stopper.

May December also didn’t make BAFTA’s Best Film tabulation and helmer Todd Haynes has also come up short on BAFTA’s Best Director long list.

Why are the Brits ixnaying a film that American easy lays have been falling all over each other to praise? Whatever the reason, HE approves.

On its Best Film roster BAFTA has also stiff-armed Cord Jefferson’s American Fiction, a tough break for a smart, engaging film that seemed semi-unstoppable after winning the People’s Choice award at last September’s Toronto Film Festival debut but estime–wise has drooped and under-performed ever since. THR’s Scott Feinberg is puzzled and a bit heartbroken.

And so, apart from respectful sympathy, I have nothing effusive or impassioned to share about the passing of David Soul, 80.

The only contact I’ve ever had with the Starsky brand was the 2004 Ben Stiller-Owen Wilson feature comedy, which was directed by Todd Phillips and costarred Vince Vaughn, Snoop Dog, Jason Bateman and Fred Williamson. Honestly? Even that is a fading memory. Pic opened two months shy of 20 years ago (3.5.04)

The original ABC Starsky & Hutch series ran for five years and change (April ‘75 to August ‘79).

Yesterday afternoon Variety’s Clayton Davis reported that AMPAS has officially classified Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach’s Barbie script as adapted and not original.

While this is good news for The Holdovers as far as its chances in the Best Original Screenplay competish are concerned, it’s an unfair call.

Gerwig and Baumbach didn’t adapt a previously written Barbie story — they created a story out of a situational Barbie template.

Imagine if someone had written an original screenplay about Jesus of Nazareth returning to the earth in 2023 and becoming a Silicon Valley tech entrepreneur. By the Academy’s thinking this would be classified as an adapted screenplay because it borrows from the lore and template of the New Testament.

But of course screenplays aren’t about templates but stories (initial intrigue, structure, tension, second-act pivot, third-act payoff). Using Jesus or Barbie as a central character does not a screenplay make.

In his latest THR Oscar forecast column Scott Feinberg is claiming that Past Lives helmer Celine Song is a more broadly popular Best Director nominee than Poor Things’ Yorgos Lanthimos, The Holdovers’ Alexander Payne and Maestro’s Bradley Cooper.

This is insanity! What kind of woke-ass, gender-focused sewing circle is Feinberg having tea with?

Past Lives is a nicely assembled but unsatisfying relationship film that doesn’t do the thing or bring it home (i.e., in crude terms it doesn’t let you come). It has been written off as a decent try by sensible industry folk, and yet Feinberg is allowing himself to be fiddle-fiddled by the A24 safe-space mafia…the identity fanatics who are whispering “we need a woman of color in the mix.”

Wanting to become a Catholic deacon is “better” than wanting to become a heroin addict or an Islamic terrorist, but in the realm of Shia LeBeouf it’s the same basic dynamic — an inability to trust his own mystical realm and an urge to submit to a stronger external current.

Meanwhile we all want to see Abel Ferrara’s Padre Pio…seriously.

Otherwise all I can say is that (a) Zac Efron sure looks better without the buffed-up wrestler bod and that godawful Prince Valiant hair, and (b) award–wise Colman Domingo, due respect, isn’t happening,

When the 58-year-old Gene Tierney sat for a chat on The Mike Douglas Show in 1979, she bore little resemblance to the beautiful, tres elegant femme fatale she played in Otto Preminger ‘s Laura (‘44).

The Douglas interview was 35 years later, of course, so why the shade? Because Tierney seemed altered by more than time.

She looked and sounded Lucille Ball-ish, to be honest — like someone who’d been smoking unfiltered cigarettes for decades and enjoying her nightly cocktails.

And she spoke with a slightly coarse accent that didn’t exactly scream “finishing school,” which was how she sounded in Laura. She pronounced “awards” as “awauhds”, Warner Bros. as Wauhnuh Brothuhs” and father as “fahthuh”.

Plus Tierney had sadly been grappling with mental issues off and on since the ‘50s, and given my own younger sister’s decades of battling schizophrenia I know what that shit looked like.

All to say that for those who’ve been blessed with good genes and have revelled in their youth and the fair-weather life that often results when people can’t stop talking about how ravishing your green eyes are, they don’t know what they’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Tierney and her well-to-do family (her father, Howard Sherwood Tierney, was a flush insurance broker) began living in nearby Westport in the mid 1930s. Their home was in the Greens Farms region, and is located at 2 Tierney Lane, presumably christened in honor of her dad. (I’m wondering if Howard’s middle name was somehow connected in a family way to nearby Sherwood Island.)

I’ve been meaning to visit the Tierney homestead since moving here in the spring of ‘22. One of these days.

Gene Tierney made it to age 70. She died on 11.6.91.

Don’t come back.

…the painting of common objects, starting with Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein and moving on down the line. Hence my own lowbrow interest in wanting to visit the Ed Ruscha MOMA exhibit before Jan. 15.

Frank Gehry on Ed Ruscha on MOMA platform:

All Hollywood hiring practices are “performative.”

The primary goal has always been to make money, of course, and in the case of Barbie it didn’t seem unusually risky to tap into the mythology of a 60-year-old doll franchise and then give it a sassy progressive spin.

That said, nothing will weaken your standing or get you fired faster than your rivals sensing you’re trying to do something other than make money.

Ask yourself this: if you were the progressive-minded senior editor of a sweeping USC–funded study of Hollywood hiring practices regarding women and persons of color, and particularly if your report was created under the imprimatur of the USC Annenberg Inclusion Initiative, would you be inclined to be (a) critical or admonishing or punitive or (b) less so in that regard?

Three Fundamental Hollywood Laws: (a) nobody knows anything, (b) nobody wants to stand out by making bold creative decisions of any kind, and (c) you don’t need a conspiracy of cowardice given that cowardice is so deeply embedded in our DNA.

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