Jeff Wells …about the melting of the Charles Melton award-season bandwagon, which was basically a touchy-squishy thing from the get-go (South Korean identity plus symbolic empathy for victims of sexual abuse)…the sensitives tried to slip this in and were shut down by the sensibles. Another indication that woke insanity is gradually losing its hold? I’d certainly like to think so.
An excellent article about great casting feats was posted four years ago (1.14.20) on passionweiss,com. The title was “Creating and Awarding the Last 20 Years of ‘Best Casting Director’ Oscars”, and the author was Abe Beame (no relation to the New York City mayor of the mid ’70s).
Beame says one of the best-ever jobs of casting was Gail Levin‘s casting of Almost Famous. Levin is a Cameron Crowe homie from way back (We Bought a Zoo, Elizabethtown, Mean Girls, Vanilla Sky, Jerry Maguire, Empire Records, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape).
…to the version that began to peek out 20 years ago…Birth (’04), Under the Skin (’13) and The Zone of Interest (’23).
Eight days ago my heart sank when it was announced that Justin Chang, a Millennial wokester with a particular focus on ethnic representation, will be elbowing aside New Yorker critic Anthony Lane, a young boomer whose writings have never seemed to follow woke doctrine.
I almost wept this morning when I re-read Lane’s 23-year-old review of Jonathan Glazer‘s Sexy Beast. It’s very sad to consider that this kind of writing (aloof wit, verve, panache) is, in a sense, being put out to pasture, at least within The New Yorker‘s movie realm…I just feel gutted.
Lane‘s “Exiles,” posted on 6.19.21: “You will be relieved to learn that the title of Jonathan Glazer‘s Sexy Beast is dripping with irony. How could it be otherwise, given that the movie hails from England? Take Gal (Ray Winstone), charring himself like a fat salmon beside his Spanish pool. Gal used to be a London crook, and his wife, Deedee (Amanda Redman), used to be big in porno. These days, they have nothing to do but drink and dine with their good friends Aitch (Cavan Kendall) and Jackie (Julianne White), who share the leathery look of those who have weathered enough for one lifetime.
“But here comes trouble, in a neat, fast package: Don Logan (Ben Kingsley), a man whose mere name, like that of Keyser Söze, is enough to bring any civilized company to a lurching halt.
“Don wants Gal to return to London for the sake of one more job. You would think that the heist itself, a raid on a safe-deposit vault, would be the core of the plot. Not so. What rouses Sexy Beast, against all expectations, is the central, Iago-like act of persuasion: one scene after another, in which Don sits or stalks around Gal’s villa and rails away at him, as if to show not that Gal’s defenses are breachable but that they were hardly defenses in the first place…just patches of softness, the pressure points of a sad slacker. The trailer now showing in theatres presents Sexy Beast as a thriller, which means that moviegoers may be heading for a surprise; what they are about to witness resembles nothing so much as Harold Pinter in a really foul mood.
Obviously the Supremes are much more focused on the potential fallout from the highest court agreeing with the Colorado Supreme Court. They’re not even addressing the fundamental preventative reason that Section 3 of the 14th Amendment was adopted in the first place, way back in 1868.
LIVE: Supreme Court hears Donald Trump’s appeal on Colorado ballot disqualification | REUTERS
This morning the U.S. Supreme Court began hearing arguments in former President Donald Trump‘s fight to prevent being kicked off state presidential ballots for his actions involving the 2021 Capitol attack.
Last weekend’s Oscar Poker podcast was postponed due to Sasha being under the weather (cough, scratchy voice)….apologies. We recorded the current one (“Suspended Animation”) yesterday. Here’s the link.
Without an agenda or any sense of urgency, Sasha and Jeff acknowledge that there’s nothing to discuss about the Oscars other than the Best Actress situation (i.e., Emma Stone vs. Lily Gladstone) and that nothing will be finally and absolutely known until the SAG Awards on 2.24, which is two and a half weeks hence. (Good God.)
Sasha believes that the Golden Globes, Critics Choice and BAFTA awards are next-to-meaningless and that only when the big guilds are heard from we understand what the real sentiments are.
Sasha also mentions that now is the time for the various campaigners to turn up the heat and also for whisper campaigns, and Jeff asks “who is whispering anything about Gladstone?” because no one (and I mean NO ONE) has whispered a damn word. Because they don’t dare.
Again, the link.
Today (2.7) The Hollywood Reporter‘s Jordan Hoffman posted a story about illegal streamings and at least one recent peek-out viewing of Woody Allen‘s Coup de Chance in Manhattan.
Hoffman doesn’t mention last April’s private screening that was attended by resturateur Keith McNally and Showbiz 411‘s Roger Friedman, but he does acknowledge Will Sloan’s 1.15 Letterbox review.
Hoffman also mentions “a bar/event space in New York’s East Village [that] recently hosted an underground ‘NYC Premiér’ of Coup de Chance.” Maybe that’s how Sloan happened to see it?
In paragraph #5, however, Hoffman states that distribution-wise “nothing is in the works for Coup de Chance.”
I’m sorry but my understanding is that Hoffman is dead wrong about this. A distribution deal has been hammered out (at the very least involving streaming and possibly even a touch of theatrical). I was recently told that an announcement about same would happen sometime this week.
Hoffman also fails to report that Coup de Chance is currently streaming on illegal torrent sites.
Hoffman has, on the other hand, seen Allen’s new film (as I have), and has written the following: “This viewer is ready to declare common wisdom correct and say it is far better than Allen’s recent output.
“The lead performance by French actress Lou de Laâge is particularly good. Had this been a U.S.-based production in a parallel timeline, someone like Dakota Johnson would be getting accolades for it.
“The movie is similar in tone to Match Point or Irrational Man in its treatment of happenstance leading to life-altering experiences, the decision to commit murder, and the random distribution of justice.
“[So] it’s an interesting movie worthy of conversation given the importance Allen has in cinema. Maybe someday people in North America who would like to see it will be able to without sneaking around.”
She may not know if Madame Web will be any good, but Dakota Johnson is certain that today’s streaming distributors are not ony scared of their own shadows but slow on the pickup.
“It’s Spelled Daddy-o,” posted on 9.10.23:
The more I read about Christy Hall‘s Daddio, the sorrier I am that I ducked it in Telluride. I was especially persuaded by Todd McCarthy’s Deadline review. I’m very much looking forward to the next viewing opportunity.
Pic is a two-hander about a grizzled New York City cab driver named Clark (Sean Penn) covering the verbal and cultural waterfront with his blonde 30something passenger (Dakota Johnson).
I should admit there was a specific reason why I didn’t see Daddio last week. It was because of the dopey Millennial spelling. If it had been spelled right I would have gone in a heartbeat.
Daddy-o is a beatnik anachronism. The root term (duhh) is “daddy” with a “y”. Daddio is for dingleberries.
I respect director Michael Sarnoski (Pig) but this is a paycheck whore job for the poor guy. London version, same old shite. Poor Lupita Nyong’o and Djimon Honsou. The first one was decent, but I’m sick to death of this effing franchise.
In Steven Soderbergh‘s The Limey (’99), the “King Midas” montage rules (:09 to 1:09). All hail The Hollies when Graham Nash was front and center.
Peter Fonda (1940-2019) was an easy guy to talk to…interviewed him a couple of times, talked to him at parties, etc. Terry Valentine was by far his most interesting and layered role, more so than Easy Rider‘s Wyatt or the guy who dropped LSD in The Trip…pick of the litter.
Film maven Edward Douglas is not a brutally frank critic, much less a harsh one. In the realms of fantasy and horror he has tended to be obliging, and sometimes even bend over backwards. So this outright dismissal of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody‘s Lisa Frankenstein (Focus, 2.9) means something, I think.
Ruben Ostlund‘s Force Majeure (’14) is a better film than Nat Faxon and Jim Rash‘s remake titled Downhill (1.20). But the latter isn’t half bad, and it’s a half-hour shorter, and it ends well. And so I’ve decided to re-watch Downhill this evening rather than Ostlund’s original.
Downhill, which opened almost exactly four years ago, struck me as better than decent — adult, well measured, emotionally frank, well acted and cunningly written. (Faxon and Rash shared screenplay credit with Jesse Armstrong.)
It’s not a burn, it’s not about a “black and white situation” (as one of the less perceptive characters puts it) and it provides ample food for thought and discussion.
Both films conclude that a father running from an impending disaster (i.e., a huge avalanche) without trying to save or protect his wife and kids is a bad look. Which of course it is. Obviously.
Both films condemn the dad in question (Will Ferrell in the American version, Johannes Bah Kuhnke in Ostlund’s version) and more or less agree with the furious wives (Julia Louis Dreyfus, Lisa Loven Kongsli) that dad should have (a) super-heroically yanked the wife and kids out of their seats and hauled them inside in a blink of an eye or (b) hugged them before the avalanche hit so they could all suffocate together.
Hollywood Elsewhere says “yes, it’s ignoble for a dad to run for cover without thinking of his wife or kids,” but I also believe that instinct takes over when death is suddenly hovering. I also feel that Dreyfus and the two kids acted like toadstools by just sitting there on the outdoor deck and hoping for the best.
Question for Dreyfus and sons: A huge terrifying avalanche is getting closer and closer and you just sit there? I mean, you do have legs and leg muscles at your disposal. A massive wall of death is about to terminate your future and your reaction is “oh, look at that…nothing to do except watch and wait and hope for the best”?
Both films film basically ask “who are we deep down?” They both suggest that some of the noble qualities we all try to project aren’t necessarily there. But Rash and Faxon’s film also says “hey, we’re all imperfect and yes, some of us will react instinctually when facing possible imminent death. So maybe take a breath and don’t be so viciously judgmental, and maybe consider the fact that tomorrow is promised to no one so just live and let live.”
I was especially taken by Downhill‘s spot-on philosophical ending (i.e., “all we have is today”). Seriously, it really works. I came to scoff at this film (due to the less-than-ecstatic Sundance buzz) but came away converted.
Has there ever been a real-life situation in which a famous person didn’t die in their home (and I mean a nice homey-home with a warm fire going in the fireplace and pets lying on their bed) and wasn’t surrounded by family members?
I’m asking because each and every time a celebrity death is announced we’re always told that the passage-into-infinity hasn’t happened in a hospital and that the deceased was absolutely surrounded by family and loved ones.
Don’t most people die in hospitals, and often in the wee hours when family members are home sleeping?
Not once has a celebrity passed while family and friends were out to dinner or otherwise and only a professional caregiver was there…right? Do I have that right?
“We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.” — Orson Welles.
Very few of us are going to die as pleasantly as we’d like to. Death usually happens under circumstances we can’t foresee, much less plan for, and sooner than we’d like. And the likelihood that you’re going to die while lying comfortably in bed between recently-washed sheets is almost nil. The odds are that your final throes are going to either be painful or traumatic or grotesque, and possibly a combination of all three.
By the way: There used to be a stand-alone site called Cinemorgue, which featured listings and descriptions of thousands of death scenes that are alphabetized by the names of actors and actresses.
Cataloguing endless death was apparently too much work for someone, and so Cinemorgue became Cinemorgue Wiki, which allowed readers to submit their additions and corrections directly.
I’d forgotten how many times Elke Sommer was gruesomely killed on-screen. Two skiiing accidents, shot three times (machine gunned in 1969’s The Wrecking Crew, the Dean Martin-Matt Helm movie), blown up, and bludgeoned to death.
Almost all movie deaths, it seems, are brutal, bloody, sudden, ghastly, traumatic and otherwise unpeaceful. Nod-off deaths — like Sir Cedric Hardwicke ‘s passing in The Ten Commandments — have been few and far between over the last 40 years. Is real-life death ever smooth and easy? Only if you do yourself in with pills.