Seven “Maestro” Noms!

Yesterday morning smarty-pants emcee and gabbermouth Bill McCuddy (NPR’s “Talking Pictures” plus “Sitting Around Talking Movies”) predicted that Tuesday morning’s Academy nominations “are going to lean into Maestro more than you think.”

Everyone knew Carey Mulligan would be nominated for Best Actress, of course, but above and beyond that…who knew?

This morning Bradley Cooper’s impressionistic Leonard Bernstein biopic tallied seven Academy Award nominations — Best Picture, Best Actor (Cooper), Best Actress, Best Screenplay (Cooper and Josh Singer), Best Makeup (Kazu Hiro), Best Sound and Best Cinematography. Seven!

Congrats to Cooper and colleagues, and congrats to McCuddy.

Late-Night Academy Phone Call to Cooper

Monday night, 1.22, 11:30 pm. Bradley Cooper‘s cell phone rings…

Cooper: Hullo?
Mysterious baritone voice: Bradley? This is Charles Melton.
Cooper: What?
Mysterious baritone voice: You know who this is, right?
Cooper: No.
Mysterious baritone voice: You don’t recognize my voice?
Cooper: No.
Mysterious baritone voice: I’m that upper-echelon Academy guy…you remember…and I’m calling to offer you a choice. We can fix or change the nominations any way we want until the very last minute, and a few of us really loved Maestro so we’re offering you a special deal.
Cooper: Yeah?
Mysterious baritone voice: The deal is you get to pick your category. Do you want to be nominated for Best Actor for playing croaky-voiced, chain-smoking Leonard Bernstein, or do you want a Best Director nomination for Maestro?
Cooper: You can fix this?
Mysterious baritone voice: Yes, we can.
Cooper: Obviously Best Director….Jesus.
Mysterious baritone voice: Okay, but now I have to put on my asshole hat. We decided before calling you that whatever category you chose, we’re putting you into the other category.
Cooper: What?
Mysterious baritone voice: We decided this in advance. No offense.
Cooper: You fucking prick. Fix it back. I want Best Director.
Mysterious baritone voice: That’s a no-go, Brad. Besides we’ve already blown off Alexander Payne and Greta Gerwig. And you know why? Because Justine Triet and Jonathan Glazer were voted in. Sorry, man, but there’s no room. Plus we decided. Be happy with Best Actor.
Cooper: I am happy with Best Actor but I told you I would’ve preferred Best Director, and then you pulled the rug out.
Mysterious baritone voice: Sorry, man. That was mean but not my call. I just work here.

Mystery Behind Blunt’s Nomination

A Best Supporting Actress nomination for The HoldoversDa’Vine Joy Randolph…naturally. And one for Barbie‘s America Ferrera…got it. (All about that rant.) And nominating Nyad‘s Jodie Foster is a good call. But I’m completely perplexed by Emily Blunt‘s nomination for her supporting performance in Oppenheimer. She played Oppie’s seething, pissed-off alchoholic wife…big deal. Congrats to The Color Purple‘s Danielle Brooks, who of course hasn’t a prayer.

Respected Liberal Humanist

Director Norman Jewison lived a long, rich and productive life…97 years worth. But I have to be honest and say that that only three of his films really hit the spot for meThe Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming (’66), In the Heat of the Night (’67) and Moonstruck (’87).

It’s not easy to make even a mediocre film, and it’s quite the achievement to hit one out of the park. Jewison did this three times — stiff salute, full respect, good fellow.

Otherwise I could never even watch Fiddler on the Roof (’71). I was bored by The Cincinnati Kid (’65). I liked the split-screen gimmick and the sexually suggestive chess game in The Thomas Crown Affair (’68) but otherwise meh.

Jesus Christ Superstar (’73) was okay for a single viewing. I’ve never re-watched Rollerball (’75), F.I.S.T. (’78), …And Justice for All (’79), Best Friends (’82), A Soldier’s Story (’84), and Agnes of God (’85).

Jewison’s ’90s films (Other People’s Money, Only You, The Hurricane, The Statement) never did anything to me or for me. I’m sorry but they didn’t.

Las Vegas Disaster, Shot in Paris

I’ve tried to watch The Only Game in Town (’70) a couple of times, but I can’t get through it.  

Directed by George Stevens and written by Frank Gilroy (the playright dad of Tony and Dan), it’s a limp and artificial two-hander, and claustrophobic in more ways than you can shake a stick at. There’s no believing Elizabeth Taylor and Warren Beatty as a prospective couple (she’s an aging chorus girl, he’s a piano-playing gambler).  You just want to say “thanks, guys, nice chatting” and bid a fast farewell. Which, as noted, is what I’ve done twice.  

Plus Taylor is about five years older than Beatty, and in your 30s you notice this stuff.  His hound-dogging exploits were legendary at the time, and you can’t quite figure why Beatty of all people would want to get involved with a violet-eyed woman who’s pushing 40 and is almost certainly on her way down.

It was largely shot in Paris on a sound stage; location footage in Nevada was lensed some time after.

The Oniy Game in Town was such a commercial and critical flop that it ended Stevens’ career. The poor guy was only 66 when it bombed.  In a fair and just world he could’ve theoretically continued to direct for at least another decade or so.  The film is such a stain on Stevens’ rep that his son, George Stevens, Jr., didn’t even mention it George Stevens:  A Filmmaker’s Journey (’85), a well-regarded doc about his esteemed father’s career.

Here’s the screwball thing: Beatty’s gambler character is named Joe Grady. Four or five years later he played a journalist in The Parallax View under director Alan Pakula, and that character was named Joe Frady.  If only the up-and-coming Beatty had, 15 years earlier, landed a bit part in Stanley Kramer‘s Inherit the Wind (’60) as Matthew Harrison Brady’s (i.e., Fredric March‘s) son, Joe.

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Gut Emotional Messages & Motives

The 2024 Oscar nominations will be announced on Tuesday morning. But instead of predicting which films and performances will be included or snubbed, let’s try a different angle of approach. Best Picture-wise most Academy members vote for the usual political or social-pressure motives (DEI and merit being the top two) but the bottom line is that movies are voted for or approved of for deep-down emotional reasons.

Mainly because these movies have said something truthful and fundamental about life as we know it. Assessments which many of us have recognized or agreed with, and which have dramatized certain human behaviors which some of us may not approve of but are reluctantly acknowledged to be pervasive and on a certain level profound.

Here’s what the major Best Picture contenders are saying, more or less…

1. Oppenheimer — It’s magnificent to be a super-brainy genius and to apply your gift to the creation of something important or earth-changing, but don’t get so stuck on your particular vision of things that you wind up ignoring basic political realities and thereby self-destructing. And for God’s sake don’t behave like a crybaby when you’re in the Oval Office with the President of the United States.

Basic message: Once the genie is out of the bottle, you can’t put it back in. Take responsibility for your actions, be a man, play your cards carefully, no whining.

2. Poor ThingsBella Baxter calls ’em like she sees ’em, but there has to be more to life than just furious jumping, unless of course you disagree. Don’t take Yorgos Lanthimos‘s weird imaginings too literally. There aren’t enough films that really invest in wackazoid fantasies. Enjoy them when they happen, and please ignore the last 15 minutes.

Basic message: Weirdness can be wonderful.

3. The Holdovers — Life has always been difficult and occasionally punishing, but at least there weren’t any woke fascists or social-media guillotines back in 1970. It takes a lot of work and energy to be a haughty and dismissive scold all the time, and sooner or later you’ll have to give that shit up. Listen to your heart from time to time and maybe things will open up for you…maybe.

Basic message: Don’t be a crabby asshole.

4. Killers of the Flower Moon — 100 years ago Oklahoma white men were very greedy and very foul, and we need to learn from the example of their century-old evil so we can be better people today. In line with this, it would have been very bad to tell a story of Oklahoma genocide with a white FBI agent in the lead role. To have done so would have been obviously wrong and racist. Plus it doesn’t matter if Eric Roth‘s original 153-page script was far superior to the film that Martin Scorsese ultimately made (“who didn’t do it?”). What matters is that Leonardo DiCaprio wanted to play an idiot, and he did that.

Basic message: Don’t be a greedy, homicidal Midwestern white guy.

5. Barbie — Pink is beautiful, misandrist social satire is delicious and all men are pathetic and boastful infants who can be easily manipulated if women are smart about it. Plus (a) it was glorious to wear pink to Barbie screenings last summer, and (b) hooray for Margot Robbie and Greta Gerwig making all that dough.

Basic message: Is there one?

6. Past Lives — If a Korean-born woman has been in love with a very special Korean-born man since childhood, it makes perfect sense to try and bring it all together when the guy flies all the way from Seoul to pay her a visit in New York City. And it doesn’t matter (or shouldn’t matter) if the woman speaks Korean to the boyfriend in the presence of her American husband. And a movie about this odd triangle doesn’t have to wrap things up or provide any emotional closure. It just has to speak softly.

Basic message: Don’t marry for friendship, convenience and comfort — you’ll be sorry down the road.

7. American Fiction — White upscale book readers are suckers for street cred and Black authenticity. If you’re a smart writer of color you’ll exploit the shit out of this market, and you won’t sweat the particulars. Unless you’re a man of conscience, in which case you will sweat them.

Basic message: Don’t worry about dumb white consumers.

8. Anatomy of a Fall — Brilliant female writers living in Grenoble need to watch themselves. Because if a certain hetero husband dies from a fall, the legal esablishment will automatically assume that the wife (Sandra Huller) pushed him and try to convict her of this, especially if she’s had a few same-sex affairs on the side.

Basic message: Beware of local male prosecutors with tennis-ball haircuts and cruel faces.

9. The Zone of Interest — The furtherance of evil has always seemed banal on this or that level, and the Nazis were no exception in this regard and especially in the ghastly matter of concentration camps.

Basic message: Read the writings of Hannah Arendt.

10. MaestroLeonard Bernstein was a gay man who needed a beard marriage to prosper, and yet he cared deeply for his wife of many years, Felicia Montealegre. His intense devotion to music (conducting, composing) resulted in fame, adoration and great fulfillment all around, but what occupied his life and certainly affected his marriage were his relationships with young fellas.

Basic message: Don’t hurt your loved ones by “getting sloppy.”

“Thelma” Isn’t Half Bad

Josh Margolin‘s Thelma, a Sundance headliner that I saw last night, is a mostly mild situation dramedy about the pitfalls, sadnesses and surprising turn-arounds of a chubby old biddy (the 94 year-old June Squibb, in her first starring role) when the going gets tough.

It makes for a reasonably decent sit, although I didn’t like it at first because of the hugely annoying Fred Hechinger (The White Lotus), who plays Squibb’s flaky-loser grandson.

Squibbs’ titular character is also 90something and, as you might presume, suffering from the usual intellectual and physical diminishments. Sissies need not apply.

Thelma is about the white-haired Squibb getting scammed out of $10K (which actually happened to Margolin’s real-life grandmother), and how she refuses to take this humiliation lying down and soon after becomes a dogged investigator and push-backer on her own steam and tenacity.

The reason I didn’t like Hechinger, whose dipshit Zoomer character has been told by his mom and dad (Parker Posey and Clark Gregg) to look after Squibb and keep her out of trouble, is because his performance had me half-convinced that he was in on the scam. (I hate guys like Hechinger…I really do.)

After going to the cops and getting no help, Squibb locates the post office box address that she sent the $10K to by envelope. (A voice on the phone told her to do so or Hechinger would be in deep shit, and she bought it.)

She makes her way to a nearby assisted living facility to seek the assistance of old buddy Ben (Richard Roundtree), which boils down to Thelma borrowing his mobility scooter, except Ben won’t let her drive alone.

They visit the home of an old out-to-lunch friend, and during this stopover Thelma discovers and pockets a loaded pistol. (Not worth explaining.) They get back on the scooter and wind up at a gas station, but then Thelma forgets to engage the parking brake…

With Posey, Gregg and Hechinger in hot pursuit…Jesus, I can’t do this. What am I gonna do, spill the whole story?

Eventually Thelma and Ben get to the bottom of things, and I was quite amused to discover that the principal scammer is none other than the white-haired 70something Alexander DeLarge.

The situation is resolved a little too easily but by that time I had decided that Thelma is an above-average thing, not quite on the level of Little Miss Sunshine but occasionally so.

Thelma is not a comedy — it’s a half-and-halfer. It certainly declines to go goofy or silly. There are elements of real pain and stress and sadness woven in. Now and then it’s actually touching, which surprised me. I’m giving it a B-plus.

Should Ryan Murphy Adapt Grant-Scott Love Story?

Vanity Fair has published a longish article about the presumably romantic cohabitation between Cary Grant and Randolph Scott, which began in the early ’30s and ended sometime…I forget but somewhere around ’38 or ’39. Written by David Canfield, it’s titled “Cary Grant and Randolph Scott’s Hollywood Story: ‘Our Souls Did Touch’“.

The subhead reads, “Hedda Hopper once asked of Grant, ‘Whom does he think he’s fooling?’ The star’s bond with Scott has been the subject of nearly a century of speculation, but the truth about their impact on each other’s lives has been hiding in plain sight.”

It’s basically another speculation piece — nothing freshly authoritative or rock-solid — but Canfield is apparently persuaded that their sexual activity was fleeting or discreet or something in that realm (i.e., no pitching or catching, no Crisco), and that the emotionally anxious or unstable Grant was more head-over-heels about Scott, who came from a wealthy Virginia family, than Scott was about him.

In any event a friend has suggested that the Grant-Scott saga could be an intriguing Ryan Murphy miniseries of some kind. I’m not so sure. They lived together and then they didn’t because there was too much loose talk around town. Somehow they got away with pretending to be mere roommates for several years, but finally Grant was told by this or that studio head that enough was enough. That’s one version of the story, at least.