A little less than five years ago, or on 7.29.14, Jeffrey Cavanaugh posted an essay that fanned the flames of nascent Elizabeth Warren enthusiasm. Titled “Elizabeth Warren’s 11 Commandments,” the subhead was “Everybody’s eyes are on Hillary Clinton, but Elizabeth Warren might be the one Democrats should be watching if a golden calf is what they hope to avoid.”

In Cavanaugh’s prophetic calculus Clinton was the golden calf — “the abandonment of the true faith and the elevation of materialist safety” — and indeed she proved to be the terrible dead weight that sank the Democratic ticket and took us all straight to hell.

Posted on 6.13.18: “Every day I wake up shattered by the spreading Trump miasma, but I also curse Hillary’s name — every damn day. She did this to us. She and her centrist, Democratic-establishment cronies.”

But Warren did this to us also. In a way. Because in late ’14 and early ’15 she listened to the Democratic elders who told her not to challenge Hillary. If she’d announced anyway Bernie Sanders wouldn’t have run (he plainly stated that he got into the 2016 presidential race to carry the progressive banner because Warren had opted out) and with the excited women’s vote there was at least a decent possibility that Warren might have won the nomination. Maybe.

If Warren had run against Trump…who knows? I’m telling myself that everyone who voted for Hillary would’ve also voted for Warren, except Warren wouldn’t have had Hillary’s negatives — no secret email server issues, no fainting at any 9/11 ceremonies.

I would have been delighted to vote for Warren three years ago, without the slightest misgivings. Passion, smarts, gutsy, wonky.

I realize that African American voters probably would’ve clung to Clinton like they’re clinging right now to Joe Biden, but Warren had the heat in late ’14, ’15 and ’16…she really did. Read Cavanaugh’s piece — it’s fascinating.

Consider this chart showing Democratic candidate support among South Carolina’s African-American voters. Right now Warren is polling a weak fourth, and poor Pete Buttigieg is doing even worse. Face it — because of tepid black support Warren almost certainly won’t make it. Am I wrong?

Thanks, older voters of color, for your resistance to Warren because…what, because she’s white and position-papery and bespectacled and professorial? Thanks also for your ingrained resistance to candidates who aren’t straight. Because you’re saddling us all with a candidate who gaffes and drools. Thanks so very much.

In the eyes of Forbes‘ Scott Mendelson, Quentin Tarantino‘s Once Upon A Time in Hollywood is the frontrunner to win the Best Picture Oscar next February.

Partly because it’s a better than pretty good film in many respects, partly because it raises a glass to the “old” Hollywood of a half-century ago, partly because it delivers one of the kindest and most welcome happy endings in a dog’s age, and partly because in this era of dominating Disney-owned tentpoles it’s a stand-alone, non-franchise flick that has made a very decent pile of change so far ($123 domestic, $239M worldwide).

Maybe, but I’m of the vague suspicion that at the end of the day Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman (and I recognize, of course, that it’s the height of recklessness to spitball about a film that I’ve only “seen” in terms of having read an early draft of the script) will out-point the Tarantino.

I have six reasons for thinking so.

One, because, given the skills and vision of a director who’s been at this racket since the late ’60s, it’ll probably be “better” and classier than the Tarantino (i.e., more upmarket, more assured, less Van Nuys drive-in-ish) in terms of your basic award-friendly attributes — texture, focus, story tension, dynamic performances, great scenes, technical prowess, color and pizazz.

Two, because it’s a gangster film that isn’t necessarily out to be a visceral funhouse thing a la Scarface or Goodfellas, and is instead a kind of meditative morality play. And is therefore “serious.”

Three, because the three-hour length automatically qualifies it as epic- or Godfather-scaled — i.e., the standard calling card of an “important”, weighty-ass film. On top of the fact that it took years to assemble and cost a tankload of money to produce.

Four, because it’ll be processed by every digital Tom, Dick and Harry as some kind of ultimate statement about the criminal ethos or community by the undisputed king of gangster flicks…a world-renowned maestro who’s made four great ones (Mean Streets, Goodfellas, The Departed, The Wolf of Wall Street) and will soon deliver what I have reason to suspect could be (and perhaps will be…who knows?) his crowning, crashing, balls-to-the-wall crescendo, albeit in a somewhat sadder or more forlorn emotional key.

Five, because it’ll set new standards for the invisible blending of unvarnished realism and CG wizardry as well as deliver the most visually convincing rendering of the fountain of youth in the history of motion pictures (and tell me that isn’t going to hit every SAG member where they live).

And six…well, this is a bit complicated but I’ll try to explain. The sixth reason is that even the stubborn old Academy farts are starting to realize that there’s no stopping the streaming way of things, and that save for a sprinkling of award-season films released between October and December the theatrical realm has pretty much been overrun by the mongrel hordes, and that other big streamers besides Netflix and Amazon are about to jump into the arena (Apple, Disney) and thereby make things even more exotic and challenging, and that despite whatever perceived threat element Netflix may psychologically present it deserves at this point a Movie Godz gimmee owesie because it’s the only big player (as of right now) that is standing belly to the bar and funding ars gratia artis films for their own merits (like Roma), and because long, ambitious movies Like The Irishman are at a premium right now.

There’s also a seventh factor, and a crucial one at that: Netflix has to cut some kind of deal with major exhibitors (AMC, Cineplex, Arclight, Landmark) in order to book The Irishman into theatres for at least…well, that’s the issue, isn’t it? Potential engagements of 42, 56 or 70 days (or six, eight or ten-week runs)….who knows?

AMC wants something close to a 90-day exclusive theatrical window, even though it was recently asserted by a distribution veteran that “95% of movies stop earning their keep after the 42-day mark.”

The other four Best Picture contenders of note, probably, will be Sam Mendes‘ 1917, Noah Baumbach‘s Marriage Story, Marielle Heller‘s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood and Greta Gerwig‘s Little Women. And maybe Clint Eastwood‘s Richard Jewell. But The Irishman will take it. That’s how I see it right now.

Originally posted on 9.25.10: “I recognize that some blogger-columnists feel that sitting on the sidelines during awards season and gauging the industry’s political and emotional sentiments regarding this or that nominee is what they do and should do, and that this is both important and expected of them and so on. I’ve never gone along with this. In fact, my reaction to this philosophy has always been ‘what?

“I believe that the proper role of a good Hollywood columnist is to not just report on the conversation (which passes the time and is occasionally interesting), but to lead it — to stand at the lecturn and be an advocate and to put wood into the fire and keep the passion going for the right films and the right filmmakers. To celebrate art before politics. And to argue against awarding mediocre films, which is what most people are always inclined to do — i.e., be supportive of their friends and colleagues because it’s a friendly, neighborly thing to do.

“The highest calling of a Hollywood columnist during awards season is to be a good shepherd by guiding the sheep to where the good grass is. This doesn’t imply that sheep don’t have a nose for good grass on their own. Of course they do. But there is crabgrass, grass, decent grass, better grass, higher-quality grass and world-class gourmet grass. I would humbly submit that shepherds have an eye and a nose for grass, and that life is short so why eat regular grass when all you have to do is trudge up the hill a bit and sample the really good stuff?

“Put another way, the ‘I’m just taking the pulse of the town and staying out of the argument’ columnists are like Judean shepherds on a hillside near Mount Sinai. Shepherd #1: ‘Look at those sheep over there, eating all that yellow grass and those weeds.’ Shepherd #2: ‘Yeah, I know, and with that really nice looking patch of rich green grass to the left about 100 yards.’ Shepherd #1: ‘Why don’t we get our staffs and scoot them over in that direction?’ Shepherd #2: ‘No, no, that’s not our proper role. We’re here to just chill and observe and keep an eye on whatever the sheep are up to…nothing more.'”

Postscript: Last year was an anomaly in this regard. Stalinist “woke” shepherds tried to steer the sheep away from the Green Book grass, using the ugliest and most damning SJW rhetoric imaginable. This left classic-style shepherds like myself no choice but to urge a pushback against the SJW bullies, and this, in part, is what led to one of the happiest moments in Oscar history — Academy members collectively telling the wokesters to go fuck themselves.

It wasn’t about how great or world-class Green Book was; it was about telling the enemies of this old-fashioned but amiable, harmless, heart-warming film to shove it.

The raging fires consuming God knows how many tens of thousands of acres of Amazon rainforest were deliberately set by ranchers to clear land for cattle-grazing, knowing full well that the the ultra-conservative government of Jair Bolsonaro (aka “Tropical Trump”) would tacitly approve. The Amazon inferno is, of course, pushing climate change to a tipping balance. The Amazon supplies roughly 20% of the Earth’s oxygen. Destruction of just 3% of the Amazon could have a devastating worldwide effect.

I for one would love to see James Mangold‘s Ford v. Fairlane [sic], an Anne Thompson slip of the tongue…the two big players are The Irishman and Marriage Story…the title of The Two Popes alone…nobody really knows how much autonomy Fox Searchlight will have in the distribution realm…A24, significantly, giving an 11.1 release date to Trey Edward Shults‘ Waves, about a high-school wrestler (Luce‘s Kelvin Harrison Jr.) committing a “shocking act”…why is The Aeronauts playing the fall festivals?…the about-to-open Apple pocketbook…these guys actually care about Spider Man split from MCU…HE aside: Joker, trust me, is basically just another origin film…a well-written, appropriately noirish and Death Wish-y, and probably a well-acted one, but an origin story all the same.

Three questions about Mindhunter‘s second season, which I’m in the middle of re-watching: (a) Which of the two seasons have struck you as the more involving, complex, haunting or whatever? And why?; (b) What are your feelings about the two absorbing but less-than-essential subplots (the creepy saga about Bill and Nancy Tench’s beastly son, and Wendy Carr‘s ill-fated love affair with Kay Mason); and (c) Damon Herriman‘s Charles Manson rant, which happens during his interview with Tench and Holden Ford, is so brilliantly written and performed that you can’t help but say to yourself, “Jeez, Quentin Tarantino had this guy on OUATIH and all he did has have him drop by the Polanski/Tate house and wave with a creepy smile?”

From “Trump Needs a Primary Challenge,” a N.Y. Times opinion piece by the once admittedly rancid but nonetheless marginally redeemed Joe Walsh, posted on 8.14.19:

“In Mr. Trump, I see the worst and ugliest iteration of views I expressed for the better part of a decade. To be sure, I’ve had my share of controversy. On more than one occasion, I questioned Mr. Obama’s truthfulness about his religion. At times, I expressed hate for my political opponents. We now see where this can lead. There’s no place in our politics for personal attacks like that, and I regret making them.

“I didn’t vote for Mr. Trump in 2016 because I liked him. I voted for him because he wasn’t Hillary Clinton. Once he was elected, I gave him a fair hearing, and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. But I soon realized that I couldn’t support him because of the danger he poses to the country, especially the division he sows at every chance, culminating a few weeks ago in his ugly, racist attack on four minority congresswomen.

“The fact is, Mr. Trump is a racial arsonist who encourages bigotry and xenophobia to rouse his base and advance his electoral prospects.”

Walsh is going to take tons of twitter shit from all sides for this, but at least, like “The Mooch”, he’s standing up against the malignancy. And in so doing is saying, in effect, “Okay, I was a bit of an asshole before.”

Why is the sound synch so off?

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