Best trailer yet…agreed?

During the final episode of season #2 of The Sopranos, Tony (James Gandolfini) tells his sister Janice (Aida Turturro) that they were both emotionally scarred by their mother Livia (Nancy Marchand). One of her most malignant traits, Tony says, was her inability to experience joy. The psychoanalytic term is anhedonia, which of course was the original title of Woody Allen‘s Annie Hall.

The other day somebody called me a Livia-like grump, and that I’m always scowling and complaining and whatnot.

My stock response is to remind people of a riff I wrote five years ago, and reposted in ’17. It was called “Like, Want, Need.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” I began. “I want to walk around New York City at a fairly vigorous clip. I want to love and support my wife Tatyana and my sons every way I can. I want to sail into the mystic. I want to stay in touch with everyone and offer as much offer affection, trust, intellectual engagement and friendship as I reasonably can. I want to live forever. I want good health, and to me that also means good spiritual health. I want to keep most of my hair and never grow breasts or a pot belly. I want Japanese or South Korean-level wifi wherever I go. I want to read and know everything. I want to bask in love, family, friendship and the purring of my cats until the end of time.

“I also want several pairs of slim ass-hugging jeans, and I want to be clean shaven. I want well-made shoes, preferably Italian suede or Bruno Magli or John Varvatos. I want to keep all my Blurays forever. I want color, aromas, travel. I want challenging hiking trails in high Swiss places. I know it’s not possible, but I’d prefer to always be in the company of slender people. I want to zoom around on my Majesty and use the Mini Cooper only when it rains or when I need to buy a lot of groceries. I want mobility and adaptability and the smell of great humming, rumbling cities. I want European-style subways, buses, trains, rental cars. I want a long Norman Lloyd-type life, and I insist that my mental faculties stay electric and crackling forever.” And so on and so forth.

You can say these are the words of a hopeless sourpuss, but they’re not. You can say I’m being dishonest or otherwise covering up, but I’m not. I’m no Livia and no Woody. Life is nothing without joy, and joy is nothing unless you embrace it…unless you jump into the pool with your clothes on.

A colleague has heard good things about The Aeronauts (Amazon, 10.25), an historical adventure flick about real-life scientist James Glaisher (Eddie Redmayne) and the fictional Amelia Wren (Felicity Jones) on an epic fight for survival during an 1862 gas-balloon voyage. The colleague has heard it’s “a heavy-hitter spectacle”, and that Jones might emerge as a Best Actress frontrunner. Maybe. His source insists it’s also a contender for Best Picture and Best Score.

The colleague says he’s been told that “around 80% of the movie takes place in the air.” Does anyone believe that? Maybe 40% or 50%.

The colleague also says that Taika Waititi‘s Jojo Rabbit (Disney, 10.18) is “screening very well.” Set in World War II-era Vienna and focused on Nazi persecution of Jews, the dark antiwar satire could emerge as “one of the Best Pic frontrunners after all is said and done.” Or so he’s been told. Because it’s an instructive piece about racism and prejudice.

(l. to r.) Jojo Rabbitt‘s Roman Griffin Davis, Taika Waititi, Scarlett Johansson.

Based on Christine Leunens‘ “Caging Skies,” the story is about Johannes Betzler (called “Jojo Rabbit” Betzler in the film and played by Roman Griffin Davis), an avid member of the Hitler Youth. The plot kicks in when JoJo learns that his parents are hiding a Jewish girl named Elsa (Thomasin McKenzie) behind a false wall in their home.

Pop quiz: Who in HE Land believes that a kid in 1940s Vienna would be called by the English nickname “Jojo“? The first time I heard “Jojo” was in the 1969 Beatles song “Get Back”; the second time was when Richard Pryor‘s Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life Is Calling was released in ’86. “Jojo Rabbitt” sounds like it was pulled out of the same name hat as “Jiminy Cricket” and “Foghorn Leghorn.”

My reply to colleague: Your friend, I suspect, is overly impressionable. I definitely don’t trust him/her…sorry.

The Aeronauts is fact-based, yes, but appears to be a family-friendly period adventure tale a la Around the World in Eighty Days, Up, Night Crossing, Mysterious Island, et. al. As noted, Glaisher’s balloon flight happened in 1862 — Jules Verne‘s Around The World in Eighty Days was published in 1872.

Aeronauts director Tom Harper (Wild Rose, BBC’s 2016 six-part War and Peace miniseries) is apparently one of those highly competent, proficient fellows who haven’t yet developed an especially strong imprint or creative style. I intend to see his just-opened Wild Rose (RT 93% Metacritic 78%) today or tomorrow.

Since peaking with 2014’s The Theory of Everything, Eddie Redmayne starred in a highly problematic Wachowski Brothers film (Jupiter Ascending), gave a gimmicky Oscar-bait performance in The Danish Girl and then did two Fantastic Beasts movies — a family-friendly, Harry Potter-like franchise.

Nine days ago World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy passed along scuttlebutt that both Woody Allen‘s A Rainy Day in Manhattan and Roman Polanski‘s An Officer and a Spy will premiere at the Venice Film Festival. Two days ago Showbiz 411‘s Roger Friedman passed along the same info.

For me the head-turner in Friedman’s story (i.e., what I hadn’t read before) is that the 2019 Venice Film Festival “will not have” Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman. Where did that come from?

If Friedman is correct this is a shocker. Who bypasses the Venice Film Festival? I know nothing at all but “no Venice” sounds to me like “no Telluride” and “no Toronto” in the same breath. Could this be true?

If so the likely world premiere destination would be the New York Film Festival, which is run by Scorsese’s friend and colleague Kent Jones (who also distinguished himself early this year as the director of Diane). On top of which much of The Irishman was shot in the New York City area, and the story more or less happens in the New York-to-Boston corridor.

HE to Jones: Will I have to fly to NYC to attend the world premiere of The Irishman at the NYFF? I usually go there anyway but I need to know in advance so I can find the right Airbnb and figure out out the best airfare, etc.

Michael Fleming reported this morning that Jill Soloway (Transparent, Afternoon Delight) will direct Red Sonja, replacing the departed and generally discredited Bryan Singer. Sounds like a plan.

In a 10.13.18 N.Y. Times profile of Soloway called “They Live in Public — Jill Soloway is building a gender-free empire“, writer Penelope Green stated for the record that “for the last few years, Mx. Soloway has identified as non-binary and prefers the third-person plural pronoun.” One presumes that in some way, shape or form Soloway’s Red Sonja will reflect this mindset or persuasion.

The last time Red Sonja occupied big screens was 34 years ago, when Brigitte Neilsen played the role. Richard Fleischer directed.

Honest question, no attitude implied: Within the last five years how many HE readers have written a letter or otherwise addressed a non-binary person as “Mx.”? It sounds like you’re saying the person in question has something to do with Mexico. That or he/she represents some sort of mixed gender (Neil Diamond‘s “A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You”). I wish I knew a non-binary person well enough to write them a parchment letter so I could seriously and earnestly type “Mx.” for the very first time in my life (apart from this posting).

How many times has Eric Kohn addressed a non-binary pally as “Mx.” whomever? Or Kyle Buchanan? HE to J.J. Abrams — Yo, bruh, have you ever signed a formal letter on Bad Robot stationery that was addressed to a non-binary colleague or collaborator?

Seriously, I love the “Mx.” but at the same time I’m kind of scratching my head. I just need to acclimate.

Yesterday Facebook’s Tom Brueggemann attempted to paint Pauline Kael with a racist brush. His weapon was a paragraph from Kael’s March 1966 McCall’s review of Stuart Burge and Laurence Olivier‘s Othello.

My first thought was “it’s very easy to accuse someone of racial insensitivity or clumsy phrasing a half-century later.”

Obviously no white actor today would even think of trying to portray an African or Moorish character, but Kael, hardly beholden to rube attitudes, was thinking beyond the usual confines.

She was merely saying that Olivier, a burning furnace beneath the surface, was conveying a certain unhinged madness or mania that prominent black actors of the mid ’60s, in her view, had been or would be reluctant to wade into.

If Jerry Schatzberg‘s Street Smart (’87) were to be remade today, I wonder if any black actor would dive into Morgan Freeman‘s “Fast Black” character with as much relish? Freeman was amazing in that film, but also quite scary. Not concluding — just thinking out loud.

Paul Schrader‘s response to Brueggemann: “A valid observation. Sorry if it’s not p.c. enough for you.”

At least read Kael’s entire review before forming a judgment.

What percentage of regular-ass Netflix viewers have even heard of the original, 52-year-old Point Blank? Which wasn’t just a great revenge flick but a major genre game-changer by way of merging shootings and beatings with an impressionistic art-film aesthetic? 1% or 2%, if that. It’s okay, I suppose, if you’re using the title for a nine-year-old French-produced thriller, but it seems to me that in the good old U.S. of A. the Netflix guys are tredding on hallowed ground.

Falling Down is easily the best film that Joel Schumacher ever directed. (Or so I recall.) It couldn’t and wouldn’t be made for theatrical today, of course, and perhaps not even for streaming. Because no one today wants to sympathize with or feel a touch of mixed empathy for a middle-aged white guy under any circumstance, let alone one who feels he’s had enough and has begun to lose his ability to control himself.

At the same time no one would want to greenlight a film about a middle-aged POC (a Samuel L. Jackson or Idris Elba type) losing his shit and becoming a public menace. That would be too negative and/or against the current p.c. narrative. So those who might respond with interest or even perverse enjoyment to a Falling Down-type film will have to be content with the original, which opened over 26 years ago

It’s streaming on Amazon for a lousy $2.99.

N.Y. Times “Carpetbagger” Kyle Buchanan has posted a fascinating state-of-things piece called “How Will the Movies (As We Know Them) Survive the Next 10 Years?” Not an article but a collection of quotes from 24 Hollywood hotshots, including J.J. Abrams, Jason Blum, Tom Rothman, Barry Jenkins, Kumail Nanjiani, Jon M. Chu, Joe and Anthony Russo, Jessica Chastain, Elizabeth Banks, Ava DuVernay, Octavia Spencer, Lena Waithe, Nancy Utley, Paul Feig, Michael Barker and a few others.

It’s probably the best thing that Buchanan has posted since he became the new “Carpetbagger” a little less than a year ago.

All 24 sound engaged and forward-looking as opposed to “Jesus, what is this business coming to?…I hate what Millennials and GenZ and their fucking phones have done to this business… I liked it better in the ’90s when people actually went to theatres” and other such laments. Don’t kid yourself — these sentiments are more common than you might think, to go by industry people you might talk to privately or run into at Academy screenings.

A thought that came to mind after finishing the article: “Thank God for elite film festivals…wall-to-wall theatrical showings, and in the company of people who actually get it, which is to say Movie Catholics.”

The most depressing comment by far comes from Feig. It actually implies why Feig isn’t as good or crafty as people thought he was after the success of Bridesmaids, and in fact may be an argument for Feig being immediately seized, driven out to Bakersfield and thrown into Movie Jail. The second most depressing quote is from Nanjiani. (The in-between remark about kids not going to “movies” but to “a movie” is from Rothman.) The third remark is from Whiplash producer Blum, which I’ve included because of the Hollywood Elsewhere “Yo, Whiplash!” factor.

Feig:

Nanjiani:

Blum:

I bailed on the Toy Story franchise after the second installment (’99), which I saw because the kids weren’t quite tweenish enough to be snide about family fare. It was okay, engaging for what it was, good enough…zzzzz.

But I completely ignored Toy Story 3 (’10), and proudly at that. Yeah! It goes without saying that I wouldn’t watch Toy Story 4 on a long flight to Seoul in which I had no wifi, nothing to read, no Percocets and absolutely nothing else to do. Which is why I politely bypassed last night’s all-media screening at the El Capitan…no offense.

I’m not sorry about missing either one. But if I had seen Toy Story 3 I would at least be able to appreciate Peter Bradshaw‘s lament. He’s basically saying that the third installment “had that staggering and triumphant sense of what we all yearn for in the cinema — a sense of an ending. The glorious finality [of Toy Story 3] is what made it such a triumph in many ways, and so I have to say, if this doesn’t sound too absurd, that Toy Story 4 kind of loses the integrity of the existing Toy Story trilogy.”

On the other hand thank God I don’t have to even consider such concepts.

Three and a half years ago the catastrophic demise of the legendary Ziegfeld theatre was announced, and now comes Michael Fleming’s Deadline report that the uptown Paris theatre (58th Street near Fifth, right next to Bergdorf Goodman) will shutter in late July or August.

Obviously depressing, deflating, food for despair. The closing of another hallowed theatrical landmark — a move that will further diminish the character, personality and soul of midtown Manhattan.

Since opening in 1948 the mere existence of the Paris, a comfortable, well-maintained, mid-sized arthouse smack dab in the heart of one of the most flush, culture-rich areas of NYC and directly in the shadow of the historic Plaza hotel, was a statement by Manhattan itself — “This theatre never shows crap, and we’re immensely proud of this as well as thankful…only the best or at least the most interesting films of the moment…and so we, the Manhattan coolios, are delighted and honored that the Paris has such a great location, because it reminds passersby what a great and necessary thing it is to support and celebrate first-rate cinema.”

I’m really sick about this. I’ve been attending occasional premieres at the Paris since ’79 or thereabouts. My mother and I went to see Alain Resnais‘ Mon Oncle d’Amerique there in ’80. I attended a Green Book premiere there last November, and a very cool premiere for Lone Scherfig‘s An Education in the fall of ’09.

As surely as Julius Caesar was knifed to death by political rivals, the Paris has been suffocated by HD streaming. This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends…not with a bang but with another theatre closing.

I can’t say I adore the films of Carlos Reygadas, but I’ve always found them bracing and serioso with subcurrents and shit. (And occasionally horrific.) I won’t be seeing Our Time until next Monday, but Silent Light, This Is My Kingdom and especially Post Tenebras Lux established Reygadas as a respected first-ranker.

But this sweater, man…c’mon. Not quite Cosby-level but fairly grotesque. How can a first-rate visual artist wear a garment like this?

I had a similar thought when Robert Eggers took the stage following the first Cannes screening of The Lighthouse. Eggers is a brilliant filmmaker and obviously standing on the mountaintop right now, but God, look at him…jerkwad sneakers, white socks, black chinos with cuffs above the ankle, an oversized Target sweatshirt and a dorkmeister whitewall haircut. Look at Rbatz and Willem Dafoe — they obviously know what decent-looking threads are about but Eggers is a geek-squad guy.

Remember that pathetic light green Army-Navy winter jacket with the orange lining that Stanley Kubrick wore during the shooting of Eyes Wide Shut? Why does Steven Spielberg always seems to dress like some older suburban home-owner on his way to the hardware store? Where are the directors who wear tight jeans, expensive leather jackets, Italian lace-up shoes, nice scarves and whatnot?

Is being a terrible dresser more the rule than the exception when it comes to gifted directors? The only helmers who seem to have an interesting sense of film-set style are Steven Soderbergh, Jim Jarmusch, Alejandro G. Inarritu and…you tell me.

Eric Von Stroheim was a serious clothes horse in the ’20s; ditto D.W. Griffith, Victor Fleming, Howard Hawks, Cecil B. DeMille, etc.

Carlos Reygadas

(l. to r.) Robert Eggers, Robert Pattinson, Willem Dafoe following first Cannes screening of The Lighthouse.