The message of the new Captain Marvel trailer, which I’ve seen but can’t paste in this space because I’m lying on a hospital gurney, is “here comes more Marvel flashbang jizz-whizz…you know you want it, you know you do. And even if you don’t, you’re gettin’ it.”

From Randy Newman‘s “I’m Dead But I Don’t Know It”: “I got nothin’ more to say / I’m gonna say it anyway.”

Hotshot director to HE: “Joanna Kulig has to be among the Best Actress front-runners. Astounding performance in Cold War. Unfortunately voters will not see her. Academy cinema was almost empty [during last weekend’s] Academy members screening.”

HE to hotshot: “Really? I love her.”

Hotshot to HE: “And the film itself is easily the year’s best.”

HE to hotshot: “Agreed.”

Because I go to several film festivals each year, I get to watch the finest feature films under the best of technical circumstances (perfect projection, tip-top-sound) and with the most attuned and responsive audiences in the world — i.e., journalists, distributors and filmmakers.

It doesn’t get much better than that, but the quality plummets when you sink into the realm of commercial cinemas and ticket-buyers. And I guess I’m wondering if viewing conditions will be any better in theatres, or will the slovenly gorilla factor take over exhibition entirely?

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It’s not a reach to say that 25 or 50 years hence, Ryan Coogler‘s Black Panther will be the only 2018 Best Picture contender to be routinely referenced by film historians. Respect, admire, like or love it, there’s no question it’ll be regarded as one of the most important 21st Century films ever made. Because it became a major cultural game-changer, and because the scale of its financial success made history.

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Snapped on 12.1, the Arc de Triumph image was taken by Veronique de Viguerie of Getty Images. What are the Parisian protests about? Emmanuel Macron’s intention to impose a “carbon tax” on petrol and diesel with the aim of funding changes that will try to remedy climate change and transition the French economy to green energy. But rural French workers are fuming as they will bear the brunt of the tax, and will be forced to pay a higher percentage of their income on fuel.

A couple of weeks ago I explained that I have a mild basal-cell carcinoma problem that will require surgical removal. That surgery is slated for tomorrow morning around 10 am. I’ll be under a general anasthetic. I probably won’t be filing until the late afternoon, if that. Not a biggie (basal cell skin cancers are benign) but has to be done.

In Stanley Kubrick‘s Paths of Glory (’57), Kirk Douglas played a French military officer who defends four French soldiers accused of cowardice under fire, and who were facing a death penalty. The film was shot in Bavaria, Germany. Four years later Douglas repeated this experience. In Gottfried Reinhardt‘s Town Without Pity, which was also shot in Bavaria, Douglas played a military officer who defends four American G.I.’s accused of raping a local girl, and who were also facing a death penalty.

Kubrick’s film is brilliant, of course — arguably the finest anti-war film of the 20th Century. And it boasts one of Douglas’s best performances. But the first two-thirds of Town With Pity, which I streamed this evening, are rough going. It’s basically a crude and rather cruel exploitation film — clunky dialogue, on-the-nose acting, a leering tone, occasional passages that feel almost amateurish.

The last third, however, is shattering. The rape victim (played by the late Christine Kaufmann) is put through the ringer and essentially raped a second time during Douglas’s cross-examination. The pitch-black finale is delivered straight and cold, over and out.

This is a terrible thing to say, but for the first time in my life Bruce Springsteen is talking like an old guy. A guy who isn’t paying close attention, I mean, and is sounding a bit out-of-it. I’m referring to his Sunday Times Magazine quote, to wit: “I don’t see anyone out there at the moment…the man who can beat Trump, or the woman who can beat Trump.” I was thinking the same thing two or three months ago, but no longer.

Clint Eastwood‘s The Mule opens in 11 days (if you’re counting evening shows on Thursday, 12.13), and Warner Bros. won’t even screen it for critics groups about to vote. Guys who routinely see films a couple of weeks ahead of commercial opening are hearing nothing but “radio silence” from WB publicists when they call and ask.

I’ve heard that The Mule had a recent research screening and one for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, and that a few elites saw it two or three weeks ago. The word all along has been that Eastwood’s crime flick is better than pretty good but not in an award-qualifying way. Fine, no worries, but why are they hiding it? I’m guessing that all-media showings will happen early next week (i.e., Monday or Tuesday), although HE colleague Jordan Ruimy says he’s been told “there will be no advance press screenings of The Mule in Boston.”

There’s a bit of a mild racial rumpus going on right now, about what some are interpreting as overly crude and highly negative depictions of Hispanic “bad hombre” drug dealers. You know what that probably means — Clint hired some Latino guys to play drug dealers, he asked them to behave all snarly and ferocious, and now “woke” storm troopers are probably going to start crying racism and whatnot. We’re living in an age of mass hysteria, but then you know that.

I’m told that the Hispanic bad guy depictions are no biggie, and that what Eastwood has done isn’t much different from most drug dramas. Three years ago it probably wouldn’t be an issue at all. Obviously today is another story.

I think it’s wrong to compose a Top 32 films of 2018 list without having seen The Mule or Aquaman, but here goes anyway. This isn’t an awards-projection thing but a personal, preferential rundown of films that went ding-ding-ding-DING-DING-DING! Films that felt extra-ballsy or extra-refined, seemed the most beautiful, struck the target dead-center, delivered the most pizazz, generated the most excitement, felt the fullest and most formidable, exhibited the finest forms of discipline, etc. And in this order. BTW: I’m sure I’ve overlooked a deserving title or two…please advise.

1. Pawel Pawlikowski‘s Cold War.

2. Alfonso Cuaron‘s Roma.

3. Peter Farrelly‘s Green Book.

4. Paul Schrader‘s First Reformed.

5. Adam McKay‘s Vice.

6. Ari Aster‘s Hereditary.

7. Nadine Labaki‘s Capernaum.

8. Alice Rohrwacher‘s Happy As Lazzaro.

9. Tony Zierra‘s Filmworker.

10. Damien Chazelle‘s First Man.

11. Steve McQueen‘s Widows.

12. Stefano Sollima‘s Sicario — Day of the Soldado.

13. Chris McQuarrie and Tom Cruise‘s Mission : Impossible — Fallout.

14. Matt Tyrnauer‘s Studio 54.

15. Bradley Cooper‘s A Star Is Born.

16. Yorgos Lanthimos‘ The Favourite.

17. John Krasinski‘s A Quiet Place.

18. Eugene Jarecki‘s The King.

19. Lynne Ramsay‘s You Were Never Really Here.

20. Jason Reitman‘s The Front Runner.

21. Jonah Hill‘s Mid ’90s.

22. Marielel Heller‘s Can You Ever Forgive Me?

23. Wes Anderson‘s Isle of Dogs.

24. Bo Burnham‘s Eighth Grade.

25. Morgan Neville‘s Won’t You Be My Neighbor.

26. Ryan Coogler‘s Black Panther.

27. Matt Tyrnauer‘s Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood.

28. Betsy West; Julie Cohen‘s RBG.

29. Antoine Fuqua‘s The Equalizer 2.

30. John Curran‘s Chappaquiddick.

31. Jesse Peretz‘s Juliet, Naked.

32. Gus Van Sant‘s Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far On Foot.

Not necessarily his choices, but he’s an excellent editor.

Six years ago we all submitted to Tom Hooper‘s musical Les Miserables, and at the end of that long award-season ride Anne Hathaway had her Oscar but thousands were drained, spent, exhausted. When it was all over I knew I would never, ever watch that film again. (I didn’t think it was all that problematic, mind — I just found it taxing.). Now it’s back again as a BBC six-hour miniseries, shorn of all music and lyrics and culturally reimagined with David Oyelowo as Javert, Dominic West as Jean Valjean and Lily Collins in Hathaway’s role. Plus the great Olivia Colman! Directed by Tom Shankland, adapted by Andrew Davies. BBC One in England, Masterpiece PBS in the States.