Two grabbers in Michael Schulman’s 2.27 New Yorker piece about political strategies in the Oscar race (“Shakeup At The Oscars“):

(1) Condolences to longstanding, influential, hard-working Oscar strategist Tony Angelotti for being referred to in Schulman’s piece as “an awards consultant named Tony Angellotti” while the NY-based Cynthia Swartz and the LA-based Lisa Taback are described as “the queens of East and West.” Imagine if Schulman had described Angelotti as “a veteran Oscar strategist” while mentioning “an awards consultant named Lisa Taback.” Both are technically accurate statements, but the blowback would have been significant.

(2) “[Last] June the Academy released a list of six hundred and eighty-three new members — a record number; forty-six per cent of them were female and forty-one per cent were nonwhite, representing 59 different countries. They included the actors John Boyega, America Ferrera, Ice Cube, Idris Elba, Daniel Dae Kim and Gabrielle Union; the directors Ryan Coogler (Creed), Marjane Satrapi and the Wachowski siblings; and three Wayans brothers, Damon, Marlon and Keenen.”

But Academy president Cheryl Boone Isaacs‘ “mini-purge” — an attempt to get rid of the Academy deadwood that was first announced in January ’16 — “ended up affecting less than one per cent of the membership, or about seventy people.” That’s all?

Posted on 2.2.16 (“If The Academy Had Only Followed My Weighted Ballot Suggestion…”): “A lot of older Academy members have expressed outrage about losing their voting privilege because they haven’t worked or been ‘active’ within the last ten years. (Along with the Academy’s vague suggestion that their advanced age means they’re probably racist on some level.) If the Academy had only listened to my suggestion to the deadwood problem, nobody would be upset and the community would be more or less at peace.

“Should the Oscar acceptance speeches be political? What I’m saying is that anyone with something political to say should feel free to say it. Here’s the opportunity that Oscar winners are given: a brief moment with a global audience. It’s a small statuette, but the first time you hold it, you’re surprised by how heavy it is. What might feel heavier to Oscar winners, this year, is that we do represent (however fleetingly) a community of artists. In our community, tolerance of intolerance is unacceptable. President Trump’s intolerance is glaring. Trump isn’t worrying about presidential protocol.” — author-screenwriter John Irving (The World According to Garp, The Hotel New Hampshire, The Cider House Rules) in a 2.20 Hollywood Reporter op-ed piece.

Yesterday the S.R.O. (Significant Russian Other) and I took a mountain-trail hike in the foggy wilderness of the Santa Monica mountains. A good three and a half hours, screaming calf muscles and half soaked by the mist. We began at Coldwater Canyon Park, went up Beverly Drive and took a right on Franklin Canyon Drive (which suddenly turns into the wilds of Colorado or Vietnam even) and then hung a sharp right south onto Lake Drive down to Franklin Canyon Park. The grand finale was a steep ascent of Hastain Trail, which eventually hooks up with Royalton Drive and then Coldwater Canyon Drive, and finally a 1.75 mile hike back to C.C. Park. The most exciting incident was coming upon fresh mud prints of a mid-sized animal — I compared Google images of puma and coyote prints and couldn’t decide which. We found a not-too-ripe apple lying on the path during the final third — it seemed like one of the most delicious apples I’ve ever bitten into in my entire life.

Halfway up Hastain Trail, north of Franklin Canyon Park. The misty fog was so dense it was like being in the middle of a cloud.

My first thought was that this paw print belonged to a mountain lion but maybe not — maybe a large coyote.

As far as interactive Oscar ballots go, the Vanity Fair guys could’ve done worse. Incidentally: I always perk up when I hear a film described as “not half bad,” because to me it means “not without an issue or two but more than I expected and a better-than-average film overall.” In other words, an honest, non-bullshitty thumbs-up. And yet I’ve NEVER seen “not half bad” on a movie poster. The marketing exec with the balls to run such a quote would become an instant legend.

The knockdown, drag-out bitch brawl between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford during the making of Robert Aldrich‘s Whatever Happened to Baby Jane (’62)? You betcha! Especially with the legendary Jessica Lange as Crawford and Susan Sarandon as Davis, not to mention Alfred Molina as Aldrich, Stanley Tucci as Jack L. Warner, Catherine Zeta-Jones as Olivia de Havilland, Sarah Paulson as Geraldine Page and Dominic Burgess as Victor Buono? This is (probably) going to be GRRRREAT! Ryan Murphy‘s Feud: Bette and Joan premieres just under two weeks hence (3.5) on FX. Not a single one-off but an eight-episode season. Produced by Jaffe Cohen, Michael Zam, Lange and Sarandon. One question: The Wikipage says Murphy “developed” the mini but who actually directed Bette and Joan?

In no particular order, off the top of my head — the 27 Best Picture winners that have aged the best, still hold up, not necessarily the best of their respective years but entirely respectable: Spotlight (’15), Birdman (’14), 12 Years A Slave (’13), The Hurt Locker (’09), No Country For Old Men (’07), The Departed (’06), Schindler’s List (’93), The Silence of the Lambs (’91), Platoon (’86), Terms of Endearment (’83), Ordinary People (’80), Annie Hall (’77), The Godfather, Part II (’74), The Godfather (’72), The French Connection (’71), Patton (’70), Midnight Cowboy (’69), A Man For All Seasons (’66), Lawrence of Arabia (’62), The Apartment (’60), The Bridge on the River Kwai (’57), On The Waterfront (’54), From Here To Eternity (’53), All About Eve (’50), All The King’s Men (’49), The Best Years of Our Lives (’46), Casablanca (’43).

Two months ago the generally vague perception was that Morten Tyldum‘s Passengers, which everyone in my realm hated, was a bust. It cost $110 million to make and God knows how much to market vs. a 2.20 domestic box-office tally of $98,586,740 — well short of break-even. But the overseas tally so far is $195,308,285 for an overall world gross of $293,895,025. Add worldwide streaming revenues and it seems likely to at least be in profit by day’s end…no?

I’ve been using Crew fibre as a sculptor/shaper for years, but the recent Elvis label kicked it up in the coolness realm.

HE’s invite to participate in the 2017 Cannes Film Festival (three months off) arrived last night.

As noted on 2.3.17, Angelina Jolie‘s First They Killed My Father (Netflix, undated release) chronicles the experience of author Loung Ung’s early childhood in Cambodia during the Pol Pot regime’s genocide of the late ’70s and early ’80s. It’s her third film about horrific punishment and torture visited upon innocents by hostile governments, the first being In The Land of Blood and Honey (i.e., the Serbian genocide of the ’90s) and the second being Unbroken (i.e., Japanese prison camp torture and deprivation during World War II).

Three thoughts: (1) At the very least the cinematography should be exciting with the great Anthony Dodd Mantle at the helm; (2) The fact that Jolie’s film recently premiered in Cambodia suggests it will debut on Netflix sooner rather than later (why would they trailer a film now if it wasn’t going to open within the next 60 days or thereabouts?), and yet the plan, I’ve been told, is to open it next fall — go figure; and (3) Jolie says in the featurette that employing her adopted, Cambodian-born son Maddox as a production assistant was a major motivator because “he has to know who he is” — this in itself gives pause as I’m not sure that Maddox acquainting himself with his ethnic identity and whatnot is of any particular importance to me as a Los Angeles-based filmgoer.

From 2.15 Deadline interview with Oscar telecast producers Mike De Luca and Jennifer Todd, conducted by Mike Fleming with Wellsian commentary inserted here and there:

Fleming: Mike, you’ve produced the second of three kinkily romantic Fifty Shades of Grey movies that have stretched the Valentine’s Day holiday. What advice from your exhaustive research can you convey that will guarantee Mrs. Fleming a whirlwind week of romance?

De Luca: Mr. Fleming must do whatever she wants and asks for, that’s my one and only instruction. Surrender, that’s the key to a successful marriage. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender.

Wells: Organizationally and structurally, I’m afraid that’s 100% true. The sooner a husband or co-habiting boyfriend accepts that he is subordinate relationship partner for whom disputes or challenges are basically futile, the smoother things will go. She’s the boss and THAT’S IT.

Fleming: So, reading between the lines, it feels like you’re advising me to stick to the usual playbook, a combination of groveling and guilt?

De Luca: Those are your words, not mine. I brought you the surrender advice. If she wants you to be a dominant, you become a dominant. If she wants you to be an infant, you put on a diaper. Happy wife, happy life, is all I’m saying.

Wells: That aside, a man who doesn’t insist on a certain amount of temporary freedom and autonomy and a good amount of open-air oxygen to breathe into his lungs will surely wither and die. Get permission first by all means but escape from the house at regular intervals. Own a motorcycle or large scooter if at all possible. And hike together as often as possible. Strenuous hiking does wonders for the spirit and has a way of calming down whatever brewing feelings of turmoil or anxiety may be getting in the way.

Last night Moonlight‘s Barry Jenkins won the WGA’s Best Original Screenplay award (even though it’s based on an unproduced drama school project by Tarell Alvin McCraney) and Arrival‘s Eric Heisserer won for Best Adapated Screenplay. By HE’s yardstick neither film really knocks it out of the park. Moonlight is good enough as far as it goes but calm down. I’m actually blown away that a majority of WGA members thought Moonlight was superior to Kenneth Lonergan‘s Manchester By The Sea screenplay…c’mon. And the Arrival screenplay is fairly close to infuriating. If you had told me right after my first viewing of Arrival at Telluride last September, which was not my idea of a joyous occasion, that the screenplay would take a WGA award, I would have said “get outta here.”

I’m mildly fascinated by the hints of character and temperament — the undervibe — in Damian Chazelle‘s actress-director-writer girlfriend, Olivia Hamilton. For one thing the usual implications of the term “girlfriend of a hotshot director” don’t seem to apply. She doesn’t look like someone given to going along or accommodating or alpha-vibing for their own sakes. You can detect in her red-carpet smile (or half smile) a less-than-approving scrutiny of the charade. She appears to be centered and fair-minded but is almost certainly (and I say this with respect as it takes one to know one) no day at the beach. The kind of doesn’t-miss-a-trick partner that a smart, cutting-edge director would naturally end up with. She reminds me of the young Patricia Wettig (of thirtysomething) and Raising Arizona-era Holly Hunter. She played “Bree (Gluten Free Girl)” in La La land, but I can’t find any stills of her scenes[s]. She’s directed, written and starred in a short called Surrogate and written-acted in Facetiming With Mommy.