For whatever reason, Woody Allen‘s distribution relationship with Sony Pictures Classics, which began a few years ago, has been interrupted by Amazon Studios. All North American rights, including theatrical and streaming, to Allen’s latest film, an untitled 1930s romantic dramedy with Steve Carell, Jesse Eisenberg, Blake Lively, Jeannie Berlin, Parker Posey, Kristen Stewart, Corey Stoll and Ken Stott, has been acquired by Amazon. Amazon will open the film theatrically sometime this summer, followed by a streaming debut several weeks later. Amazon isn’t fooling around. They’ve also acquired Kenneth Lonergan‘s Oscar-bound Manchester-By-The-Sea during the recently-concluded Sundance Film Festival. “Like all beginning relationships, there is much hope, mutual affection, and genuine goodwill — the lawsuits come later,” Allen said in a statement. Allen is also writing and directing an untitled six-episode television series for Amazon starring himself, Elaine May and Miley Cyrus. It begins shooting next month.

I only saw 40 minutes worth of Deadpool last Tuesday, and since then I’ve managed to flush most of it out of my head. It’s a glib, porno-violent Daffy Duck cartoon that deserved a quick box-office death. Instead it’s become one of the most successful Marvel flicks ever released — $172 million and change since opening six days ago. And now over 35,000 ass-hats have signed a Change.org petition to urge Saturday Night Live producers to get Deadpool (i.e., Ryan Reynolds in costume) to host the show. The petition was started by Andrew Stege of Matteson, Illinois. Words fail.

Six months ago Toronto Film Festival critics mostly agreed that Lorene Scafaria‘s The Meddler (Sony Classics, 4.22) is an affecting, above-average mother-daughter relationship dramedy, and that Susan Sarandon gives an exceptional performance as an intrusive mom and that costars Rose Byrne (i.e., the daughter) and J.K. Simmons (the prospective boyfriend) hold their own. It recently screened for N.Y. media types, and I’m sure it’ll eventually be shown to the Los Angeles contingent.

What got my attention this morning was a Meddler synopsis in an email from Falco Ink, the N.Y.-based p.r. agency. Here’s how it reads: “With a new iPhone, an apartment near the Grove and a comfortable bank account left to her by her beloved late husband, Marnie Minervini (Sarandon) has happily relocated from New Jersey to Los Angeles to be near her daughter Lori (Byrne), a successful but still single screenwriter, and smother her with motherly love.”

The first part of the sentence is obviously seeking to describe an agreeable way for Minnie to start her new life here, and yet “an apartment near the Grove” is absolutely no one’s idea of a cool concept. No hip person, I mean. Okay, the area isn’t far from a mostly-Jewish, retirement-friendly neighborhood a couple of blocks to the north, but the Grove — a small-scale Orlando Disneyworld at the corner of Third Street and Fairfax Avenue, and yet ironically adjacent to the agreeably funky atmosphere of the Farmer’s Market — is one of the most depressing and oppressive environments in the entire city, and I’m including Skid Row in this assessment.

During last night’s MSNBC town hall discussion in Charleston, Donald Trump identified himself as a close political relative of Bernie Sanders. “I wanted to describe a candidate to you,” Mika Brzezinski said to Trump. “That candidate is considered a political outsider by all of the pundits. He’s tapping into the anger of voters, delivers a populist message. He believes everyone in the country should have healthcare [and] he advocates for hedge fund managers to pay higher taxes. He’s drawing thousands of people at his rallies and bringing in a lot of new voters into the political process. Who am I describing?”

“You’re describing Donald Trump,” Trump replied. “Actually, I was describing Bernie Sanders,” Brzezinski said.

“In the minute before the theater lights are down, what a tension is in the house. One might as well be in the crowd just before an important fight commences. It is years since one has watched a movie begin with such anticipation. And the tension holds as the projection starts. We see Brando and Schneider pass each other in the street. Since we have all been informed — by Time no less — we know they are going to take carnal occupation of each other, and very soon. The audience watches with anxiety as if it is also going to be in the act with someone new, and the heart (and for some, the bowels) is in tremors between earthquake and expectation.

“Maria Schneider is so sexual a presence. None of the photographs has prepared anybody for this. Rare actresses, just a few, have flesh appeal. You feel as if you can touch them on the screen. Schneider has nose appeal — you can smell her. She is every eighteen-year-old in a mini-skirt and a maxi-coat who ever promenaded down Fifth Avenue in that inner arrogance which proclaims, ‘My cunt is my chariot.’

“We have no more than a few minutes to wait. She goes to look at an apartment for rent, Brando is already there. They have passed in the street, and by a telephone booth; now they are in an empty room. Abruptly Brando cashes the check Stanley Kowalski wrote for us twenty-five years ago — he fucks the heroine standing up. It solves the old snicker of how do you do it in a telephone booth? — he rips her panties open.

From whitehouse.gov: FACT #1: Six Justices have been confirmed in a presidential election year since 1900. For more than two centuries, it has been standard practice for Congress to confirm a president’s Supreme Court nominee, whether in a presidential election year or not. Of the six justices confirmed since 1900, three have been Republicans. The most recent Justice to be confirmed in an election year was Justice Kennedy — appointed by President Reagan — who was confirmed by a Democratic-controlled Congress in February of 1988.

FACT #2: Every nominee has received a vote within 125 days of nomination. Since 1975, the average time from nomination to confirmation is 67 days. In fact, since 1875, every nominee has received a hearing or a vote. The longest time before confirmation in the past three decades was 99 days, for Justice Thomas, and the last four Justices, spanning two Administrations, were confirmed in an average of 75 days. The Senate [now] has almost a full year — more than 300 days — to consider and confirm a nominee.

Just so we’re straight, no discerning film lover checks Fandango to see if a movie is any good or not. Fandango is a whore site. A far more reliable approach has always been to check both Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic. But now Rotten Tomatoes is suddenly looking a tad dicey. Six hours ago it was announced that Fandango has bought Rotten Tomatoes and Flixster, which, given the too-positive aggregate ratings Fandango is known for handing out, amounts to a big “uh-oh”.

Hello, Metacritic — our old and only reliable friend. And farewell, Rotten Tomatoes, for the time being. Not finally and absolutely but until it’s been clearly proven that Fandango won’t be applying its happy formula to RT’s aggregate ratings in the wake of the purchase, the smart policy will be to regard RT askance.

Last October FiveThirtyEight’s Walt Hickey posted the results of an exacting study that determined the aggregate ratings on Fandango were happier than those on Rotten Tomatoes. Fandango, which is owned by NBC/Universal, is obviously more interested in selling tickets than passing along the straight dope about whether a movie sucks or not.

Gizmodo’s Matt Novak posted an uh-oh piece a few hours ago.

Today I received a double-vinyl album of The Revenant score, which was mainly composed by Ryuichi Sakomoto with supplemental music by Bryce Dessner and Alva Noto. Despite a decision by the Academy’s music branch to disqualify it because “a score assembled from the music of more than one composer shall not be eligible” (per Academy rules), this was certainly and absolutely the finest score of the year. Nothing touched the bottom of my soul like this. This was the second disqualification for a musical score composed by more than one person for an Inarritu film. Last year Antonio Sanchez‘s all-percussion score for Birdman was disqualified because portions of classical music were also used in addition to Sanchez’s drumming. Again, a sample Revenant track.

Trailers have made it obvious that Gods of Egypt (Lionsgate, 2.26), a CG fantasy flick from director Alex Proyas (The Crow, Dark City, I, Robot) will not be depending on good reviews to generate ticket sales. Nonetheless Lionsgate publicists are very concerned about spoilers appearing in reviews. Today Lionsgate sent a letter to critics saying that unless they sign a letter pledging not to reveal “spoilers” they can’t attend next Wednesday’s (2.24) screening.

3:45 pm Pacific Update: A Lionsgate spokesperson informs that the above-referenced letter that was sent out earlier today went “to the field” and does not represent Lionsgate policy, and that no one is looking to corral or police critics with concerns about possible spoilers.

Back to earlier story: There’s an objection, I’ve been told, to a portion of the waiver statement that reads as follows: “…at no point should the undersigned publish…any element of the Picture that would be considered a ‘spoiler.'” I’ve been told that at least a couple of major print publications are refusing to sign. So this morning I asked several big-name critics for theri reactions.

Since when is spoiling a major concern among critics? Critics generally offer a rough summary of the basic set-up and the first two acts, or at least the first half. But they never reveal the payoff elements or any portion of what is normally considered climactic or third-act crescendo points.

Why exactly is Lionsgate so concerned about spoilers? More to the point, why is it demanding that critics offer a written pledge to abstain from revealing them before they’re allowed to see it?

As I understand it the online embargo for Gods of Egypt reviews is on Thursday, 2.25; the print embargo is on Friday, 2.26.

Jeff Nichols‘ Midnight Special (Warner Bros., 3.18.16) is obviously a cut or two above your usual imbued-child, alien-visitation movie. You can just tell — it’s been made by s smart guy and is aimed way above the heads of Deadpool fans. And despite the presence of HE nemesis Joel Edgerton, it has an excellent cast — Michael Shannon, Kirsten Dunst, Adam Driver, Sam Shepard, etc. And yet despite having wrapped principal photography nearly two years ago (3.1.14) Warner Bros. decided not to release it all during 2015. (They initially slated an 11.25.15 release but then bailed on that.) So far it has a Rotten Toomatoes/Metacritic score of 88% and 78%, respectively.

“Opening with a child abduction and ending with a spectacular sci-fi finale on par with Close Encounters of the Third Kind, the Bible Belt-spanning Midnight Special demonstrates once and for all that indie auteur Jeff Nichols is now the go-to storyteller for the kind of slow-burn supernatural thrill audiences once sought from M. Night Shyamalan. Serving up hefty human insight in place of third-act gimmickry, and reuniting him with Take Shelter star Michael Shannon, Nichols’ impressively restrained yet limitlessly imaginative fourth feature takes its energy from an ensemble of characters who hold fast to their convictions, even though their beliefs remain shrouded in mystery for much of the journey.” — Variety‘s Peter Debruge, filing from Berlin.

I lasted a little more than 40 minutes with Deadpool — not bad considering. I decided I’d be leaving early on, or right after the opening kick-ass sequence on the highway overpass when this quip-happy, totally indestructible Daffy Duck wastes…what, 25 or 30 guys? If a superhero flick is smart and clever and well-measured enough (Ant-Man, both Captain America flicks, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight) I’m more or less there along with everyone else, but this…this is smug, empty, super-annoying, surface-skimming cartoon-level dogshit. Yeah, asshole — I know that’s the point but the point is submental.

The only reason I didn’t leave at the ten-minute mark (I caught a 5:30 pm show at the Cinerama Dome) is because I wouldn’t have anything to write about if I did that.

The hyper fast-food violence is, of course, deliberately arch and inconsequential and Looney Tunes manic…meta meta meta meta…cheap, self-referencing gags about cliches-upon-cliches that pirhouette into more gags…”produced by Asshats“…exactly what all those empty coke bottles who went to this thing in droves last weekend are looking for.

I was never a big Daffy Duck fan as a kid — I always thought he was too hyper, too screwball, too self-regarding. Same here.

I lasted until the cancer diagnosis. I was slumping lower and lower into my seat….hating myself for paying $15 to see this shite but at the same cutting myself a break. On top of which I could feel my very own cancerous tumor growing in my lower abdomen.

Anyone who goes to this movie and comes out saying “wow, that was pretty good!”…70% contempt, 30% pity. You don’t like good action, you don’t like craft, you don’t care about that thing that the Russo brothers have in spades and that Deadpool helmer Tim Miller will never, ever have. All you care about is sinking into another jizz-wank hot tub that reenforces your glib bullshit attitudes about superhero movies…you’re as low as it gets in the movie-watching (or more accurately movie-sampling) realm.