I haven’t time write a full-on review because of commitments to attend four schmooze parties today (brunches for Carol and Mr. Holmes‘ Ian McKellen at 11 am, a 3pm gathering for Beasts of No Nation and a soiree for the Spotlight gang at 5 pm), but my estimation of Adam McKay‘s The Big Short shot way up last night when I caught it for a second time. I still don’t get a good portion of the flim-flam jargon and I still find the financial milieu rank and appalling, but the second viewing was the charm. I honestly feel like a slightly wiser and better person for having seen it. Seriously…it expanded my horizons. Obviously not in a Bhagavad Gita sense but in a crusty, eye-rolling fashion. It’s not a rumor — we live in a country that is largely ruled by financial criminals and the people they’ve bought off.

The Big Short is a fascinating deep dive into a galaxy I’ve never really visited before, and after doing some research yesterday and skimming through the Michael Lewis book I suddenly awoke to the film, or somehow found that switch that allowed my brain to not only accept but savor what the movie is pushing.

Advice to HE readers: If you want to half-understand and therefore enjoy The Big Short, you need to do one of the following: (a) see it twice like I have — it really makes a difference, (b) acquire some personal experience in investments and/or the high-end financial markets, (c) arrange to be born into a wealthy, connected family that talks about financial crap at the breakfast table, or (d) be smarter than me, Scott Feinberg, Sasha Stone and other blogaroonies who had a little trouble with it the other night. But if you have more brain power, family wealth, some experience in the market and a willingness to see The Big Short a second time, the curtains will part and you’ll find a special arousal, a spark, a little bit of Tom Wolfe‘s “aha!” phenomenon.

During the eight years of the Dwight D. Eisenhower presidency (Jan. ’53 to Jan. ’61), individuals making $200K or more per year ($1.7 million in 2015 dollars) paid a top marginal rate of 91%. Today’s top rate is 39.6%, applying to singles making $413,200 or more per year or jointly-filing married couples making $464,850 or more annually. The highest-ever income tax bracket was in place during 1944 and ’45, when couples making more than $200K paid 94%. Bernie, radical loon that he is, wants rich folk to pay around 50% or roughly 11% more than they do now. (Sourced from Politifact.)

I sat down a couple of days ago with John McKenna, co-director of Steve McQueen: The Man & Le Mans, which I saw and greatly admired in Cannes six months ago, and with Chad McQueen, the late superstar’s actor-producer son.

We convened in the Polo Lounge inside the Beverly Hills hotel, and sure enough a guy started playing piano halfway through the chat and half-ruined the recording. And Chad, who was late for the interview due, he said, to having enjoyed a little too much liquid cheer after the doc’s premiere the night before, was entirely amiable and loose-shoe but also seemed a tiny bit…uhm, baked.

(l.) John McKenna, co-director of Steve McQueen: The Man & Le Mans, and producer Chad McQueen — Thursday, 11.12, 11:40 am — in lobby of Beverly Hills hotel.

But it was thrilling to commune with the son of one my all-time heroes and to throw out a few thoughts and asides…whatever came to mind. Chad’s eyes are covered by dark shades, but he seems to have inherited a few of his dad’s physical traits, including his hair, jawline and manner of speech. Plus he has that watchful thing, that vibe…a chip off the old McQueen undercurrent. 

I was silently saying to myself, “What a hallowed California moment…chilling in the Polo Lounge and talking about Steve McQueen with his only living son and shooting the shit about this and that and Junior Bonner“…yeah.

Here’s an mp3 of our discussion, such as it was.

I learned two interesting things: (a) While I had no issues with the 112-minute running time when I saw the doc in Cannes (unlike, say, The Hollywood Reporter‘s Todd McCarthy, who suggested a trimming), the film is now down to 102 minutes, which naturally makes me want to see it again; and (b) McKenna said that McQueen wanted to do his own driving and actually compete in the real-deal 24 Hours at Le Mans race in the summer of ’70, which is when the film was shot.  But studio insurers said no. This turndown, McKenna suspects or believes, created frustration in McQueen and perhaps a bit of anger that may have contributed to the disarray during production.

“Of all the current century’s most cataclysmic world-historical events, the 2008 financial crisis is probably among the most poorly understood. Filmmakers looking to rectify this have already approached the story from a number of angles, from sober-minded documentary (Inside Job) to operatic boiler-room drama (Margin Call), but the route taken by The Big Short is by far the most radical, turning a dense economics lecture into a hyper-caffeinated postmodern farce, a spinach smoothie skillfully disguised as junk food.

“Taking style cues from hip-hop videos, Funny or Die clips and The Office, Adam McKay’s film hits its share of sour notes; some important plot points are nearly impossible for laypeople to decipher even with cheeky, fourth-wall-obliterating tutorials, and the combination of eye-crossing subject matter and nontraditional structure makes it a risky bet at the box office. But there’s an unmistakable, scathing sense of outrage behind the whole endeavor, and it’s impossible not to admire McKay’s reckless willingness to do everything short of jumping through flaming hoops on a motorcycle while reading aloud from Keynes if that’s what it takes to get people to finally pay attention.” — from Andrew Barker‘s Variety review, posted yesterday.

Before attending this evening’s TCL Chinese second-look screening of The Big Short, I’ll be attending a 5 pm Paris massacre peace vigil at the Consulate General De France (10390 Santa Monica Blvd, adjacent to Beverly Glen Blvd.). The Move On message asks participants to “show your opposition to all violence and hatred…share our hope that together France and her allies seek justice, not vengeance.” Justice? I will stand among this crowd and hang my head and maybe even hold a candle, but I will not sing “Amazing Grace.” Not this time, pal.

There can be no “justice” in a situation created by animals, and you can’t make deals with them either. (Just ask Ray Hicks.) I don’t think it’s right or wise, but you know that most people are thinking along the lines of Dirty Harry right now. They definitely don’t want to know from peace candles. When Bonasera the undertaker asked Don Corleone for justice, he said “let them suffer then, as [my daughter] has suffered.” ISIS wants a super-vicious response, of course. Their biggest wet dream is the U.S. of Satan coming after them and bringing on the Ultimate Armageddon. I don’t know what to do, but if any one group or army in world history deserves extermination, it’s the “Allahu akbar” guys.

I was genuinely touched by Guillermo del Toro‘s tweet last night about his response to his father’s kidnapping and how he didn’t want to contribute to the cycle of violence, and how this is a lesson right now. But this is not what Average Joes are thinking, trust me. You can feel the current out there. God help us if Ann Coulter is right and Donald Trump surges ahead of Hillary Clinton because of this. This almost feels Biblical, what’s happening now.

If you could bury the entire ISIS army and all their admirers under a thousand feet of sand by snapping your fingers three times, would you do so? Be honest. Yes, I know Guillermo’s tweet reflects a wiser, more Solomon-like response, but I wonder what Alejandro G. Inarritu is thinking right now.

I didn’t post anything about Adam McKay‘s The Big Short because…well, because I feel I should give it another chance. So I’ll be buying and reading Michael Lewis’s book and re-seeing it again on Saturday. I got most of it, generally speaking. But I don’t have a place in my head for high-stakes betting, and I didn’t understand some of the fast-flying terminology. Some of it felt too dense and arcane and wonky, and I was (and still am) too dumb to fully process it. So I’ll be re-immersing tomorrow and maybe writing something on Sunday.

“Adam McKay‘s Big Short bid to leap from Anchorman director to Oscar contender is a bold one, but his let-me-spell-it-out-for-you comic take on the financial crisis still flew over the heads of many befuddled media members I spoke to.” — from 11.13 Oscar Futures post by Vulture‘s Kyle Buchanan, posted late this afternoon.

Me to 3 Guys Who Saw Big Short A While Back & Told Me How Game-Changing It Was: “You didn’t tell me it was really wonky…that a viewer has to contend with loads of impenetrable jargon, and that sometimes it’s hard to keep up with what is actually going on. Don’t get me wrong — I understood the basic shot and some of the specifics, but not all of it, and sometimes I was muttering to myself ‘…the fuck?’ Some of that terminology is hard to wrap around your head, bro.

“And you guys didn’t even mention this when I asked you for reactions? You didn’t bury the lede — you ignored it altogether. You mostly just said ‘very good’ and ‘Carell, Carell, Carell.’ What do you have to say for yourselves now that the truth is known far and wide?

“You glad-handed it. You sold me a bill of goods. You led me down the garden path. You pulled the wool over my eyes. You tied a tin can to my tail.”

Response from Tipster #1: “Jeff, you’re on some madness. There’s nothing in that movie that’s particularly hard to understand. It’s not a traditional film in the sense that it has a multi-plot structure and it isn’t necessarily narratively traditional, but the key scam seems clear: the banks forced the rating agencies to give bogus ratings to the loans that allowed them to sell them and pretend they were secure loans when in fact they were garbage likely to default.

“This is really all you need to understand, and it came through for me.

“A secondary point is that federal oversight at the SEC and other agencies was pathetic, and the government failed its citizens, in part because of the revolving door between government and the finance industry. Some smart guys figured out the game was soon to be up, bet heavy, and won. Carrell’s moral dilemma is somewhat contrived for dramatic effect, but I’d bet none of these guys felt exactly right about building their fortunes off other people’s misery – – unlike Goldman Sachs.”

Response from Tipster #2: “What can I tell you, Jeff? It made me feel a bit smarter. If I were you I wouldn’t proclaim how this movie left you in a dizzy haze. People at least have the perception that you’re on top of things, that you’re a smart guy. Don’t burst their bubble, Bubba.”

My Response to Tipster #2: “I’m not the only one crying ‘too dumb!'”

Roughly 120 people dead in my blessed City of Light, a place I’ll always call my second home. I know next to nothing but this was all starting to happen when I came back from a Sicario lunch at Craig’s in West Hollywood. Between your unstable, garden-variety, NRA-empowered nutters and your ISIS-supporting, foam-at-the-mouth terrorists…it’s enough to make you think medieval thoughts.

The legendary Roger Deakins has delivered distinctive, mouth-watering, world-class cinematography on so many great films it’s almost tiring to review them all. All of those Coen brothers films alone…Barton Fink, The Hudsucker Proxy, Fargo, The Big Lebowski, O Brother, Where Art Thou?, The Man Who Wasn’t There, Intolerable Cruelty, No Country for Old Men, A Serious Man, True Grit and the forthcoming Hail, Caesar!. Not to mention The Shawshank Redemption, Kundun, A Beautiful Mind, In the Valley of Elah, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford…the list goes on and on.

Sicario dp Roger Deakins in West Hollywood’s London hotel — Friday, 11.13, 10:22 am.

Deakins is in the pantheon with Emmanuel Lubezki, Robert Richardson, Wally Pfister, Jeff Cronenweth, Matty Libatique, Dante Spinotti and…I don’t know, you tell me.

Currently on the plate is Denis Villeneuve‘s Sicario, which Deakins shot the hell out of in his usual striking way. Hot blasts of Texan-Mexican sun, noirish atmosphere, serious malevolence. Good hands, good eye, enormous assurance.

I spoke to Deakins around 10 am this morning inside West Hollywood’s London hotel. The primary idea was to discuss Sicario but also to afford myself and others a chance to remind everyone that this brilliant resident of Santa Monica — British, lanky, white-haired, laid back — has been nominated for the Academy Award for Best Cinematography twelve fucking times, and that it’s time to finally give him the trophy already.