Jon Favreau‘s The Jungle Book, obviously live-action mixed with CG, pops in various 3D formats on 4.15.16. Pic stars Neel Sethi as the kid with Bill Murray, Ben Kingsley, Idris Elba, Lupita Nyong’o, Scarlett Johansson and Christopher Walken voicing.

Two and a half months ago I insisted that the forthcoming One-Eyed Jacks Bluray, which is now being rendered by Universal senior vp technical operations Michael Daruty and Film Foundation vp Jennifer Ahn, has to be 1.66:1 and not the dreaded 1.85:1. Marlon Brando‘s film was shot with 8-perf VistaVision, which was more or less Paramount’s “house” process during the burgeoning widescreen days of the mid 1950s. VV delivered an in-camera aspect ratio of 1.5 but aspect ratios of 1.66:1, 1.85 and even 2:1 were allowed or recommended. Plus the Paramount laser disc of One-Eyed Jacks was cropped at 1.66 and that’s good enough for me. But these two clips (one after the jump) are cropped somewhere between 1.78:1 and 1.85:1, and to be fair and honest I must admit that they look decently framed. So I’m offering a 1.78:1 compromise, which I think is gracious on my part. I would prefer 1.66, of course, but there are still plenty of 1.85 fascist jackals insisting that adding a little extra height is somehow a bad thing, and I am only one person. So I’m willing to accept 1.78.

21 years ago O.J. Simpson was a tallish musclebound guy (6’2″) with heavy broad shoulders. The shirtless guy at the end of his mini-teaser is presumably the medium-sized Cuba Gooding (around 5’10”), who plays Simpson in Ryan Murphy‘s forthcoming 10-episode miniseries American Crime Story: The People vs. O.J. Simpson. I’m sorry but the illusion simply doesn’t work. “Has Cuba Gooding ever killed anyone in a film? If he has I don’t remember, and if he hasn’t there’s a good reason. You know who Gooding should play? Al Cowlings, the guy who drove O.J. around the L.A. freeway system that day in the white Bronco. Cowlings was O.J.’s sensible, mellow friend, right? Gooding could do that in his sleep.” — from 12.9.14 post called “Cuba’s No Killer Man.”

“I’ll never forget my first and only viewing of Irwin Allen‘s The Swarm at the Quad Cinema on 13th Street. It was maybe a week or two after the 7.14.78 opening. By then it had tanked and word has gotten around it was mythically awful, so a few feisty types were seated in the smallish Quad theatre. The heckling started between the one-third and halfway mark, and then it got better and better. But the film was so impossibly square and tedious and ogygen-sucking that you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the mostly middle-aged or long-of-tooth cast — Michael Caine, Katharine Ross, Richard Widmark, Richard Chamberlain, Olivia de Havilland, Ben Johnson, Lee Grant, Jose Ferrer, Patty Duke, Bradford Dillman, Fred MacMurray, Henry Fonda. They were being humiliated, plain and simple. As it ended with a shot of Caine and Ross watching the killer bees burn to death at sea, I remember the guys sitting in the front going ‘aaauuughhhhh!,’ like they been gored by a bull.” — from a 4.6.14 post called “Shoulda Been There.”

One of these weeks or months I’ll see Anton Corbijn‘s Life (Cinedigm, 12.4), a drama about a brief professional alliance between James Dean (Dane DeHaan) and LIFE photographer Dennis Stock (Robert Pattinson). I gather Corbijn, who began as a photographer, was more interested in exploring Stocks’ journey than Dean’s, and that’s fine. But I’ve never been interested in DeHaan playing Dean. He’s too small and mousey and round-faced. I’d rather watch an actor who really looks like Dean and can project some of his natural charisma. In short, the 21 year-old James Franco who starred in Mark Rydell‘s James Dean 14 years ago needed to be put into Rod Taylor‘s time machine and introduced to Corbijn’s casting agent. Hell, the 35 year-old Franco could have taken a stab at playing the 24 year-old Dean. He was so perfect in the Rydell film he probably could’ve pulled it of.

ABC News is reporting the Vatican has confirmed that the meeting between Pope Francis and Kentucky bigot Kim Davis took place last Thursday in Washington, D.C.. “I do not deny that the meeting took place,” Vatican spokesman the Rev. Federico Lombardi said in a statement. The defiant Rowan County clerk and her husband met with Pope Francis at the Vatican Embassy in Washington, D.C., for less than 15 minutes, said her lawyer, Mat Staver. “I was crying. I had tears coming out of my eyes,” Davis said. “I’m just a nobody, so it was really humbling to think he would want to meet or know me.” Davis said that the Pope told her, “Thank you for your courage.” Good God.

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Peter Landesman‘s Concussion (Sony, 12.25) was announced today as the centerpiece screening at the 29th AFI Fest (11.5 to 11.12). The Hollywood-based fest will open with Angelina Jolie-Pitt‘s By The Sea (Universal, 11.13) and close with a showing of Adam McKay‘s The Big Short (Paramount, 12.11). Is it possible to express slight concerns about all three without sounding like a dick? Concussion is dogged by the Will Smith uh-oh factor (he’s a micro-manager who favors light escapism and has starred in only one critically-acclaimed film — 1993’s Six Degrees of Separation — over his entire career), plus Landesman’s last film, the well-scripted Parkland, was a wipe-out. The trailer for By The Sea felt mopey and lethargic and seemingly uninterested in competing with the gold standard for conflicted marital two-handers — Richard Linklater‘s Before Midnight. The Big Short seems like the most interesting and ambitious of the three, but McKay having directed all of those low-rent Will Ferrell comedies is enough to give anyone the willies.

— posted earlier today by Gold Derby‘s Paul Sheehan.

Here are some High Noon set photos I’ve never seen before except for the last one (i.e., after the jump). I have a dream that the swaggering Rio Bravo cultists will eventually run out of steam or lose interest and admit that Howard Hawks‘ 1959 film, which has been called a much richer creation than High Noon by the likes of Quentin Tarantino, Peter Bogdanovich and Jean Luc Godard, is a decent but moderate effort, an easy-going “friends sitting around and shooting the shit in a jailhouse as they prepare to fight the bad guys” movie, and that High Noon will bounce back and be once again recognized as a timeless classic, as it was when it first appeared in the early Eisenhower years and for many years following.

Scott Feinberg mentioned it Saturday night, I jumped on it Sunday, Business Insider‘s Jason Guerrasio posted a piece Monday, and the N.Y. Post filed Tuesday. Mainstream media and TV news will be all over the nausea angle starting on Thursday and certainly by Friday. A screenwriter friend notes that seeing The Walk has become a “rite of passage thing…a challenge. It’s getting a reputation similar to the original Exorcist as to whether you can take it. I don’t recall the Mission Impossible scenes on the that Dubai skyscraper having this effect.”

This is a year old but whatever. Stupid or untalented people lack the ability to understand their limitations. You need a certain amount of intelligence and experience to assess things accurately. Knowing how to write well and how to bang out a daily column at a reasonably professional level, I also know that I was a mediocre screenwriter when I tried my hand in the mid to late ’80s. And I know that I was a mediocre drummer in my 20s. I also know I could bang out an autobiography and make it read pretty well. Or an essay book about any number of film-related topics. I’m reminded of that third-act scene in Se7en when Brad Pitt asked Kevin Spacey if he knew “just how crazy you really are.” I have a sense of what mental delusion or more precisely what schizophrenia is (my sister became afflicted with that condition in her mid teens), and from that knowledge I would say that while Spacey’s “John Doe” was anti-social and coldly sociopathic with delusions of grandeur, he wasn’t “crazy.” He was too smart, too lucid. Then again he was an Andrew Kevin Walker creation.

Before last night I hadn’t listened to “Dreaming” in…I don’t want to think about it. Now it won’t leave me alone. Track #3, side #1 of the original British pressing of Fresh Cream. Cream bassist Jack Bruce, author and singer of “Dreaming”, died last October at age 71. I don’t like the way those early Cream songs were mixed with the instruments turned down and the vocals turned way up. In fact it irritates me.