My initial Boyhood review, filed from the 2014 Sundance Film Festival, appeared on 1.20.14…almost exactly 13 months ago. My first-gush Birdman review went up on 8.31.14 after catching it at Telluride’s Werner Herzog Cinema. I was sincerely, profoundly affected by Boyhood but I wasn’t knocked out. I felt quietly satisfied in a nodding, measured sort of way. I went apeshit for Birdman, of course, calling it “Mozartian” and “levitational.” Here, for the last time, are re-samplings…actually a blending of those fresh-out-of-the-gate reactions:

“Alejandro G. Inarritu‘s Birdman (Fox Searchlight, 10.17), an audacious, darkly hilarious serving of snap-crackle brilliance and psychological excavation par excellence, blew the roof off the Werner Herzog theatre last night. I was giddy, ecstatic, swooning as I half-stumbled into the night air…so was almost everyone I spoke to about it over the next two or three hours. Okay, not everyone but those who were hungry and adventurous and receptive enough to revel in a work of reaching, swirling genius…pig heaven!

“I’ve long admired the great Richard Linklater and treasured most of his films (the one negative standout being 1998’s The Newton Boys) And like everyone else I felt instantly engaged and intrigued, sight unseen, by the Boyhood concept — i.e., filming the life of a young Texas kid (Ellar Coltrane) and his sister (Lorelei Linklater) growing up with divorced parents (Ethan Hawke, Patricia Arquette) over 11 or 12 years (i.e., ’02 to ’13). Is Boyhood as rich and fertile as it sounds? I saw it last night at the Eccles, all 160 minutes worth, and I have to say ‘yeah, pretty much’ — it’s a remarkably novel, human-scale, life-passage stunt film. I can’t honestly call it staggering or mind-blowing but that’s not a putdown, given what it is.”

In the legendary Gunga Din, Eduardo Ciannelli‘s fanatical leader of the Thug rebellion is called a “tormenting fiend” by Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and is made to seem demonic in that famously lighted shot by dp Joseph H. August. But he’s easily the most principled, eloquent and courageous man in the film. Not to mention the most highly educated. And yet there’s an unlikely scene inside the temple that hinges on Ciannelli’s guru being unable to read English, despite his Oxford don bearing and his vast knowledge of world history. Otis Ferguson‘s review of George Stevens‘ 1939 adventure flick ripped it for being a racist and arrogant celebration of British colonial rule. And yet I’ve been emotionally touched and roused by this film all my life. The last half-hour of Gunga Din is perfect, but it ends with Sam Jaffe‘s Indian “beastie” basking in post-mortem nirvana over having been accepted as a British soldier. Which raises a question: Which films have you admired or even loved despite knowing they stand for the wrong things and/or tell appalling lies about the way things are?

After noting that Boyhood and Birdman are “box office lightweights when measured against past Oscar winners,” Variety‘s Brent Lang calls this “a sign that Academy Awards voters are more moved by art than commerce when it comes to handing out the top prize.” Moved by Oscar blogoscenti picks and the well-orchestrated campaigns for the annointed few, he means. And then Rentrak’s Paul Dergarabedian, a veritable Rudyard Kipling when it comes to flat-footed observations about box-office currents, delivers the following: “Often times the most challenging movies aren’t the ones that generate the most popular attention from audiences.” These articles always seem to be hinting there should be a closer alignment between popularity and quality. That happens every so often (currently with American Sniper), but Lang seems to be suggesting that the Oscars should give a little more thought to the philosophy of the People’s Choice Awards. If you ask me one of the Academy’s proudest moments was when The Hurt Locker ($17 million and change) won the Best Picture Oscar — the loudest reminder heard in the 21st Century that the twains of popularity and quality rarely meet. The vast majority of popcorn-buying Joes lack perception and sensitivity. That’s not a good or bad thing — just fact. And that’s okay.

Indiewire‘s Eric Kohn has posted an amused and even semi-admiring response to Paul Thomas Anderson‘s diss of American Airlines at the Spirit Awards: “When Anderson accepted the Robert Altman Prize for Inherent Vice, his crack about sponsor American Airlines (‘Don’t fly American Airlines…they will fucking lose your luggage’) was the truest moment of the day. Thanks to PTA, the event offered a fleeting glimpse of the prankish, anti-authoritarian mentality that allows certain filmmakers to challenge the restrictions of the marketplace. In an ideal world, the Spirits would follow suit.”

During today’s Bart/Fleming discussion on Deadline, Mike Fleming offered the following: “I want to offer a special shout out to Paul Thomas Anderson for Biggest Dick Move. While accepting an award with the cast of Inherent Vice, he pointedly told people to boycott Spirit Awards-sponsor American Airlines [because] they lost his luggage. Here is a revered filmmaker who has clearly crossed from struggling artist to pampered self-absorbed auteur. I heard [that] the American Airlines people on the premises were appalled. Spirits organizers scrambled for a way to take the sting out of the insult, and finally Foxcatcher‘s Bennett Miller read a sheepish PTA apology where he said it was United that lost his luggage. A Narcissus moment for the great PTA!”

Two days ago National Review critic Armond White posted a roster of performances of gay characters that he admires but which the Academy overlooked. He calls them “the Brandos” in honor of Marlon Brando‘s brave but discomforting-to-watch performance as a closeted military officer in John Huston‘s Reflections in a Golden Eye (’67). “Through imagination, compassion and talent, [these performances] validate gay people’s humanity,” he writes. I respect the choices except for Toby Jones‘ performance as Truman Capote in Infamous (’06), And I especially admire Tony Perkins‘ B.Z., a gay Hollywood producer with a kind heart and a flip attitude, in Frank Perry‘s Plays It As It Lays. I’ve long felt it’s the finest performance of his life.

Here’s a longish piece I wrote about Play It As It Lays 12 years ago. Never on DVD or Bluray, and you still can’t stream it on Amazon, Vudu, Netflix or anywhere else. But last month a guy named “Zardon M” posted the entire 98-minute film on YouTube, recorded off the Sundance Channel which mysteriously aired the film a few years back. If you’ve never seen it, here’s your chance. It’s posted after the jump.

I’d like to know the name of the director of this Birdman spoof, which began yesterday’s Spirit Awards presentation. Fred Armisen, Adam Scott, Kristin Bell, Miles Teller…perfect. And then the whipped cream and cherry on top with Bill Hader doing an inspired comic riff on Alejandro G. Inarritu. Remember those spoof reels that ran when Billy Crystal hosted the Oscars in ’97? This is easily as good as any of those. Where and when was it shot, how many takes, etc.? More clips after the jump, including Foxcatcher‘s Bennett Miller offering a faux-apology on behalf of Paul Thomas Anderson‘s slam of American Airlines.

I wasn’t expecting Birdman to win the Best Feature Spirit Award. Very few were. The presumption was that the Spirits would probably embrace Boyhood, the ultimate indie-cred film of the year, especially after handing their Best Director Award to Richard Linklater at the midway point. But Birdman took the prize instead, and Michael Keaton won for Best Lead Male and Emmanuel Lubezki for Best Cinematography. The other big thunderclap of the day (unrelated to film) happened when Inherent Vice director Paul Thomas Anderson advised the audience not to fly American Airlines because “they will fucking lose your luggage…it happened to me.” [See video clip.] Why wasn’t Linklater in attendance? I heard he’s got a grudge against the Spirits, but no particulars beyond that. I did my usual “taking video while lying on my back” routine during the brief Birdman press conference that followed the Big Win. Birdman clearly has the heat, and yet I talked to four or five people today who believe a surprise could be in the offing.

The latest forecasts of Harvard-based Oscar odds-calculator Ben Zauzmer, whose calculations I began paying attention to three years ago, appeared three days ago in the Boston Globe. Nothing startling — Birdman, Inarritu, Redmayne, Moore, Simmons, Arquette, Lubezski — but Zauzmer, who’s now a senior, has an above-average track record. Is it accurate to call him the Oscar race’s Nate Silver? I’m mulling that one over.

“I had dreams as a child of what I wanted to do, but I didn’t have to suffer the scrutiny that you did. What I did suffer when I was young was because I was sort of a hick coming into New York City. I was made fun of by a lot of the Factory people. Even Andy Warhol thought I was a hick. I met these people and I had to be strong. I had to either be crushed by these people or chop my hair up like Keith Richards and say ‘Fuck you.’ But that scrutiny is hurtful, and the rumor mill, the constant bullshit, speculations about your personal life must be very difficult. But in the end, all of that is peripheral. What will remain 20, 30 years from now…all those people and their snarky comments and their projections will be forgotten. But if your work continues to grow and you do great work, that’s what will be remembered. It’s all about work in the end.” — Patti Smith to Kristen Stewart in an undated but presumably recent Interview q & a.

“For a fair number of people who make their living by covering and/or predicting Oscars, this is one bunch of tired, shagged-out, bummed-out people, let me tell you,” writes RogerEbert.com‘s Glenn Kenny in a 2.20 post. “This is particularly true of the Oscar bloggers who are also Oscar partisans” — i.e., Sasha Stone, myself, et. al. One of the few not putting out “some form of distemper”, Kennedy concludes, is In Contention‘s Kris Tapley “who’s filing various guild award results with the machine-like efficiency of a minor character in The Front Page.” I’d probably feel morose if Kenny declared that I’m not quite on the level of Hildy Johnson, but maybe not. Maybe I’d shrug it off.

Francis Coppola‘s life reached a state of total fulfillment at the 47th Oscar Awards, held on 4.8.75 at the Dorothy Chandler Pavillion, when The Godfather, Part II won the Best Picture Oscar. A year before (on 4.2.74) at the same venue, George Roy Hill‘s The Sting took the same honor. I became friendly with The Sting‘s co-producer Julia Phillips in the mid ’90s, and I can report she had a softer and gentler voice when she took the stage with co-producers Michael Phillips and Tony Bill. (I love how Phillips is staring intently at the floor as Elizabeth Taylor recites the names of the other contenders.) Producer Albert Ruddy accepted The Godfather‘s Best Picture Oscar on 3.27.73, also at the Chandler. “America needs the motion picture business,” he said, “and the motion picture business needs the United States.” Movies were certainly the national religion 42 years ago, but the embrace of that ’70s-style faith has, of course, been all but abandoned by today’s majors. The torch has passed to the indie community, and much of what’s happening today is actually pretty great. (Including, of course, the televized renaissance.). But we all miss the days when the big studios were a bit less corporate-minded, more respectful of the spiritual, culture-reflecting potential of the form. Guys like Charlie Bluhdorn were eccentric and grandiose but they cared. I shudder to think where theatrical would be without producers Megan Ellison, Scott Rudin and…who else? The list is not long.