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That 1.66:1 French Bluray of Pork Chop Hill that I mentioned on 1.5 arrived yesterday. Some might think it eccentric if not wasteful to buy a Bluray of this 1959 Lewis Milestone-Gregory Peck war film when I can just as easily rent a high-def version on Amazon.com, but the Amazon version is cropped at 1.78 and the recently-popped Olive Bluray is cleavered at 1.85, and there’s a world of difference between these and 1.66. Consider the 1.66 vs. 1.85 screen captures below — either you get it or you don’t. The only problem with the import is that I can’t seem to kill the French subtitles when I play the original English-language version.

Yesterday a report summarized in Science, the respected journal, reminded the thinking, semi-conscious world of the same old environment tune for the umnpteenth time — i.e., the earth is not only becoming less and less hospitable, but in the coming decades our once-green planet “could cease to be a ‘safe operating space’ for human beings.” The report explains that we’ve already crossed four “planetary boundaries” — the extinction rate, deforestation, the level of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, and the flow of nitrogen and phosphorous (used on land as fertilizer) into the ocean.

ADD translation: The report basically says that the grim environmental slide is getting steeper and that we’re all shitting the bed faster than previously understood. You thought things seemed bad when An Inconvenient Truth popped eight years ago? Wake up and smell the new brew.

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My respects to the 20th Annual Critics Choice Awards for getting a few things right that the Oscar nominations got wrong.

Instead of failing to nominate the widely-praised The LEGO Movie for Best Animated Feature, as the Academy did this morning, the Broadcast Film Critics Association stood up and gave it the big prize. Instead of ignoring Gillian Flynn‘s adaptation of her Gone Girl novel, as the Academy did this morning, the Critics Choice guys gave Flynn their Best Adapted Screenplay award. The Academy declined to nominate Steve James‘ Life Itself, an affectionate portrait of the late Roger Ebert, for Best Documentary Feature, and tonight the BFCA give it that very award. And Birdman‘s Antonio Sanchez, whose all-percussion score was churlishly disqualified by the Academy’s music branch, won the Critics Choice Award for Best Score.

And Obvious Child‘s Jenny Slate, who gave one of the most engaging, deep-down female performances of the year, won Best Actress in a Comedy. No one expected the Academy to nominate her for Best Actress — she wasn’t in the conversation, had no backing, had barely campaigned — but it was great to see her win tonight. This and more to come.

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My craving for color photos of scenes or set-stills from renowned black-and-white films is undiminished. This is the only non-tinted, true-color shot I’ve ever seen from the set of Billy Wilder’s One, Two, Three (’61).

Someone declared on Twitter the other day that this is a legendary poster. It’s fairly startling. Can’t think of any reason to differ. Except I can’t even remember the story of this film, and I’m fairly sure I saw it.

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I’m sorry but I’ve been up since 5 am with the Oscar noms and I feel…you know, kinda whipped. Deflated is a better term. Plus I need to start preparing for hitting the BFCA’s 20th Annual Critics Choice Movie Awards at the Hollywood Palladium. Fast nap, run three or four errands, wash the car, spiff myself up. I’m supposed to be there by 5 pm with the show starting at 6 pm Pacific. A & E is broadcasting live. The BFCA voters tend to reflect much of what the Academy likes, true, but at the same time they’re a tiny bit looser and a lot less geriatic.

“A welcome return by The Red Violin director Francois Girard, this relatively by-the-numbers boarding-school drama distinguishes itself through song, thanks to the exceptional musical talents of the American Boychoir School, preteen sopranos whose otherworldly talent lasts for only a few years at most. The mystery of where that ability comes from, coupled with the urgency to share it, lends urgency to an otherwise generic coming-of-ager sure to delight those seeking spiritually grounded, emotionally uplifting entertainment. Boychoir may be soft, but it’s not run-of-the-mill TV-movie treacle, offering just enough edge to lend credibility while keeping it appropriate for all ages.” — from Peter Debruge‘s Toronto Film Festival Variety review. Dave Franco‘s cinematography is clearly first rate.

Sasha Stone is hopping mad about the Academy’s older-white-guy bias and particularly the preferential voting system, instituted in 2011, which has seemed to encourage the selecting of compassionate, positive-minded, safe-wheelhouse default films for Best Picture — films that are largely about making white guys look good, she claims. The Golden Globe Awards and Critics Choice Awards (which are happening this evening by the way) are arguably more reflective of the culture at large, she argues, while the Oscar nominations mostly reflect the tastes of an elite fraternity of old, priveleged fellows. Guys who think a certain way and who want to applaud a certain kind of uplifting film…a lament we’ve been hearing for years.

Maybe so, but I deduced a long time ago that the overwhelmingly gray-haired makeup of the Academy (an L.A. Times survey determined that only about 14% of Academy membership is under 50) means that a certain laziness and lack of stamina is coloring everything. And for this older women are just as much to blame as older men.

Last year I became friendly with a smart, sophisticated, once-happening actress who had recently served on a SAG committee of some kind. Her basic attitude about seeing films was to not see them for the first nine to ten months of the year, she once told me, and then start paying attention in late October or November. On her own she never sought out well-reviewed flicks playing at the Sundance Cinemas or the West L.A. Landmark or the Royal. She never seemed to go to the Aero to see an occasional special revival or preview of something new. She just wrote her stage plays (a pretty good playwright) and watched television and walked her dog and hung with her friends through the winter, spring, summer and early fall.

And then, when duty called in the mid to late fall, she would begin to attend screenings or watch screeners now and then. Movies were not her passion or a way of life or even a source of once-a-month diversion. She saw them over the last two or three months every year so she could remain an active voter and an honorable SAG member. But she mainly seemed to regard new films as an energy-draining chore.

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This morning’s biggest Oscar Dawn surprise was the Best Actress nomination handed to Two Days, One Night‘s Marion Cottilard, which happened without any evident campaigning. Five weeks ago I posted a piece about what I was calling “the Cotillard surge,” as indicated by three then-recent critics group awards. Re-read it, Oscar handicappers, and weep:

Marion Cotillard in Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardennes‘ Two Days, One Night.

“After winning the New York Film Critics Circle award for Best Actress a week ago, Two Days, One Night‘s Marion Cotillard won the same award yesterday from the Boston Film Critics Society and the New York Film Critics Online. Today she was nominated for the same award by the Online Film Critics Society. A few hours ago I wrote some colleagues and asked why they were ignoring what I called “the Cotillard surge.” I also asked why none of the critics groups have even mentioned presumed Best Actress frontrunner Julianne Moore except the LAFCA lunch-breakers, who named her the Best Actress runner-up behind Boyhood‘s Patricia Arquette.

“You can’t be total ostriches,” I said. “I’m as much of an industry whore with my hand out as anybody else, but at least I’m acknowledging that Cotillard has definitely elbowed her way into the Best Actress race…you can’t just keep saying ‘Julianne Moore is due’ over and over.”

“I’m gonna write about this,” said Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone,”but Julianne so has this.” (A couple of hours later she posted this.) “Moore has this, I get that, yes,” I replied, “but it seems right now as if you and yours are hiding your heads in the sand about the Cotillard surge. She doesn’t fit into the narrative and I get that, but she’s happening right now. You can’t push this idea away over and over. You have to let it in.”

An award columnist asked, “Is there an Oscar consultant hired for her campaign? Will the DVD be sent to AMPAS members? If no & no, she’s a bye-bye.”

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Birdman and The Grand Budapest Hotel have snagged nine nominations each. The first year in Oscar history with eight Best Picture nominations, and only four of these boast Best Director noms. Selma makes the Best Picture roster, but David Oyelowo doesn’t make the Best Actor cut and Selma helmer Ava DuVernay also denied. And Whiplash is Best Pic nominated! No Best Picture nom for Gone Girl but Rosamund Pike snags Best Actress nom. Foxcatcher is also blanked, but the film’s director, Bennett Miller is nominated, and Steve “by a nose” Carell has been nominated for Best Actor…okay, fine, figure it out.

This is a proud morning for Mr. Turner cinematographer Dick “Poop,” per Academy honcho Cheryl Boone Isaacs. Two more CBI pronunciations: (a) “The Birdman” as opposed to just Birdman; and (b) Selma producer Christian Colson called “Christina” Colson.

Nightcrawler‘s Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t make the Best Actor roster…c’mon! The James Gray cabal thrives and dominates among Academy members with Marion Cotillard nominated for Best Actress. And in so doing the hard-campaigning Jennifer Aniston has been bumped out of a nomination. That’s a big surprise. No Best Adapted Screenplay nom for Gone Girl? They didn’t even nominate The LEGO Movie in animated? And they blew off Steve James‘ Life Itself in the doc category? Troglodytes. HE’s own Leviathan and Wild Tales both nominated for Best Foreign Language film.

Yesterday I bought a slightly used GoPro Hero3 Black along with the usual accessories plus a chest pack, a head device and motorcycle helmet mounts. I recognize that wide-angle footage of a ride along the Strip is borderline boring, but it was my maiden voyage. It looks like I’m driving way too fast, recklessly even. Nope.

Earlier today N.Y. Times Carpetbagger columnist Cara Buckley posted a nice piece about the award-season blogger gang, including Hollywood Elsewhere and yours truly. Except the headline includes the word “Oscarology” — yeesh! — and the subhead reads “Oscar Race Leaves Showbiz Reporters Hungry to Guess Winners.” Well, we all play in that sandbox but guessing winners is one thing Hollywood Elsewhere is not hungry to do. The name of the HE game is advocating for the best upon the advice of the Godz — no more, no less.

Oscarologists, Buckley writes, “populate a small reportorial subuniverse that fully came into existence only a decade ago. Denizens of this world include, but are not limited to, a mélange of former show business and music journalists, film enthusiasts and kooky pontificators, working at or running sites and outlets that include Awards Daily, Deadline Hollywood, Fandango, Gold Derby, Grantland, HitFix, Hollywood Elsewhere, The Hollywood Reporter, Indiewire, The Los Angeles Times, Movie City News, Variety, The Wrap, and, yes, The New York Times.”

So who’s the kook?

Click here to jump past HE Sink-In

41 years ago Michael Corleone said quietly and solemnly to his wife Kaye, with whom he’d been arguing, “I’ll change…I’ll change…I’ve learned I have the strength to change.” That was bullshit, of course, but it reminded viewers of The Godfather, Part II that achieving change in one’s life is awfully damn hard. Age itself stands in the way, especially when you pass 40. Supportive “friends” and family also get in the way for their own reasons. And if you’ve become successful at doing a certain thing, your fans (i.e., people who’ve been buying your “product” for years) are especially resistant to a new brand. Which is why I respect Jennifer Aniston for saying to the industry over the last couple of months, or since her Cake campaign kicked into gear, that she wants to shed the old skin.

She really appears to want that, and it takes guts to stand alone and say that. Because in so doing she’s also kind of admitting that…well, that perhaps she could’ve tried harder or maybe took the too-easy path, relying a bit too much on her comedic gifts. Or maybe she’s saying that she wanted what she wanted before, but today is now, today is different.

Aniston’s performance as a wealthy, pain-besieged woman is quite deft and precise. She’s always been a good actress who knows exactly how to convey whatever flickers of feeling might be happening within. Cake is no one’s idea of a great film but it’s good enough to snag our attention and ask us to consider how good Aniston, upon whom, the entire film rests, is. I’ve said before that Aniston really gives it hell, and that she can be quite subtle and on-target, always letting you know what’s happening with just the right amount of emphasis. If you ask me she almost didn’t need to make herself look frumpy and haggard with the brown stringy hair and somewhat heavier appearance. It almost might have been more startling if she’d merged her natural blonde and lithe self with the hurt and the struggle and the Percocets.

L.A. Times critic Betsy Sharkey disagreed a few weeks back. She wrote that “ugly-ing Aniston up in Cake frees her from all of the preconceptions pop culture has been imposing for so many years. Friends ended a decade ago, so give it a rest, people. But no one does. Social media and the tabloids serve her up in almost daily doses — Jen swimming, Jen smiling, Jen with friends, Jen with boyfriend, Jen without boyfriend, Jen with boyfriend again.” Thus in Cake Aniston “has never looked worse or perhaps performed better…it is a serious treat to see the actress stretch herself.”

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