For whatever reason an early request for a press ticket to this evening’s screening of Paul Schrader‘s The Canyons at the Walter Reade theatre was overlooked, and I’ve been struggling to gain admittance since yesterday. I’m told by a well-connected source that one reason for the difficulty is that Dina Lohan (Lindsay’s mom) suddenly announced yesterday that she wanted six tickets. If I don’t see it tonight then I don’t see it. I could run a link to Scott Foundas‘s respectful review or Eric Kohn‘s pan, but I’d rather absorb and consider on my own.

In Woody Allen‘s Blue Jasmine, Cate Blanchett‘s tragic character “has lost her public identity — indeed, has become something of a pariah. She has lost her money, and she has to find something to do. Allen, of course, also endured (in the early ’90s) the shattering of his public identity and a barrage of hostility; like her, he was rejected by one of his children in the wake of scandal. (And, like her, he’s known to the world under a pseudonym.) But Allen didn’t lose his money and he didn’t lose his ability to work; he didn’t struggle and strive to recover his former status, because he was able to simply keep going forward — and the artistic results have often been wondrous.”

I was all over The Player in early 1992 and pushing it like mad with my editors at Entertainment Weekly. It took at least a couple of weeks after I first caught an early-bird screening in…what was it, mid-February?…before EW‘s “News & Notes” section deigned to run a small descriptive paragraph with an enthusiastic quote or two. My opinion (i.e., that it was a hilariously dry and biting satire that had an uncut, beautifully choreographed extended opening sequence and that it would catch on big-time and that Altman had made perhaps the biggest commercial hit of his career) wasn’t notable or newsworthy, of course. I had to find some non-vested types whose reputation mattered, and whose opinion therefore had weight. I knew and could say, in short, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t be heard because I was a freelance reporter and not a hotshot critic. Even if I was a critic I couldn’t have said anything because it was way too early in the cycle.

The 2013 Locarno Film Festival program was announced today. 2 Guns. A whole lotta George Cukor. Chinatown and Faye Dunaway. It begins on Wednesday, 8.7, and runs until Saturday, 8.17. A smart, elegant, sophisticated gathering. Locarno is in Switzerland, of course, but it’s really northern Italy in almost every other sense — culturally, atmospherically, architecturally. Scores of gelato stands and foodie joints. Pizza, pasta, etc.

I attended ten years ago with Jett and Dylan, who were then 15 and 14. Europe was suffering at the time through one of the worst heat waves in meteorological history, and I remember how we were constantly damp and sweating. (I remember Roger Ebert‘s face being all pink and sweat-beady during an outdoor discussion panel.) The guys and I took an afternoon swim each and every day in Lake Maggiore.

Reza Azlan, author of “Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth,” apparently decided that the exposure from a Fox News interview was worth having to field a barrage of prejudicial, bone-dumb questions from “Spirited Debate” host Lauren Green. Azlan’s polite but appalled responses are hilarious. He knows there’s no getting through to idiotic Christians with fixed agendas. Watching him struggle to maintain a calm, even-toned composure is akin to an educator trying to explain the basics to an under-educated psychopathic teenager.

Approving reviews alone aren’t the reason for the phenomenal opening-weekend haul ($102 grand average on six screens) of Woody Allen‘s Blue Jasmine. It’s approving reviews plus Jasmine being the first taste of an award-calibre “fall movie” (“Okay, so it’s a little early!” as Nehemiah Persoff might have said) plus over-35s being sick to death of bullshit zombie ComicCon franchise movies plus the world-class regal swanbird elan of Cate Blanchett. Any HE regulars who’ve seen Jasmine with, you know, thoughts?

First the Saving Mr. Banks trailer, which sold the film as something jokier and more comedically cloying than Kelly Marcel‘s first-rate script. And now the one-sheet, which uses adolescent-friendly cartoon silhouettes to indicate the characters played by Tom Hanks and Emma Thompson. It’s saying to the dummies out there, “This movies will be as easy to understand and digest as an old Mickey Mouse cartoon.” I’m getting more and more worried about this thing by the minute.

I really, really don’t like it when directors use slow-mo for action scenes. They should just stage it and shoot it like it looks when it happens for real, and the audience notices what it notices. Slow-mo coolness caught on 46 years ago with the machine-gun death scene in Bonnie and Clyde and then peaked two years later when The Wild Bunch premiered. And that was that. It’s been “over” for a long time. Our observational powers are much faster now. Either you get the natural-speed coolness aesthetic or you don’t.

“It’s unlikely that the studios are going to drastically change course as the result of one bad summer,” says Variety exec editor Steven Gaydos in a Xan Brooks Guardian piece about Hollywood’s “Summer of Doom.” “However, it is imperative they diversify their slate. They’re laying down too many big bets without anything else on the agenda. They have to kick their dependency on $300 million blockbusters. If they don’t, they’re going out of business.”

“Look at Comic-Con and then tell me if you think Hollywood is going to cut back on its comic-book dependency. Look at how that event was covered by the critical establishment and you’ll see how everything still validates the conglomerates’ bottom line. By and large, people are not looking for intelligent, edgy, mid-range movies. They’re looking for superheroes and special effects. They’re looking for amusement rides. They’re like the kids in Pinocchio who still want to go to Pleasure Island. They’re voting to be donkeys.”

I’ve been watching the original widescreen version of Elia Kazan‘s East of Eden (1955) since it came out on laser disc in…what was it, ’98 or thereabouts? The reasons I re-watch it every two or three years are (a) the performances — not just James Dean‘s but those from Julie Harris, Jo Van Fleet, Raymond Massey, Albert Dekker and Burl Ives, (b) Leonard Rosenman‘s furious, cymbal-crashing score, and (c) the scene in which Dean and Van Fleet trade observations about their similar natures and about what a prig Massey is and was, and (d) Dean and Harris’s ferris-wheel kissing scene. The Bluray…I don’t know when the Bluray comes out but probably sometime by mid-October.

I don’t know what I’ve been thinking all along about Paul Greengrass‘s Captain Phillips (Columbia, 10.11) but in the wake of the George Zimmerman-Trayvon Martin tragedy are you going to tell me that the Ted Nugent crowd isn’t going to perceive this movie as being about Tom Hanks, the Ultimate Mild-Mannered, Extra-Decent White Guy Whom Everyone Likes, going up against some scary, no-good, bad-ass black psychopaths waving guns around? I’m not saying Greengrass’s film is going to stoke racial fires in any way, shape or form. I’m talking about what Captain Phillips looks like on this international poster, and how the Zimmerman-sympathizing Bubbas out there are going to respond in gut-level terms. Be honest. Our culture is our culture. Tell me I’m crazy because I’m not.

There’s real-deal Italian ice (i.e., the kind I used to eat when I was a kid) and there’s the bogus corporate kind, which is what this place in Point Pleasant is selling. When I was young Italian ices were sold in round cardboard containers with a little wooden spoon. You’d peel off the top lid and the ices (my favorite was cherry) would be nearly rock-solid. It would always take a few minutes of chipping away on a hot summer’s day before the ice gradually softened and you could eat actual chunks of it. But this Point Pleasant joint is selling….I don’t know what to call it but it’s like a Slurpee sorbet that’s just firm enough to hold its shape.