In this 3.10 SNL sketch about a precocious/obnoxious six year-old in a sushi bar, Jonah Hill was (a) inspired, (b) wearing a Superbad wig and (c) almost back to his old weight. He’s apparently decided to relax into himself (i.e., a little roly-poly). The thinking seems to be that (a) too thin isn’t funny and (b) all that dieting discipline can be a drag.

A Disney rep has informed box-office reporters that John Carter was the #1 US film in all major markets in Asia, Latin America and Europe, pulling in $70.6 million. With an estimated U.S. tally of $29 to $30 million, that comes to roughly $100 million worldwide for its first three days. It opened in Russia on 3.8, and had the highest opening day in Russian cinema history and went on to be the #1 opening weekend tally of 2012.

Do you want to read a Bluray review that hems and haws and tap-dances on the fence rail and goes badda-bop and badda-beep? Then read Martin Leibman‘s Bluray.com review of the brand-new William Friedkin and Owen Roizman-approved French Connection Bluray, which I creamed over a couple of days ago.

Clearly the new Bluray represents the film as originally shot and seen — 16mm-ish, rugged, gritty –with some reds and oranges popping through extra vividly. There’s no question this is the version to have and hold instead of that godawful blotchy, muddy, desaturated Bluray that Friedkin mastered and had released by Fox Home Video in 2009.

But Leibman, striving for a tone of balance and fairness and detachment, can’t bring himself to just say that. Largely because (we eventually learn) he doesn’t agree, but also because the changes haven’t been passionately explained.

Here’s how he puts it when he finally gets around to the yay-nay portion of the review:

“In a case like this, then, with an argument existing for one side” — i.e., the way the film looks on the new Bluray — “and none, really, for the other, it comes down to personal preference. The majority seems to prefer, or at least has demanded in the past, a transfer more in line with what this release offers.”

“Seems” to prefer? Hey, Martin…don’t go out on a limb!

Here’s my favorite line in his review: “At the end of the day, it makes for a fun little comparison but serious viewers have certainly been put in something of a pickle with this one.”

Believe me, Martin — nobody but nobody feels like they’re in a pickle with this thing. The bad version has been discredited, pure and simple, and the Munchkins are marching around the town square singing “ding-dong, the witch is dead.”

To my knowledge there’s only one person who might be saying that it’s a 50/50 thing, and that some might prefer the ’09 version and some the new one blah blah and what a pickle, and that’s MCN’s David Poland. Poland actually wrote the following when Friedkin’s bleachy version was released in early ’09: “The French Connection on Blu-ray is one of the great additions to the highest shelf of my Blu-ray library, up there with The Godfather, the Kubrick films, and Pixar.”

Leibman finally comes down on the side of the 2009 version near the end of the piece, not because of what he sees and feels or thinks but because the new version lacks the passionate defense or explanation from Friedkin to explain why the natural hues have been reverted back to.

“Considering Friedkin’s rather passionate and convincing argument on the old release, however, it’s difficult to argue against it, especially considering that there’s no such explanation here save for a blurb on the box proclaiming the approval of both the director and the cinematographer for the new transfer,” he writes.

Have you ever read such a load of gooey gelato bullshit in your life?

What Leibman is saying, in effect, is this: “Seeing is not believing because the visuals alone are not enough. A persuasive argument and/or explanation for the natural look and tone of this new transfer must be included on an extras supplement or on a printed statement of some kind, or the Bluray itself must necessarily suffer in the minds of critics like myself. It’s not enough, in short, for this new Bluray to look better. It has to be accompanied by a persuasive theory.”

If the “lacks a persuasive theory” remark rings a bell, it’s from Tom Wolfe‘s The Painted Word.

Hey, how come you only invited geeks like /Film‘s Peter Sciretta to last Tuesday’s special showing of your 85-minute Star Wars prequel re-edit? I’ve been really vocal about being a Lucas hater for 13 years now, and I’ve written reams about the prequels over the years and…I don’t know, I kinda feel I’ve paid my dues. I’m not saying I deserved to be invited, mind — it’s your film, do what you want — but if and when you invite a second wave of online journos to see it, please keep me in mind.

Grace’s film is called Star Wars: Episode III.5: The Editor Strikes Back. “It should be noted,” Sciretta writes, “that the Star Wars prequel trilogy is almost 7 hours in total length, and the shortest film (Episode 1) is more than 51 minutes longer than Grace’s fan cut. What this means is a lot of footage ended up on the editing room floor, and a lot of creative choices were made in the editing process.

“And the result? Topher Grace’s Star Wars film is probably the best possible edit of the Star Wars prequels given the footage released and available.

“What’s most shocking is that with only 85 minutes of footage, Topher was able to completely tell the main narrative of Anakin Skywalker’s road from Jedi to the Sith. While I know the missing pieces and could even fill in the blanks in my head as the film raced past, none of those points were really needed. What’s better is that the character motivations are even more clear and identifiable, a real character arc not bogged down by podraces, galactic senates, Jar Jar Binks, politics or most of the needless parts of the Star Wars prequels. It not only clarifies the story, but makes the film a lot more action-packed.”

Comic-book artist Jean Henri Gaston Giraud, a.k.a. “Moebius,” died today in Paris of cancer, at age 73. Not being a comic-book guy, I first became aware of Moebius when he was referenced in a line of Quentin Tarantino dialogue from Crimson Tide (’95). Moebius drew a two-issue Silver Surfer comic book (under the title of “Parable”) in ’88 and ’89. Jack Kirby was the original Surfer creator, of course — even I knew that.

(l.) Moebius Silver Surfer; (r.) the Kirby version.

From Crimson Tide:

Lieutenant Commander Ron Hunter (i.e., Denzel Washington): Rivetti, what’s up?

Petty Officer First Class Danny Rivetti (i.e., Danny Nucci): I’m sorry, sir. It’s just a difference of opinion that got out of hand.

Hunter: What about?

Rivetti: It’s really too silly to talk about, sir. I’d really just forget about…

Hunter: I don’t give a damn about what you’d rather forget about. Why were you two fighting?

Rivetti: I said, the Kirby Silver Surfer was the only real Silver Surfer. And that the Moebius Silver Surfer was shit. And Bennefield’s a big Moebius fan. And it got of hand. I pushed him. He pushed me. I lost my head, sir. I’m Sorry.

Hunter: Rivetti, you’re a supervisor. You can get a commission like that.

Rivetti: I know, sir. You’re 100 percent right. It will never happen again.

Hunter: It better not happen again. If I see this kind of nonsense again, I’m going to write you up. You understand?

Rivetti: [No answer]

Hunter: Do you understand?

Rivetti: Yes, sir.

Hunter: You have to set an example even in the face of stupidity. Everybody who reads comic books knows that the Kirby Silver Surfer is the only true Silver Surfer. Now am I right or wrong?

Rivetti: You’re right, sir.

Hunter: Now get out of here.

Rivetti: Yes, sir.

And I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how I should be fully knowledgable about comic-book culture if I want to write about or reference any movie based on a comic book, etc. I hate fucking comic books for the dumb-down, pandering-to-bloated-junkfood-eating-geek effect they’ve had upon the plots of way too many mainstream adventure movies. I deeply respect the artistry of great comic books and high-end comic-book artists, and I’ve have spent many an hour studying the great stuff at Golden Apple, etc. But God, how I hate all abut a very select fraternity of comic book movies (i.e., Nolan’s Batman films).

Everyone has been waiting for…indeed, salivating in anticipation of the box-office death of Disney’s John Carter. And now it’s happening. Andrew Stanton‘s Mars-based CG spectacle earned a bit less than $10 million yesterday and will end up with…oh, $27 or $28 million by tomorrow night, possibly a bit less or more.

Boxoffice.com‘s Phil Contrino is predicting roughly a 45% drop next weekend, or $13 or $14 million, plus $2 million a day during weekdays. All in all he think it’ll end up with maybe $90 million all in. MCN’s David Poland has written that the film will do “no more than $120 million.” Really? The word-of-mouth isn’t toxic on this thing, but quadrupling (or more-than-quadrupling) its opening weekend haul seems sounds like a stretch. Joe and Jane Popcorn have definitely gotten the message by now that Carter is a disaster film. They might see it out of curiosity, but I can’t see how any genuine enthusiasm could be out there right now.

And the verdict of HE readers…?

In the view of Variety‘s Peter Debruge, The Cabin in the Woods, which screened earlier today at South by Southwest, is a genre-buster and a game-changer.

“Not since Scream has a horror movie subverted the expectations that accompany the genre to such wicked effect as [this], a sly, self-conscious twist on one of slasher films’ ugliest stepchildren — the coed campsite massacre,” Debruge writes. “The less auds know going in, the more satisfying the payoff will be for this long-delayed, much-anticipated shocker, which was caught in limbo for more than two years during MGM’s bankruptcy.

“Given the provenance of the project, which was co-written by Joss Whedon and Buffy the Vampire Slayer collaborator Drew Goddard, it’s no wonder the film has assumed near-mythic status in the imaginations of fear-friendly fanboys. Designed as a response to the recent torture-porn strain of horror cinema, Cabin feels less like the final nail in that trend’s coffin than the start of something new: a smarter, more self-aware kind of chiller that still delivers the scares.”

“With plot holes aplenty, fanatics can pick the film apart if they please. For starters, the setting only makes sense for a couple of the scenarios at hand. But the idea is so ambitious and fresh, most will gladly play along.

“If the execution brings any regrets, it’s that first-time director Goddard (who co-wrote Cloverfield) seems somewhat outmatched by the considerable demands of his own high concept. Given all the film gets right, there’s no question this is one of the most exciting feature debuts of the last few years, but it’s a shame Whedon (who directed the second unit) or someone more polished wasn’t there to make the cabin, the woods and the cardboard characters as entertaining as the mind-warping secret that lies beneath.”

A little voice inside is wondering if Debruge might be a little hopped up by that Austin fanboy atmosphere. Dispassionate observers who have no investment whatsoever in fanboy horror or susceptibility to Austin mania need to see this thing straight and cold. We’ll take it from there.

Over and over web journalists have been reporting that Inside Llewyn Davis, the currently-filming Coen Bros. film set against the backdrop of the early ’60s folk scene in Greenwich Village, is “loosely based on the life and times of ’60s folk singer Dave Van Ronk.” Well, I’ve just read Joel and Ethan Coen‘s screenplay, and I can tell you that the character of Llewyn Davis bears no resemblance whatsover to the Dave Van Ronk I’ve read about over the years.

Carey Mulligan, Oscar Isaac shooting scene from Coen Bros.’ Inside Llewyn Davis.

The large, hulking Van Ronk got going as a Manhattan-based performer sometime in the mid ’50s. He was initially a jazz musician before shifting over to folk music. By the time the early ’60s rolled around he was fairly well ensconced in “the scene.” He gradually acquired a reputation as a big personality who knew everyone, and who had taken it upon himself to organize Village musicians so they wouldn’t be exploited by cafe owners who wanted to pay them zilch.

Van Ronk was always a relatively minor, small-time figure in terms of fame and record sales, but he was heavily committed to folk music, to the West Village musician community, to his troubadour way of life and certainly to everything that was starting to happen in the early ’60s. If nothing else a man who lived large.

Llewyn Davis as created by the Coen bros. (and played by the relatively small-statured and Latin-looking Oscar Isaac) is a guy who lives and thinks small, and who’s no match for Van Ronk spiritually either. He’s glum, morose — a kick-around guy trying to make it as a folk musician but not much of a go-getter. He’s pissed-off, resentful, a bit dull. He can sing and play guitar and isn’t untalented, but he has no fire in the belly. And any way you want to slice it Llewyn Davis is not Van Ronk. Or at least, not in any way I was able to detect.

Inside Llewyn Davis began filming in Manhattan last month, and it might be released before the year’s end. Scott Rudin is one of the producers. Wikipedia says Paramount will distribute domestically. It costars Isaac, Carey Mulligan (as a pissed-off folk singer who’s become pregnant by Davis and needs to abort their child), Justin Timberlake as Mulligan’s folk-troubadour husband, Garrett Hedlund, John Goodman, F. Murray Abraham, Stark Sands and Jeanine Seralles.

Carey Mulligan

The Coen’s script, typically sharp and well-honed with tasty characters and tart, tough dialogue, is about lethargy, really. And about taking care of a friend’s cat. And seeing to an abortion and trying to get paid and figure out your next move and…whatever else, man. It’s about a guy who isn’t even close to getting his act together, who just shuffles around from one couch to the next, grasping at straws, doing a session recording one day and trying to land a performing gig the next, like a rolling stone, no direction home.

It’s about how shitty it felt to be aimless and broke without a lot of passion in the first year of the Kennedy administration. A line from an Amazon review of Van Ronk’s co-authored autobiography notes that “the truth is that being a folk singer in the late 1950s wasn’t very much fun.” That sums up Inside Llewyn Davis. It’s about a guy who “exists” as a folk singer rather than one who is really struggling to be heard and really living the life and half-getting somewhere.

The period details are subtle and spot-on, and yes, Bob Dylan does make an oblique appearance at the very end (and is heard singing “I Was Young When I Left Home“) but Davis…? What a loser, what a deadhead. But I loved the script. It’s a real Coen Bros. film. When you’ve finished it you know you’ve tasted the early ’60s and that atmosphere (if I know the Coens the CG recreations of 1961 Manhattan are going to be exceptional) and that kick-around way of life, and that you’ve really become familiar with Llewyn Davis’s loser lifestyle. It’s something to bite into and remember. It has flavor and realism, but it has no story to speak of, really. Shit just happens. It’s a bit like A Serious Man, but without the theme about God’s cruelty and indifference to the plight of mortals.

What are the Coen’s saying? If you’re not driven or talented enough, don’t try to become a performer because life will take you down if you don’t have that spark? Something like that.

There’s another Dylan-performed tune called “Dink’s Song” that is heard at the halfway mark.

Oscar Isaac in’ Inside Llewyn Davis.

A viewing of Nicole Kassell‘s A Little Bit of Heaven, which Millenium is offering theatrically and VOD on 5.4.12, is, I would suppose, necessary to fully comprehend the ongoing career suicide of Kate Hudson. It opened theatrically in England a little more than a year ago.

In and of itself, any romantic confection that casts Gael Garcia Bernal as a character named “Dr. Goldstein” needs to be taken out behind the shed, tied to a fencepost and ass-whipped with a leather strap.

Wiki synopsis: “Marley Corbett (Hudson), a carefree woman with a promising career, great friends, and witty sense of humor, learns that she has terminal cancer. She is told the news by Dr. Goldstein (Bernal), a successful doctor with a hardened exterior, who is deeply impressed and affected by the way Marley accepts the news of her fate with humor and dignity. From there, Marley and Julian find themselves falling in love, and doing their best to make the most of the time they have left.”

Some of the Rotten Tomato quotes are hilarious:

“This film is one long biopsy of pure horror: the tumours of sentimentality and bad acting metastasise everywhere, and Bernal, in particular, is horrendously bad.” — Peter Bradshaw, Guardian.

“I had no idea colon cancer was so much fun! It is so fantastic to be dying! Call it the Ass Cancer Life Plan. Every modern girl needs it.” — MaryAnn Johanson, Flick Filosopher.

“Rest assured I’m not going to give the game away as to whether Marley beats the disease. But given the movie’s set in New Orleans — a place famous for its funerals — I wouldn’t hold your breath.” — Robbie Collin, News of the World.

In a Gawker piece called “The Eddie Murphy That You Loved Is Dead,” Tim Grierson acknowledges that occasionally Eddie Murphy, by any measure one of the laziest and most smugly self-satisfied stars in Hollywood history, will flirt with being his old ’80s self.

“Every once in a while, he’ll do a Bowfinger. Or a Dreamgirls. Last year, he was in Tower Heist, which got so-so reviews but at least showed us a glimpse of the Murphy of old. Around that same time, the normally press-shy Murphy sat down for a lengthy Rolling Stone interview where he sounded like he had seen the light about his recent career choices.

“‘I don’t think I’m gonna be doing a lot of family stuff for a while,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any interest in that right now. There’s really no blueprint, but I’m trying to do some edgy stuff.’ If that wasn’t enough, he even hinted at maybe — just maybe — going back and doing standup for the first time in more than 20 years. For a lot of fans, his comments seemed to be confirmation that, yes, Murphy knew he had made bad choices of late and was going to atone.

“But then the Oscar gig didn’t happen, Tower Heist was only an okay commercial performer, and then, poof, there went all that talk about a comeback.

“That’s not to say that Murphy didn’t mean what he said to Rolling Stone or that a future comeback isn’t possible. But considering how much Hollywood stars like to capitalize on their heat when they have it, it’s interesting that we haven’t heard a peep from Murphy since he bowed out of the Academy Awards.”