Let’s have a little understanding and…well, I was going to say “compassion” for Osama bin Laden‘s penchant for porn. Even mass murderers have libidinal longings, etc. Day in and day out at that grungy Pakistan compound…you can imagine the frustration. Sexual hunger has always been a great leveller, and now — hallelujah! — the Great Dead Fiend has been revealed on a certain level as just another middle-aged bearded guy with a bone-on.

But which porn stars did he like exactly? Or what types? Western blondes, down-home Southern girsl in cutoffs, veiled Muslim wives? To think that Osama bin Laden and LexG had something in common…the mind reels.

The legend is that the prolonged stress of shooting John Huston‘s The Misfits (’61), and particularly the delays caused by the relentlessly insecure and drug-dependent Marilyn Monroe, basically killed Clark Gable. The 60-year old Gable suffered a heart attack two days after filming ended and died ten days later. But he also smoked like a crazy man and reportedly drank a lot.

The Misfits was also the last completed film for Monroe. She was dead of a barbituate overdose 18 months after it opened in February ’61. The Wiki page says just about everyone involved disliked The Misfits — Monroe and costar Montgomery Clift, certainly. And it didn’t make very much money. No wonder — it’s more than a bit of a downer. The Bluray will soon street.

Nanni Moretti‘s Habemus Papam, which screened this morning at 8:30 am, is about a newly-chosen Pope (Michel Piccoli) feeling overwhelmed and depressed and unable to pick up the sceptre. The tone is basically one of dry, highly restrained farce. Moretti told a journalist earlier this year that it “contains a painful core but [is] wrapped in a light tone.” That about says it. It’s simultaneously gentle and whimsical and melancholy, and a bit silly.

I suppose Habemus Papam will be seen in some Roman Catholic circles as a impudent tweaking of the lore of Vatican City, etc. But it didn’t strike me as nearly caustic or judgmental enough.

Piccoli is playing an old man who’s not only depressed but a little bit stupid, trembling and confused and enduring much stress and confusion in simply trying to explain what and who he is, and why he feels so exhausted, etc. I don’t care if some depressives act like this — it’s boring and frustrating to watch.

And yet the 85 year-old Piccoli gives a touching performance. I’ll give him and Moretti and the film that. But otherwise I was underwhelmed. I’ve since gotten the sense that I wasn’t alone.

Variety‘s Dave McNary is reporting that the Weinstein Co. has acquired U.S. distribution rights to The Iron Lady, the Margaret Thatcher biopic directed by Phyllida Lloyd and starring Meryl Streep. The intention is to release it later this year and — count on it — mount a front-and-center Best Actress campaign for Streep.

The main Lady issue concerns the one-two combo of director Lloyd, whose handling of Mamma Mia! makes her seem an unlikely provider of a presumably solemn-minded drama about Thatcher’s tough times at 10 Downing Street, and Iron

Lady rewriter Abi Morgan, whose description of herself as an example of “Thatcher youth” suggests that she and Lloyd may be looking to soften or at least emotionalize their portrait of Thatcher.

The question is whether their film will ultimately be seen as Academy-quality, which of course would push Streep into front-runner status, or perhaps as a bit too Thatcher-friendly by the British press, which could result in a backlash.

If the film’s rep becomes that of a good-enough drama that is primarily a forum for a tour de force Streep performance, then who knows? It may be that the ultimate function of The Iron Lady will be to warm up Academy voters so that Streep’s sure-to-be-powerhouse performance as Violet Weston in John Wells‘ August: Osage County, which the Weinstein Co,. is planning to release in 2012, becomes an unstoppable Oscar force.

Short version: Streep wins for The Iron Lady in February 2012 and August: Osage County in February 2013, or two years in a row. Or she wins for Lady but not for Osage because of the “Meryl again?” factor. Or not for Lady because the movie might not be good enough but the acclaim for her Thatcher performance results in a lock-down, don’t-even-think-about-not-giving-her-the-Oscar win for Osage. I’m figuring it’s gotta be one of these three.

Keith Allen‘s Unlawful Killing, an examination of the death of the former Princess Diana in Paris on 8.31.97, showed to Cannes press (myself included) at the Olympia plex at noon today.

Style-wise it’s a slick, tabloid-level doc — one of those the hit-and-run, flash-and-dash TV reports that use reenactments (as this one does). And content-wise it’s all sizzle and no steak. Allen’s film doesn’t begin to prove a cover-up by the royal-favoring British establishment over the death of Princess Diana. It asks interesting questions here and there and raises suspicions, but this sort of thing does not a case make.

It’s basically dealing in crumbs and cold scents and tantalizing dingle-dangles. It’s my idea of a waste of time.

Crucially, it offers no concrete alternate scenario that might at least intrigue or amuse. It doesn’t step up to the plate with a counter-myth (a term used by Oliver Stone when JFK was first released) about how and why Diana and Dodi Fayed, her no-account playboy boyfriend, died at the hand of British forces who wanted them dead. And it seems to deliberately ignore or misstate what I understand to be verified facts. It’s mainly interested in saying over and over again, “This and that sure sounds fishy.”

Unlawful Killing has reportedly been financially backed by Dodi’s father, Mohamed Al-Fayed. The film repeats the basic Al-Fayed line, as reported in the Wiki page, that the car crash which took Diana’s life “was a result of a conspiracy orchestrated by MI6 on the instructions of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh.”

Al-Fayed’s conspiracy claims “were dismissed by a French judicial investigation and by Operation Paget, a Metropolitan police inquiry that concluded in 2006.”

I could bore into it and discuss numerous aspects of the case, but it’s really not worth going into. Allen’s doc isn’t good enough to warrant all that energy.

Oh, and the Lady Diana death photo that the film shows, and which received some press a few days ago? It appeared in an Italian magazine a few years ago. It’s been sitting on my desktop hard drive since ’06 or thereabouts. No biggie.

Leave it to George Lucas — as deaf, dumb and blind as ever — to revive memories of the despised The Phantom Menace and particularly Jake Lloyd — giver of arguably the most reprehensible child performance in the history of movies — with the box-set cover of the forthcoming complete Star Wars saga on Bluray. If I were Lucas I would do everything I could to squelch memories of this film, and in fact all the prequels. I would ballyhoo Parts IV through VI and hope that the public might be willing to forgive, etc.

The just-out Some Like It Hot Bluray “is an absolute pleasure to watch in high definition,” declares a nameless Blu-ray.com writer. “There’s little brightness flickering, no major print damage, and — here’s the biggest relief — no hints of excess noise reduction or edge enhancement. The film’s grain structure is intact, and the image looks entirely natural, free from any after-the-fact boosting or tweaking. Cloth and skin textures look more finely resolved and there’s a greater degree of detail all around.”

For me, Henry Hooper — the 19 year-old son of the late Dennis Hopper — was the big takeaway from last night’s screening of Gus Van Sant‘s Restless. Yes, the movie is somewhat precious and Harold and Maude-like, but I got an unmistakable sense that Hopper has more in his quiver than what the material has asked of him. Partly because Restless is a bit too gentle and alpha for its own good, but also because Hopper seems to be holding back for some reason. Which, to me, feels interesting.

Restless star Henry Hopper and professional colleague — Thursday, 5.12, 10:25 pm.

He projects interior currents that have been thought through, or at least don’t seem too acting-school instinctual or showoff nutso. He has a reasonably steady, patient, almost Montgomery Clift-like vibe, which I would describe as bothered and vulnerable but not childish, and connected to some kind of integrity or value system — there are lines he won’t cross. There’s a sense of intelligence and discernment in Hopper. He doesn’t seem to be handing the role of Enoch — a kid who’s survived a car crash that took his parents’ lives and thereby has a morbid curiosity about death and ghosts and whatnot — in a manner calculated to appeal to dim-bulb teenage girls. And he’s good looking in a Clift-like way (similar bone structure, narrow nose). I don’t want to overdo this but he has…well, a sharp but oblique quality that could grow into something.

I ran into Hopper on the street last night in front of the Martinez. He was with his agent, Ilene Feldman, and…I’ve forgotten her name but she’s blonde and pretty and smokes. A few minutes before I came over I noticed he was a bit upset about something, which I gathered because Feldman was gently patting his back.

I think I might have responded more positively to Restless had it been shot in Van Sant’s rough verite style — 1.33 to 1, unscored, extended-tracking-or still-shot mode of Last Days and Elephant. Restless is decently written and nicely acted, but it’s oddly scored here and there (I heard a piece of charmed/tender/sensitive music that was used in Badlands and True Romance — Carl Orff‘s “Musica Poetica,” I think it’s called) and on a certain level almost feels like a kid brother or first cousin of Gus’ Finding Forrester. No, it’s not that calculating, but it’s a little too movie-ish in a carefully composed, too-many-producers sense. It needed to be more raggedy-ass.

I haven’t time to write a ten-paragraph review (it’s 6:55 am and there’s an 8:30 am screening of Habemus Papum breathing down my neck) but I pretty much agree with Variety‘s Justin Chang.

“At once delicate and clumsy, tender and twee, Restless wraps the pain of grief and impending mortality in the balm of a teenage love story. Working in a more accessible, less poetic vein than that of Paranoid Park, director Gus Van Sant draws enough low-key sweetness and charm from his young actors to offset some of the more self-consciously cutesy aspects of this quietly death-obsessed scenario.”

Certain female critics and bloggers (including Stephanie Zacharek) have either dissed or gone “meh” on Bridesmaids, to which I can only respond “what?” (Here’s my 5.3 review.) But thank God for balance and general perception’s sake that N.Y. Times critic Manohla Dargis has come down positive. Because this movie strikes new ground with wit, courage and flair. And okay, with a sprinkling of grossitude.

“It would be easy to oversell Bridesmaids,” she writes, “though probably easier if also foolish to do the reverse. It isn’t a radical movie (even if Melissa McCarthy‘s character comes close); it’s formally unadventurous; and there isn’t much to look at beyond all these female faces. Yet these are great faces, and the movie is smart about a lot of things, including the vital importance of female friendships. And it’s nice to see so many actresses taking up space while making fun of something besides other women.

“Perhaps the biggest, most pleasurable surprise is that Bridesmaids doesn’t treat the status of [Kristin Wiig‘s] Annie as a dire character flaw worthy of triage: she’s simply going through a rough patch and has to figure things out, as in real life.”

As we speak Bridesmaids has a 91% Rotten Tomatoes approval rating and a 74% approval on Metacritic. Wait…74%?

EW‘s Owen Gleiberman calls Wiig’s Annie “an Everywoman you can believe in, showcased in the kind of deft comedy of feminine passion — where deep despair meets Wilson Phillips — that a great many people have been waiting for. Now that Wiig and company have built it, will they come?”