I was just told that legendary French director Claude Chabrol, whose view of human nature was jaded in a darkly humorous way, has passed. I never really agreed with his being regarded as the French Hitchcock. He was just Chabrol the consistent.

For me, Saturday’s big winner was Matt Reeves‘ Let Me In, as I briefly noted in an iPhone jotting yesterday afternoon. Today I’ll be trying to catch Emilio Estevez‘s The Way, The Conspirator, Submarine, Errol Morris‘s Tabloid, Patricio Guzman‘s Nostalgia for the Light and perhaps a re-encounter with Alex Gibney‘s Client 9. What is that, six films? Sure thing.

In Contention‘s Kris Tapley, filing from his Los Angeles home, has been keeping better tabs on what’s been happening overall than myself. Here’s his summary about reactions to Let Me In and to Clint Eastwood‘s Hereafter, which, according to Tapley’s understanding, landed “with a thud.” Here’s another about responses to 127 Hours, Passion Play, Made in Dagenham and The Way.

“For quite some time, Martin Scorsese‘s personal passions and enthusiasms have been channeled into his documentaries, not his dramatic features,” Indiewire‘s Todd McCarthy wrote four days ago. “His first two major documentaries about the cinema, A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese Through American Movies and My Voyage to Italy, were surveys shot through with personal insights. No Direction Home: Bob Dylan thrived on Scorsese’s enthusiasm for another artist and his great feel for music and ’60s New York, while Shine A Light, a concert film featuring The Rolling Stones, felt more like a technical exercise.

“But A Letter to Elia cuts closer to the bone than anything Scorsese has done since the 1990s; by mixing the authenticity of his initial emotional response to Kazan’s films with his vast cinematic erudition, and by deciding to largely jettison the usual documentary baggage of archival footage, interviews with associates and Hollywood history factoids, Scorsese and Jones have been able to concentrate nearly all their attention on that which is of the greatest value in Kazan’s work and to throw an intense spotlight the man’s complexity and distinction as an artist.

“Given how passionately this Letter advocates for Kazan’s ability to make highly personal films within a commercial context, the great irony that emerges from the documentary is that Scorsese himself has ceased doing the same himself.

“Which was the last Scorsese feature that felt at all personal? In my book, the last fully successful one artistically was Casino, released 15 years ago. Bringing Out the Dead, in 1999, was indisputably shot through with themes meaningful to Scorsese, centrally the need of the main character to find salvation through saving lives. But perhaps that film’s failure was sufficiently discouraging to move the director toward the more grandiose productions he’s subsequently undertaken, films of varying quality but, the Oscars for The Departed notwithstanding, not the sorts of things that made him the most admired American director for more than 20 years.”

Two nights ago a big, bear-sized bearded guy in white pants had one of those “no, no…everyone!…listen to me!” experiences (possibly LSD-enhanced) at Hollywood’s American Cinematheque during the finale of Stanley Kubrick‘s 2001: A Space Odyssey, which was being shown in 70 mm. Let’s have a round of applause for the AC’s security staff, who obviously cared more about the feelings of this loon and treating him with kid gloves than giving the rest of the audience what they were entitled to receive.

Todd McCarthy’s account of the experience reports that “the guy was really big,” so the security guys probably felt a bit intimidated. McCarthy also offers comments/observations about how Kubrick’s masterpiece is playing with younger teenagers (i.e., Todd’s son Nick and his pally Jake) these days.

Warner Bros. publicists are asking critics to hold their Hereafter reviews until Sunday midnight, so that’s all for that one. (I just came out of it about an hour ago.). I’m now in line for a 5:30 pm screening of Danny Boyle‘s 127 Hours. Three parties follow — Sony Classics at Creme Brasserie, Robert Redford/Conspirator gathering and a Fox Searchlight shindig.

I would argue that Matt Reeves‘ Let Me In, which I’ve just come out of, is at least as good as Tomas Alfredson‘s Let The Right One In, which Reeves’ film is a remake of. I’m guessing that this view will be regarded as heresy in some quarters, particularly since there’s no denying that much of Let Me In feels like a scene-for-scene, and in some portions a shot-for-shot “copy” rather than a remake.

But it’s very carefully copied with a meticulous, unhurried, highly absorbing style, and there is a Reeves signature of sorts here and there.

Hollywood remakes of European-made hits tend to not be as good — they needlessly gloss them up or water them down or otherwise miss the basic vitality. Let Me In doesn’t do this, in my view. It doesn’t diminish — it respects and pays tribute to the original by keeping what worked — adhering as closely as possible for the most part — and enhancing here and there.

The truth? I liked it better than the original, in part because I’m a much bigger fan of Chloe Moretz‘s Abby (i.e., the little-girl vampire) than the young Swedish actress in Alfredson’s film. Moretz can do no wrong in my book. “Hit Girl” and now this — she’s really got it.

Clint Eastwood’s Hereafter is starting momentarily so that’s all she wrote for now.

There apparently can be no universal standard of happiness (or contentment even) regarding Blurays of Carol Reed‘s The Third Man. First there was the infamous Criterion grainstorm Bluray edition that gave me (and perhaps others) so much anguish and frustration, and now there’s another source of agony — the Studio Canal Third Man Bluray (out 9.21). And yet it must be said that Nate Boss‘s High-Def Digest review is hilarious.

Boss is a colorful impassioned writer. I like him because he hates like I do.

“Let me just say I wouldn’t have minded a brown tint, caused by a layer of barbeque sauce smeared across the picture, compared to the sometimes blurry, borderline sterile and inhuman veneer found here,” he notes halfway into the review. “Early reports and screenshots showed this release having a significant amount of grain removed from the picture, and as much as I hate to give any credit to screenshots, they were right.

“Jackets and their intricate stitching appear smeared, while the stitching on Major Calloway’s shoulders is illegible, even in a closeup of his arm. The sewers never looked cleaner, and that’s just dirty. There is no disputing how different this release looks from the Criterion edition, but these changes, they’re not for the better. Another blow to the StudioCanal Collection name. A big, big blow. If there weren’t a previous release, this wouldn’t have been as big a deal, but since we know the potential, it’s downright unforgivable.

“There’s quite a smattering of dirt, debris, and lines all over this release, significantly more than the previous version, with some amazingly large or heinous onslaughts leaving one to wonder how much it would have cost to license the Criterion supervised restoration. Brightness levels can still shift, as they did before, but shadow details take a humongous drop. Where black on black in the darkest shadows used to be quite easy to discern, now it’s just one big mess. The picture retains some nice depth, but detail levels take a hit. Edges appear pretty clean, free from halos of any kind. Aliasing pops up from time to time in the jackets of the actors, in varying degrees (the tighter the pattern, the more problematic it can be).”

I think even I, one of the most grain-averse people on the planet, might prefer the Criterion Bluray edition to the Studio Canal version. Honestly? I watched it again last month and even though the grain in some of the scenes makes me sick, it at least doesn;t have the kinds of problems that afflict the Studio Canal version, according to Boss.

“The most fascinating aspect” of Robert Redford‘s The Conspirator (which won’t have its TIFF press screening until Sunday) “is the historical resonance of the story it tells,” writes L.A. Times columnist Patrick Goldstein. “After Abraham Lincoln was shot and killed, America was traumatized, much as it was after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. And as the film makes clear, the 1865 War Department, run by Secretary of War Edwin Stanton (Kevin Kline), is determined to quench the country’s thirst for vengeance, even if that means bending the law and sending a seemingly innocent woman to the gallows.

Hotel workers picketing in front of Toronto’s Hyatt on King Street — Friday, 9.10, 5:40 pm.