Daily

Some Came Running‘s Glenn Kenny seems to understand and appreciate the Coen Bros.’ Burn After Reading as much as yours truly, if not more so. Consider: “In its incredibly goofy, nasty, and…smart-alecky way. Burn After Reading evokes a fallen world just as strongly as the Coen’s previous film, No Country For Old Men, did.”

George Clooney after dispatching intruder

Which is sorta kinda what I said last week, to wit: “It’s the genius of Burn After Reading, their latest, to offer another serving in a way that may seem slight or irksome to some, but it is in fact — I mean this — a major satirical meditation about everything that is empty, wanting, sad and hilariously absurd in these united and delusional states of America.”
Kenny contends that “the signs of the apocalypse are everywhere” in the film. “Among them: People who say they’re out to ‘reinvent’ themselves, voice-activated HMO ‘help’ lines, perky morning TV hosts, and, perhaps Dermot Mulroney (who is, in a sense, the most game of all the very game players here). And just as the Coens showed their viewers some mercy by not showing the awful way Moss met his fate in No Country, here they cut away from the action just as it’s eddying into what would have been roiling grotesquerie, leaving two subordinate characters to provide the exposition, and, yes, do a little philosophizing. Which is much funnier than Uncle Ennis.”
I also said the following in my 9.5 review:
“Burn After Reading is not a movie for the ages, but a modest and dead-perfect geiger-counter reading of what ails those desperate, constantly itchy and perturbed Americans in the comfortable urban areas who can’t help but shoot themselves, attack others, make mad lunges at quick money and temporal erotic satisfaction. Prisoners of their swollen egos and limited intelligence. Strivers who must (they feel) have more, who can’t be satisfied or serene, who eat the right foods, belong to health clubs, drink too much, scheme and claw too much and are natural-born comedians in the eyes of God.”

It’s 1:08 pm, I’m not even half-packed and I have to be at the Toronto airport by 2:30 pm. So adios and vaya con Dios until my return to Los Angeles this evening.

This 9.12 Boston Herald piece by Gayle Fee and Laura Raposa seems to offer the best shoe-leather reporting and thorough analysis as to why Robert De Niro recently walked off the Martin Campbell-directed thriller Edge of Darkness, which costarred Mel Gibson.

Boiled down, Campbell “repeatedly shot and re-shot a scene [in which De Niro’s] character tries to hit a ball out of a sand trap” at Gannon Golf Course in Lynn, Massachucetts. De Niro finally got sick of it — how many fucking times do I have to hit this fucking ball and knock sand into my shoes and into my eyes? — and said fuck it, fuck you, I’m outta here. (These aren’t quotes, of course — I’m just putting myself into De Niro’s golf shoes.)

A fully thought-through, cleanly-written primer about the whys and wherefores of movie titles by Kristin Thompson and David Bordwell.

There is surely a curse attached to films that have used metals in their titles — The Golden Compass, The Silver Chalice, Cross of Iron. Exceptions to the rule?

“Given that The Hurt Locker is set in Iraq and [director] Kathryn Bigelow has been a bit off the radar of late, journos and industryites mostly had a ‘show me’ attitude about it,” senior Variety critic Todd McCarthy wrote yesterday. “For the majority, Bigelow delivered, with a strong charge of visceral, stops-out action cinema.

Hurt Locker star Jeremy Renner

“I’m apparently not the only one to have noticed this, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that the film is a very cleverly disguised real-world remake of Bigelow’s ex-husband James Cameron‘s Aliens. (McCarthy may have been referring to my 9.9 review, but has anyone else made this observation?)
“The Hurt Locker is about a bomb-defusing squad of U.S. soldiers; as in Aliens, death can strike you from anywhere, anytime, and Jeremy Renner‘s risk junkie is Sigourney Weaver‘s Ripley, right down to the outer space outfit he sometimes has to wear.”

Aliens‘ Sigourney Weaver at controls of powerloader

If only Ed Harris‘s Appaloosa was (a) less interested in charming the audience with “amusing” dialogue between Harris and Viggo Mortensen and (b) didn’t envision Renee Zellweger‘s character as some kind of two-timing slut who goes skinny-dipping with the bad guys. These things aside, it’s not half bad.

Righteous Kill (Overture, 9.12) — a.k.a, the new DePac — “may not be dead on arrival after all,” a Manhattan media friend wrote yesterday. “I attended the New York premiere and despite the hassle of being forced into an overflow screening room across the street from the Zeigfeld, the film played fairly well in a non-industry room of 100 or so.

“I honestly don’t know why [Overture hasn’t shown] this until two days before the release date. It’s fun to see these two guys. The script gives them plenty of eye-rolling moments, and it’s obvious DeNiro took Pacino into a private trailer and said ‘If you do the hoo-hah guy in this thing I’m walking off the movie.’
“But that said, it’s a fairly mediocre thriller with two amazing guys. And that’s worth the price of admission simply because they will probably never do it again. The film does have one trick up its sleeve that I thought worked pretty well, But once it’s revealed the thing goes on too long.
I was asked yesterday by a journo friend about DeNiro and Pacino’s diminished leading-man, tough-guy cred. I didn’t have any hot info so I just spewed opinion.
“The bottom line is that they’re both well past their leading man days — DeNiro is 65, Pacino is 68 — and nobody wants to see a movie about a couple of grandpa-aged urban detectives. 13 years ago they were beautiful in Heat — lean and muscular and in their middle-aged prime with great haircuts. Today they’re softer, grayer, saggier…less cool. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but they’re just not top-dog machismo types any more. It’s over.
“But of course, they knew this going in when they signed to make Righteous Kill. Producer Avi Lerner is an older, behind-the-curve rug-merchant producer in the Golan-Globus tradition and was willing to pay them their fees, so they said ‘sure, why not? How can we lose?'”

Zac Efron is astute, capable and alert as the young-lad protagonist in Richard Linklater‘s Me and Orson Welles, a light-hearted period drama set against the creation of Welles’ Ceasar, a modern-dress adaptation of Shakespeare’s classic, at Manhattan’s Mercury Theatre in 1937.

But Christian McKay‘s performance as Welles is the thing to see and hear. He’s got the deep timbre, the stentorian voice, the attitude, the swagger, the size — much better than Vincent D’onofrio‘s Welles in Ed Wood (which someone voiced for him anyway…right?), and a truly thrilling act of bringing a legend back to life. And it’s not the first time he’s played Welles, either.

I decided against running this Funny Or Die video of Gina Gershon inhabiting Sarah Palin, but I thought it over while I was watching Richard Linklater‘s Me and Orson Welles (which I just came out of) and decided okay, it can’t hurt. But it’s really not that good. The video, I mean.

“John McCain has demonstrated in the last two months that he does not have the character to be president of the United States. And that is why it is more important than ever to ensure that Barack Obama is the next president. The alternative is now unthinkable. And McCain — no one else — has proved it.” — the concluding graph of Andrew Sullivan‘s latest (9.11.08) column, called “McCain’s Integrity.”