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The N.Y. Times‘ Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor are reporting that Harvey Weinstein and the board of his bankrupt film studio “have reached a tentative $25 million settlement agreement with dozens of his alleged sexual misconduct victims.”

These are civil cases that have no apparent bearing on Harvey’s still-pending criminal cases, which may or may not fall by the wayside also. Who knows?

The deal “would not require the Hollywood producer to admit wrongdoing or pay anything to his accusers himself, according to lawyers involved in the negotiations.”

“More than 30 actresses and former Weinstein employees, who in lawsuits have accused Mr. Weinstein of offenses ranging from sexual harassment to rape, would share in the payout along with potential claimants who could join in coming months. The deal would bring to an end nearly every such lawsuit against him and his former company.”

Who knows what “more than 30” means but let’s say there are 35 alleged victims/plaintiffs at the end of the day. $25 million divided by 35 = $714,285 per victim.

Times: “The settlement would require court approval and a final signoff by all parties. It would be paid by insurance companies representing the producer’s former studio, the Weinstein Company. Because the business is in bankruptcy proceedings, the women have had to make their claims along with its creditors.

“The payout to the accusers would be part of an overall $47 million settlement intended to close out the company’s obligations, according to a half-dozen lawyers, some of whom spoke about the proposed terms on the condition of anonymity.”

Reaction #1: The Outstanding Cast noms (SAG’s equivalent to Best Picture) went to Bombshell, The Irishman, Jojo Rabbit, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and Parasite. Sincere HE question: What happened to Little Women? I’ll tell you what happened to Little Women. A percentage of SAG/AFTRA members found it a bit precious, studied, curious and “meh”, and they didn’t like Florence Pugh‘s Amy, and they liked Bombshell a lot more.

HE journo pally: “No Little Women = total rebuke to progressive film twitter and the woke Robespierres! And four nominations for Bombshell, which, even though it’s the cinema’s first major #MeToo statement, the wokesters have put on their list of books to be burned, along with Joker and to a lesser extent Marriage Story, etc.”

2d HE pally: “I don’t think it was a rebuke so much as proof that the Twitter world, as in politics and the Oscars, is a bubble, And I don’t agree that wokesters are going after Marriage Story. Noah Baumbach deserves to have his feet held to the fire for making a total lie of a movie — a cowardly self-pitying lie.” HE retort: Within its own realm, Marriage Story felt honest, vulnerable and forthright to me. Just because Noah didn’t specificqlly dramatize the (alleged) real reason why his real-life marriage to JJL ended in divorce…that doesn’t mean his film isn’t honest in its own way.

3rd HE pally: SAG’s Outstanding Cast ensemble award “is still Once Upon A Time in Hollywood‘s to lose. The film critics have been misleading everyone with their picks because they don’t want to be seen as voting against the progressive wokester agenda, so they put out a mixed message about what is actually good.”
HE exception: Except in the case of Diane‘s Mary Kay Place, who actually gave the Best Lead Female performance of 2019.

Reaction #2: “Remember that SAG isn’t SAG anymore,” a friend remeinds. “It’s SAG/AFTRA.” Or a combination of Chateau Marmont and Walmart.

Reaction #3: HE is down with Best Actor noms for Joker‘s Joaquin Phoenix, Ford v. Ferrari‘s Christian Bale (if you insist), Once Upon a Time in Hollywood‘s Leonardo DiCaprio and Marriage Story‘s Adam Driver…fine.

But I’m rendering a hard ixnay on Rocketman‘s Taron Egerton. Reason #1: He’s too tall and muscle-bound to play Elton John. Reason #2: I never felt Egerton was truly channelling John; he did his best to imitate his singing, but it always sounded like an effort rather than an owning. Reason #3: Egerton needs to be punished and punished again for making Otto Bathurst’s godawful Robin Hood.

Lament: SAG/ATRA thought Egerton delivered the current better than Uncut Gems‘ Adam Sandler? AS gave a much more dynamic and transformative performance as an insane gambling junkie, and yet SAG/AFTRA preferred Egerton’s good-but-no-cigar performance? This is the Walmart side talking.

Reaction #4: I’m going to say this again and again in order to atone for my feelings of guilt. IMHO and due respect, Diane‘s Mary Kay Place gave a much deeper, grander and more deep-drill lead performance than any of SAG’s Best Actress nominees.

Otherwise you can jump up and down all you want about Us‘s Lupita Nyong’o delivering a half-and-half genre performance (half maternal scream queen, half raspy-voiced zombie), but the Nyong’o clamor is thin as a Saltine wafer. If you want to get excited about the doppleganger aspect give a pat on the back to Jordan Peele — it’s his idea.

I am therefore obliged to regard the Best Actress SAG race as being between Renee Zellweger, Scarlett Johansson or Charlize Theron. Until recently I would’ve said Zellweger has it locked up, but lately I’ve been leaning toward Theron and/or Johansson.

There’s one interesting thing about Jay Roach‘s Bombshell (Lionsgate, 12.13) that I haven’t mentioned, and it’s a pretty good trick when you think about it.

There’s no disputing that Fox News has been a malevolent cultural force in this country, generating rancid rightwing spin for over 20 years now, and that the late Roger Ailes did everything possible to trash President Barack Obama during his two terms and block every initiative of his center-moderate agenda. Worst of all, Fox News did more than any other entity to inflame rural bumblefucks and pump them up for the candidacy of Donald Trump.

Look where we are now, thanks to the Foxies — the country convulsing over the criminal reign of the most destructive sociopath president in U.S. history.

Megyn Kelly, Gretchen Carlson.

What Bombshell manages to do, then, is present lead protagonists Megyn Kelly (Charlize Theron) and Gretchen Carlson (Nicole Kidman) — a pair of charismatic on-camera professionals who contributed to the anti-Obama poisoning of the political waters and blew toxic rightwing smoke on a daily, dedicated basis…what Bombshell manages to do is make you forget that these women are no one’s idea of noble or heroic or even fair-minded as far as disseminating the news was concerned.

Any viewer would and should feel empathy for Kelly and Carlson’s situation with the sexually predatory Ailes, but it’s hard not to feel conflicted at the same time. Because Kelly and Carlson served an agenda that pushed racist, highly questionable, xenophobic propaganda.

Slate‘s Dana Stevens: “I can think of more important whistleblower stories than Megyn Kelly’s. A person with a platform that size who uses her on-air time to argue vehemently that Santa Claus is white just isn’t that exciting to root for. No one deserves to be harassed at work, and the fact these women banded together to bring down an enormously powerful and malignant man is admirable. That doesn’t mean I want to spend two hours gazing at Megyn’s seemingly poreless face as she wrestles with whether and how to tell her truth, while continuing to play a highly public part in a media ecosystem based on lies.”

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Progressive Hollywood and “gender equity watchdogs” are raging over four top-ranked female directors — Little Women‘s Greta Gerwig, The Farewell‘s Lulu Wang, Hustler‘s Lorene Scafaria and It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood‘s Marielle Heller — not being nominated for any significant Golden Globe awards. Not for Best Director, I mean, and not for Best Picture in either dramatic or comedy/drama categories.

If you leave aside notions of quotas and gender equity, the truth is that three of these films — Gerwig’s, Heller’s and Scafaria’s — could be fairly described (and are generally regarded) as somewhere between agreeable, good and better-than-pretty-good.

Neighborhood has a fine supporting performance (Tom Hanks as Fred Rogers) and a great third act scene (Rogers visits Lloyd’s dying dad) but the rest is just…well, good enough. Gerwig’s Little Women is very well liked in certain quarters, I realize, but it has struck more than a few as somewhat flawed and occasionally irksome. Scarfaria’s Hustlers is a fine, feisty, fact-based thing about Scores dancer scamming Wall Street wolves, but it’s an A-minus at best and realistically more of a B-plus. Be honest.

I believe that Wang’s The Farewell is a fresher, stronger, more emotionally gripping film than The Two Popes, so if you’re talking about switching out one of the five nominees for Best Motion Picture, Drama, there’s your trade — The Farewell goes in and The Two Popes drops out.

But as God is my witness, there’s no way in hell that one could make a reasonable argument for Little Women, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood or Hustlers being more transporting or historic or eye-opening than Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman, Sam Mendes‘ 1917 or Todd Phillips‘ Joker.

You could make an argument that Noah Baumbach‘s Marriage Story is a candidate for possible substitution, but tell me how the arguments would go that Little Women, It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood or Hustlers are fuller meals or more humanist or more grounded in human vulnerability. I’d really like to hear those arguments.

HFPA president Lorenzo Soria to Variety: “What happened is that we don’t vote by gender. We vote by film and accomplishment.”

Globes exec producer Barry Adelman: “Every year, somebody gets left out. There’s so much talent going on, maybe we need to expand the categories so more people can be part of it. I also think that if you look at some of the other things…a lot of the big television shows are created by women, so I think across the board there is a good representation. Maybe in a couple of those categories, we wish it could be a little different. Who knows what will happen next year?”

The Philadelphia Film Critics Circle today handed Rian Johnson‘s Knives Out their Best Film award. I’m presuming that when Johnson heard the news he called the PFCC president and demanded a recount. All I can figure is that the Philly crix couldn’t decide on a Best Pic winner and so somebody finally said “fuck it, let’s give it to Johnson’s unpretentious, expertly written Agatha Christie throwaway flick,” and a majority shrugged and said “okay, whatever.”

Don’t misunderstand — I really like Knives Out (I’ve seen it twice), but it’s not a Best Picture-type deal. It’s a well-acted, super-witty popcorn diversion.

The other Philly eyebrow-raiser was giving their Best Supporting Actress award to Little Women‘s Florence Pugh. Nobody is thinking along these lines out here, I can tell you. For most of the film her Amy character behaves like a resentful, arch-backed little beeyotch. All she seems to do is taunt Saoirse Ronan‘s Jo. She even burns Jo’s manuscript at one point.

Best Director: Martin Scorsese, The Irishman
Best Actor: Adam Driver, Marriage Story
Best Actress: Lupita Nyong’o, Us (again?)
Best Supporting Actor: a tie between Brad Pitt in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and Joe Pesci in The Irishman.
Best Foreign Film: Parasite (South Korea)…can’t give it to Ladj Ly’s Les Miserables!
Best Animated Film: Toy Story
Best Documentary: Apollo 11 (agreed)
Best Cinematography: The Lighthouse (agreed)
Best Script: Knives Out

Nine months ago I went apeshit for Kent Jones‘ Diane (IFC Films). “One of those modest, drill-bitty, character-driven films that just reaches in and flips your light switch,” I wrote. “It makes you feel human. It makes you care.”

I was especially knocked out by Mary Kay Place‘s titular performance, but you know what? I didn’t have the courage or stamina to start re-promoting her performance when award season began several weeks back. Because Diane had opened and gone away so many months beforehand, and because IFC Films wasn’t pushing her, and because no one else was on the Mary Kay bandwagon.

And so I dropped it. I folded. I moved on. I knew she’d given one of the best lead female performances I’d seen in a long time, and I didn’t have the strength to keep reminding people of this.

But the Los Angeles Film Critics Association did. A couple of hours ago they gave Mary Kay Place their Best Actress award. My immediate reaction was one of elation mixed with a little shame. Because, as I’ve just explained, I didn’t have the fortitude. HE salutes the LAFCA foodies for doing the right thing in this regard. They showed real backbone.

Many have said this is a weak year for Best Actress performances, and they’re not wrong. Lupita Nyong’o winning two (or is it three?) Best Actress trophies for channelling Jamie Lee Curtis in her John Carpenter phase is proof of that. But Mary Kay Place is the real deal. Her Diane turn is more arresting than any other female performance I’ve seen this year.

IFC Films hasn’t mounted a Best Actress campaign for MKP because they’ve haven’t the surplus dough, but this shouldn’t stop Academy and SAG members from watching Diane at the first opportunity. It’s streaming right now on Amazon.

From my 3.27.19 review: “The Oscar situation is always weighted against intimate, small-scaled films that open in the spring, but at the very least Diane is a guaranteed Gotham and Spirit Awards contender for Best Picture. And I can’t imagine Mary Kay Place, who plays the titular character, not being an all-but-certain contender for a Best Actress Oscar nom. Unless SAG and Academy voters take leave of their senses. Which is always a possibility.”

As we speak Place is anything but an all but certain contender for a Best Actress Oscar nom, in part because of cowards like myself.

“Diane is really and truly the shit. Even if you’re a GenZ or Millennial who doesn’t want to think about what life will be like 35 or 40 years hence, it’ll still sink in. There are those, I’m presuming, who’d rather not settle into a simple Bressonian saga about the weight of responsibility and life being a hard-knocks thing a good part of the time. Or who’d rather not consider the existence of a 70-year-old New England woman who lives alone but has good friends, and who drives carefully, tries to do the right thing, works part-time in a homeless soup kitchen and has been coping with certain dark recollections for decades.

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Marriage Story is partly but not precisely based upon Noah Baumbach‘s divorce from Jennifer Jason Leigh, which occured between late 2010 and 2013. There are similarities and differences between the film and real life. Baumbach and JJL’s son Rohmer was born on 3.17.10. Leigh filed for divorce on 11.15.10, citing irreconcilable differences. The divorce was finalized in September 2013. That’s all I really know.

Some feel that Baumbach slightly tipped the sympathy scales in favor of his stand-in character, Charlie (Adam Driver), and a bit against the JJL stand-in, Nicole (Scarlett Johansson). I wouldn’t know much about that either.

As for any alleged Annie Hall analogy, Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) sweetened what happened between he and Annie (Diane Keaton) in his stage play. Baumbach’s film, on the other hand, indicates a less robust aftermath for Charlie than the one Baumbach and Greta Gerwig, his present partner, are currently enjoying. That’s all you can really say about any of this.

A little more than five months ago (or 6.29.19) I posted a Clockwork Orange piece called “Cold, Repellent, Oddly Beautiful.” One of the visual components was a video capture of the last 31 seconds of Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 masterpiece. No biggie, right? Nearly a half-century old.

Today I was advised by YouTube that “your video ‘Clockwork Finale’ was removed because it violates our sex and nudity policy.”

Really? The PG-13-ish conclusion of one of the absolute landmark films of the ’70s, directed by one of the most iconic 20th Century helmers violates their sex and nudity policy? And it took them five and a half months to notice this alleged violation?

The Dickensian fantasy sequence in question (i.e., Malcolm McDowell‘s Alex DeLarge and a young woman having if off in the snow as 19th Century London swells applaud) is mostly about suggestion. Hardly an envelope pusher.

YouTube’s message stressed that “because it’s the first time, this is just a warning. If it happens again, your channel will get a strike and you won’t be able to do things like upload, post, or live stream for 1 week. A second strike will prevent you from publishing content for 2 weeks. Three strikes in any 90-day period will result in the permanent removal of your channel.”

3:30 pm update: I tried refreshing YouTube repeatedly and was unable to access the main page for 90 minutes or so. I wrote them to say (a) seriously? and (b) if this is a warning why can’t I access YouTube? Ten minutes ago they removed the strike.

I first spotted this billboard last weekend. Ever since I’ve been telling myself to get up there and snap a photo. I finally did Thursday night, right after Scott Feinberg’s Al Pacino interview at the DGA, which I’ll write about sometime tomorrow. (It’s now 12:05 am.) Talk about a farewell hug. It’s sitting on the north side of the Sunset Strip, facing southwest and somewhere between Olive and La Cienega.

HE’s biggest movie-star moment during last Monday’s Once Upon A Time in Hollywood party at Musso & Frank party? Meeting costar Julia Butters. She has that magnetic spark, that vibe, that extra-ness, that charismatic mesmerizing whatever. Plus she seems to have a certain Zen calm thing at the same time. She’s not excitable like some kids get. She has this casual Brando ‘tude. The ten-year-old Butters (born on 4.15.09) was sitting at a small table with her parents, Darin and Lorelei Butters. Tatyana and I strolled up, introduced ourselves, shook hands, etc.

Julia Butters — Monday, 12.2, Musso & Frank.

Sony honcho Tom Rothman, Quentin Tarantino, Julia Butters.

“Don’t cry in front of the Mexicans.”

I didn’t understand the recent back-and-forth between Leonardo DiCaprio and rightwing Brazilian president Jair Bolsonaro. The latter made false claims that Leo’s Earth Alliance donated $5 million to local environmental groups, which Bolsy claimed were responsible for starting Amazon forest fires. Leo’s response confused me. Why didn’t he just cut to the chase and call Bolsy as asshole? I was going to ask Leo about this but I got distracted by cheesecake and then he left.

10:37 am: Hollywood Elsewhere 100% applauds the NYFCC giving their Best Picture award to Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman, but giving their Best Director award to Benny and Josh Safdie for Uncut Gems is absolute contrarian poke-the-hornet’s nest insanity. The honorable Scorsese has taken the top prize and Quentin Tarantino has snagged a kind of second or third prize with the screenplay award, but the NYFCC’s embrace of the Safdies is almost, within the realm of year-end award-giving, a kind of felony. I know more than a few people who hate Uncut Gems, or at the very least have found it infuriating or soul-draining. And here’s the NYFCC giving the brothers a bear hug and saying “yes, you did well, keep it up, more like this!”

10:18 am: Once Upon A Time in Hollywood‘s Quentin Tarantino has won the NYFCC’s Best Screenplay award. Check. Well-liked film, great dialogue, an unusual tale with a compassionate ending.

9:57 am: Lupita Nyong’o wins the NYFCC’s Best Actress trophy for Us? Seriously? Eight parts wokester virtue-signalling, two parts serious regard for a noteworthy performance…trust me. Last year’s Best Actress award for Support The Girls‘ Regina Hall comes to mind. The NYFCC used to be the NYFCC — now it’s an organizational ally of Indiewire‘s wokeness gesture crusade. Good as she was in Jordan Peele’s interesting if underwhelming horror flick, Lupita basically delivered an intelligent, first-rate, Jamie Lee Curtis-level scream-queen performance with a side order of raspy-voiced predator doppleganger. Five out of 31 Gold Derby handicappers have Lupita on their lists, but no one has her in first or second position. I realize that the Best Actress field is regarded as a bit weak this year, but I would have gone with either Bombshell‘s Charlize Theron, The Farewell‘s Awkwafina or Judy‘s Renee Zellweger.

9:40 am: In another international-minded, anti-Gold Derby decision, the NYFCC has blown off Joker‘s Joaquin Phoenix, Marriage Story‘s Adam Driver and Uncut Gems‘ Adam Sandler to give their Best Actor prize to Antonio Banderas‘ minimalist, intriguingly layered performance in Pedro Almodovar‘s Pain and Glory. HE has no argument with this — it’s one of Banderas’s all-time best performances, and it won the Best Actor prize in Cannes last May — but understand that the NYFCC’s motive in choosing him was at least partly to give the bird to the Gold Derby gang.

9:12 am: Laura Dern has won the NYFCC’s Best Supporting Actress trophy, mostly for her tough divorce attorney performance in Marriage Story (and in particular that great monologue about how women are unfairly regarded by Judeo-Christian culture) and also for her Marmie in Little Women, a performance that I found…well, sufficient.

9:04 am: Joe Pesci‘s soft-spoken performance as Russell Buffalino in The Irishman has won the New York Film Critics Circle’s Best Supporting Actor award. There’s no question that Pesci delivers in a dead-calm, clean-pocket-drop way in Martin Scorsese‘s epic film, but how very NYFCC to single him out. Rank-and-file handicappers would have gone with Al Pacino‘s Jimmy Hoffa turn or Brad Pitt‘s Cliff Booth in Once Upon A Time in Hollywood, but whatever. Pesci rules today!

Earlier: In another snooty move, the NYFCC has blown off Roger Deakins‘ phenomenal cinematography in 1917 in order to give the Best Cinematography award to Claire Mathon’s lensing of Portrait of a Lady on Fire. A very handsomely shot film, no question, but not my idea of mind-blowing or wowser or whatever triple-cool superlative you want to use.

Earlier: The NYFCC’s Best Animated Feature award has gone to I Lost My Body. No comment as I lost my interest in watching animated films about a decade ago. Knowing that I will never sit through another animated film in the time I have remaining on this planet fills me with indescriable joy.

Daniel Craig looks leaner and tougher (i.e., younger) than he does in Knives Out, that’s for sure. But when he bungee-jumps off the aqueduct bridge in Matera…gentlemen! I’ve been explaining for years that hero protagonists diving off buildings, cliffs and high bridges is an infuriating cliche, and filmmakers don’t care…they just don’t care.

That includes No Time To Die helmer Cary Joji Fukunaga, who for the time being has put aside the Sin Nombre, Jane Eyre and Beasts of No Nation identity badge in order to become…you tell me.

Favorite No Time To Die touches: (a) Rami Malek‘s lizard skin and Phantom of the Opera mask, (b) heavily militarized Aston Martin, (c) Christoph Waltz‘s silver-haired Ernst Stavro Blofeld, confined Hannibal Lecter-style inside a thick plastic cell.

Otherwise the same old shite. It has to be. It can’t not be. 007 films are two parts Turkish heroin, one part ketamine, sprinkled with sugar and men’s cologne and fortified by corporate determination. Stunt guys are happy, paychecks all around.