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2:40 pm Update: Variety‘s Matt Donnelly is reporting that “key parties involved in the annual Oscars telecast are open to the return of Kevin Hart as host, following an alternately contrite and defiant appearance on The Ellen Show on Thursday.”

Earth to Academy honchos: Did you guys read what Hart told Kris Tapley only hours before chatting with Ellen?

Sir Thomas More to Kevin Hart: “When you spoke to Tapley you said you wouldn’t host the Oscars…’it’s done, it’s done.’ Hours later you told Ellen you might want the gig after all. We must just pray that when your head’s finished turning, your face is to the front again.”

Previously: Hours before visiting with Ellen DeGeneres and suggesting to viewers that he’s re-assessing the Oscar hosting gig, Kevin Hart firmly told Variety‘s Kris Tapley that he would not host the Oscars…no way, no how, nopeski.

Hart #1: “Would I ever do it? No, it’s done. It’s done. The moment came and it was a blessing and I was excited at the opportunity and I still am.”

Hart #2: “In my mind I got the job, it was a dream job, and things came up that simply prohibited it from happening. But I don’t believe in going backwards. When I go on that stage, it will be because I’ve somehow figured out a way to win the Oscar. Somehow I’ll get to the stage but it’s not going to be in this way because it just comes with such a weird cloud at this point.”

So now there are two arguments about Hart filling the presumably-still-open Oscar gig. One, the LGBTQs have doubled-down on him for not really apologizing for those old ugly tweets and for generally being a bad fit in 2019. And two, he’s all kinds of shifty and dodgy about what he really wants, telling Ellen one thing and Kris another.

Yesterday seven Indiewire contributors riffed on twenty 2019 films that may, in some cases, excite woke-ish or avant-garde sensibilities…who knows?

In alphabetical order: James Gray‘s Ad Astra, Harmony Korine‘s Beach Bum, Mia Hansen Love‘s Bergman Island, Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman, Taika Waititi‘s Jojo Rabbit, Rian Johnson‘s Knives Out, Dee Rees‘ The Last Thing He Wanted, Robert Eggers‘ The Lighthouse, Greta Gerwig‘s Little Women, Noah Hawley‘s Lucy in the Sky, Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, Bong Joon-ho‘s Parasite, Melina Matsoukas‘ Queen & Slim, Josephine Decker‘s Shirley, Kore-eda Hirokazu‘s The Truth, Benny & Josh Safdie‘s Uncut Gems, Jordan Peele‘s Us, Benh Zeitlin‘s Wendy and Janicza Bravo‘s Zola.

Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio in Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time in Hollywood.

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I know this’ll never happen for the same reason that cowardice doesn’t require a conspiracy — it just comes naturally to so many. But it would be so wonderful if Green Book fans within the Academy, guilds, HFPA and BFCA would quietly resolve to vote for Peter Farrelly’s film in order to send a nice, big, friendly “kiss our collective ass” message to the woke thugs in the film critic community.

Not because it’s necessarily the best film of 2018 (although it may be that to some), but because it’s clean and confident and very well made — a genial film that knows exactly what it’s doing and why and, despite what the p.c. take-down crowd has written, isn’t guilty of any significant crimes. It has a good adult heart, and feels like sublime anti-Trump medicine while you’re watching it.

In other words, a vote for Green Book could, with the right collective adjustment of attitude, be understood as a vote of solidarity with all the Joe and Jane Popcorns out there who despise politically correct culture.

From Owen Gleiberman‘s latest Variety column, titled “What Each Possible 2018 Best Picture Winner Would Mean“:

“Last fall, when I first saw this racially themed 1962 buddies-with-nothing-in-common road movie, I thought it had a clear chance to win best picture. It’s that kind of finely etched and wittily sincere lump-in-the-throat liberal crowd-pleaser. But its politics, in the eyes of some, are tainted by (it is argued) a certain patronizing quaintness that has lived past its cinematic sell-by date.

“So what will it mean if Green Book emerges from all that and wins anyway? It will mean not just that the movie strikes a powerful comedic-dramatic chord, but that the more traditional voices of Hollywood want the world to know that this is the sort of middlebrow humanistic movie that still resonates with them. It would represent, in many ways, a vote against the new wave of Academy members.”

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As far as I’m able to tell, Armond White‘s N.Y. Press review of Peter Glenville‘s Becket, which appeared roughly 12 years ago, is no longer retrievable. I posted a condensed version on 1.30.07. It closely echoed a Becket riff I’d posted on 2.3.06. I’m re-posting both here.

White: “Ostensibly the story of King Henry II appointing his confident Thomas a’ Becket to be Archbishop of Canterbury and then reneging on his bequest — a decision that historically split England’s religious affiliation — Becket is mostly fascinating as a love story between two men.

“Jean Anoulih‘s stage play is strengthened by the conflict of worldly affection and spiritual devotion when Becket’s born-again allegiance to God takes precedent over his fealty to Henry. This movie version is deeper than anything the makers of Brokeback Mountain could ever conceive — or admit to.

“Re-seeing Becket in light of the recent so-called breakthrough for gay film subjects makes one realize how advanced mainstream filmmaking used to be. Peter O’Toole‘s Henry and Richard Burton‘s Becket profess their regard for each other with bold openness and extravagant anguish. Precisely because this affection remains Becket‘s subtext, it is never treated as a self-congratulatory end in itself. O’Toole and Burton are artistically free to fully vent their characters’ emotions.”

Director Peter Glenville “subtly encodes this historical epic with sexual intimations: Henry and Becket’s tandem escapades, phallic candles, bareback horseriding, etc. But he takes a dry approach to the complications of lost-love and how these legendary leaders deprived themselves — Becket through an excess of religious fervor, opposing the King’s edict out of personal arrogance; Henry through unchecked emotionalism and personal vengeance.

“This psychological depth gives Becket an edge over the other ’60s dramas about the Plantagenet rulers (A Man for All Seasons, The Lion in Winter, Anne of the Thousand Days) and puts it close to the sophistication of Lawrence of Arabia and, yes, My Own Private Idaho.”

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Nicole Kidman‘s Destroyer performance is all about (a) the makeup and (b) Kidman’s raspy, Clint Eastwood-like, all-but-unintelligible speaking voice. But really the makeup, and that was the responsibility of makeup designer Bill Corso and hair-department head Barbara Lorenz. These are the folks who deserve Oscar recognition more than anyone else. Remember them when filling out your ballots.

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21 out of 30 Gold Derby spitballers have Bradley Cooper‘s A Star Is Born in their top position, and I think it’s time to bring out the big guns and the big buckets and say “hold on, wait a minute…don’t do this.” It’s time to beg all of those Academy members who care about the historical importance of the Oscars to pull back on the reins and go “whoa, nelly!” and ask themselves if they really want to give the Best Picture Oscar to a remake of a remake of a remake of a remake. Because that’s what they’re apparently on the verge of doing.

Now is the time for Academy and guild members to stop and take a hard look at things. The first half of Cooper’s film is very good, of course, and Cooper and Lady Gaga are better than pretty good, and even with the somewhat weaker second half (and you know ASIB has this problem, that it doesn’t deliver great cards and that the Bradley URINE TROUBLE, MISTER! downswirl scenes aren’t really believable, not in today’s reach-out realm)…yes, it’s still a better-than-decent film…and yes, Hollywood Elsewhere has been saying all along that it’s the best of the four versions of this age-old Hollywood saga (five if you count What Price Hollywood?).

But ask yourselves, “Is this who we are? Are we really going to give a Best Picture Oscar to the fifth version of a showbiz saga that dates back 85 years?”

Alternate lament: “Are we really going to give a Best Picture Oscar to a generally admirable, well-made film because it’s made $200 million? Wouldn’t that make us the People’s Choice Awards if we do that?”

Best Picture Oscar winners ought to be about the times from which they sprang — about whatever cares or currents or passions were stirring in the soup when they were written, made or released. Some kind of zeitgeist connection, some kind of “this is what life seemed to be like when we made this” element.

This representational belief system was shattered into pieces when Chicago won the Best Picture Oscar. Again with The Artist and The King’s Speech. Remember how terrible it felt the morning after these films won? Do you want to feel that feeling again?

I’m sorry but A Star Is Born must become a respected also-ran. If for no other reason than to rebuff that way-too-early, excessively smug prediction by Variety‘s Kris Tapley. Give the Best Picture Oscar to the obviously deserving Roma, to the socially transformative blockbuster Black Panther, to the perfectly finessed and emotionally affecting Green Book, to the witty and pointed The Favourite, to Can You Ever Forgive Me?…to anything but A Star Is Born.

Please, please, please think this over.

The Gold Derby gang knows nothing. They’re finger-to-the-wind cowards who are putting A Star is Born in their top position because it feels like an easy default — because they know no one anywhere will raise an eyebrow. The Gold Derby gang is all about going along with the current and avoiding taking a strong stand about anything.

Roma, Black Panther, Green Book, The Favourite…Roma, Black Panther, Green Book, The Favourite…Roma, Black Panther, Green Book, The Favourite. Choose one of these four and you’ll feel better about yourselves in the morning. Don’t tumble for A Star Is Born…please.

Posted sometime around 1:30 pm eastern. YouTube commenter: “I don’t know what that was, but I definitely enjoyed it more than season 6 of House of Cards.”

On the other hand The Boston Globe is reporting that Kevin Spacey has been charged with felony sexual assault in Massachusetts. He allegedly sexually assaulted “the teenage son of former Boston WCVB-TV news anchor Heather Unruh at a Nantucket bar in July 2016,” according to Matt Rocheleau’s story.

HE favorite: The Inside Llewyn Davis Manhattan woman (older, Jewish, good heart) ranting about her orange cat being the wrong orange cat due to the absence of a scrotum. This MUBI essay is only six days old as we speak.

I was so taken the other night by Springsteen on Broadway, which I regard as a piece of one-man musical portraiture, that I thought I’d assemble a roster of my 25 all-time favorite musicals. How am I defining a musical? Any presentation of any kind (filmed narrative musical, stage musical live or captured on film/video, filmed concert) in which a minimum of five or six musical numbers are performed, for any reason or within any scheme.

1. Springsteen On Broadway

2. John Carney‘s Once

3. Lars von Trier‘s Dancer in the Dark

4. Sunday in the Park with George (1999 taping of B’way stage musical)

5. Damien Chazelle‘s La La Land

6. Richard Lester‘s A Hard Day’s Night

7. Alex Gibney‘s Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown

7. Alfred and David Maysles‘ Gimme Shelter

8. D.A. Pennebaker‘s Monterey Pop

9. Carousel (Live From Lincoln Center)

10. Michael Wadleigh‘s Woodstock

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Yesterday I posted a riff about how Joe Biden‘s 2020 Presidential campaign will probably turn out better if he acquires a Clint Eastwood jawline. Right away some commenters started calling me shallow and whatnot, essentially declaring that attractive appearances don’t matter in politics.

One question: Imagine if during the 1960 Presidential election John F. Kennedy didn’t have his thick, wavy, reddish-brown hair but a thinning Biden-like thatch. Not to mention a pasty-faced complexion instead of his regular Florida tan. Plus a bulky, pot-bellied, Tip O’Neil physique due to a thing he had for ice cream, cheesecake, pasta and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Would his appearance have made any difference in the polling? Would he have still edged aside Richard M. Nixon?

See what I mean?

At the risk of boring the regulars, HE’s legendary Sundance disenfranchisement has happened in two stages. Two years ago Sundance decided to withhold the Press Express Pass they had very generously allowed me to use for five years straight (Jan. ‘12 to Jan. ‘16) and demote me to grunt status. I was also given a grunt press pass last year.

And then a few weeks ago they zotzed me altogether out of press-pass accreditation. For the first time since 1993 (or was it ‘94?) I’ll be A Man Without A Sundance Press Pass.

I’m re-stating this to officially announce that I’ll be attending anyway and catching what I can through the good graces of publicist and producer pallies.

At least I’m good with the Slamdance gang and will be able to catch Steven Soderbergh‘s High Flying Bird, among other Slamdance attractions.

I trust we’re all in favor of an egalitarian press-pass approval process. Like Toronto began to do in earnest last September, Sundance is trying to spread press-pass access evenly and liberally, giving passes to younger critics, POC critics, woman critics, gay and trans critics…generally lowering barriers, opening the doors and trying to breathe with the times.

In line with this, I was informed last night that a certain midwest blogger who’s never been to Park City before is not only good for a Sundance ‘19 press pass but approved for an Press Express Pass — i.e., the kind of pass that for years has been de rigueur for Owen Gleiberman, Todd McCarthy, Eric Kohn, Anne Thompson, Kyle Buchanan and others at the top of the heap, given their general prominence and years of shrewd, diligent reviewing, industry assessments and backing from major print or web publications.

What does this tell us about where Sundance is at this year? Blowing me off entirely after attending and reporting on Sundance festivals for 25 years and yet giving a novice first-timer a coveted Press Express Pass? This is what a “woke” festival walks and talks like in The Year of Our Lord 2019.

An egalitarian festival, it seems, should really try to be an egalitarian festival. There should be room at the inn not just for hard-working and impassioned midwest critics but also, in a fair-minded, even-handed world, for hard-working, strongly opinionated, less than fully “woke” columnists like myself.

I’m just glad, given the cultural currents of our times, that the good people behind the Toronto, Cannes, Telluride, Berlin, New York, Slamdance and many other festivals subscribe to a different attitude and philosophy.

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Hollywood Elsewhere approves of eight of the Academy’s nine shortlisted foreign film contenders — Pawel Pawlikowski‘s Cold War (Poland), Cristina Gallego and Ciro Guerra‘s Birds of Passage (Columbia), Gustav Moller‘s The Guilty (Denmark), Florian_Henckel von Donnersmarck‘s Never Look Away (Germany), Hirokazu Kore-eda‘s Shoplifters (Japan), Nadine Labaki‘s Capernaum (Lebanon), Alfonso Cuaron‘s Roma (Mexico), and Lee Chang-dong‘s Burning (South Korea).

It’s not that I disapprove of Sergey Dvortsevoy‘s Ayka (Kazakhstan), which is ninth on the list — I just haven’t seen it.

HE strongly disapproves, however, of the Academy having blown off Lukas Dhont‘s Girl (Netflix). Winner of Un Certain Regard performance award and the Camera d’Or prize, Girl is the most finely assembled and emotionally affecting drama about a transgender person I’ve ever seen.

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