With Jesse Eisenberg‘s A Real Pain finally playing commercially or at least about to open in suburban locations, here’s a refresher of my 9.25.24 Telluride review:

Jesse Eisenberg‘s A Real Pain (Searchlight, 11.1), a quirky, shifty dudes-travelling-through-Poland thing, is going to connect because of Kieran Culkin‘s richly eccentric and occasionally unhinged character, Benji Kaplan…one of those hyper, live-wire guys whose irreverent, unfiltered energy most of us can’t help but enjoy or even get off on in short bursts.

But Culkin’s stoned-jumping-bean manner is also a bit much after repeated exposures. And knowing that Benji is doomed to some kind of arduous instability later in life…a poet who’s fated to “die in the gutter,” as Bob Dylan might put it…Benji is, of course, quite sad.

Everyone has encountered a Benji or two in their life, and this is the film’s big irresistable draw. A Real Pain has to be seen for the Culkin effect. I had heard quite a lot about his firecracker turn, and yet Culkin didn’t disappoint in the least. God, what an amazing, infectious asshole…love his shpiel! And I adore the fact that he loves to sit in airline terminals and study the travellers.

Pic is basically about a pair of tristate-area Jewish cousins, crazy Benji and anxious, straightlaced, somewhat dull David (Eisenberg, who is strangely being campaigned for Best Actor with Culkin going for a Best Supporting nom) embarked on a group holocaust tour in Poland. The usual intrigues and complications ensue.

On top of which Dirty Dancing‘s Jennifer Grey, 63 years young when the film was shot in mid ’23, is also a participant. (The others are like lumps of mashed potatoes.)

This, trust me, is an excellent trailer:

I’d like to say something positive about Robert Zemeckis’ Here (Sony, 11.1), a bizarrely stilted adaptation of Richard McGuire’s 1989 graphic novel, and it’s this: the de-aging of Tom Hanks and Robin Wright, accomplished through Metaphysic Live, is much, much better than the de-aging of Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci in The Irishman. Serious points for this.

But if you’re going to focus primarily on a location — a living room in a suburban New Jersey home — and secondarily its various residents over the span of roughly 100 years (early 1900s to early 21st Century), which is basically an Our Town-ish concept (people come and go but the relentless, ever-expanding scheme of life pushes on), I think it’s a really, really bad idea to lock your camera into a single, static unmovable shot. I know…that’s the bravery aspect but it’s tedious all the same.

The nicest thing you can say about Here is that it’s an ambitious concept, although it would’ve worked better on-stage.

Who cares about dinosaurs stomping around millions of years earlier? Nobody. And William Franklin, the illegitimate son of Benjamin Franklin, radiates the same indifference.

Zemeckis shows a young, attractive Native American couple making out in the 1700s and a black family moving into the home in the 1980s or ‘90s because woke Hollywood rules demand diversity.

Would a typical American family on February 9th 1964…would they have had their black-and-white TV tuned to The Ed Sullivan Show and the debut performance of The Beatles in particular but ignore this because of some domestic issue they happened to be focusing on?

The Dean Martin Show (‘65 to ‘74) was broadcast in color so you can’t show it playing in the same family’s living room in black-and-white. It just wasn’t a black-and-white show…c’mon.

Due respect to the Forrest Gump gang (Zemeckis, Hanks, Wright, screenwriter Eric Roth, dp Don Burgess) for having given Here the old college try, but it’s one of the most shoulder-shrugging, close-to- embarrassing “who cares?” flicks I’ve ever seen.

It should’ve been a play.

…and nothing Bobby Peru or anyone else in the “Conclave is too commercial for awards consideration” fraternity can say or do will change this all-but-unalterable fact.

Fiennes has been plugging away for 30 years and no serious awards action to speak of. He’s earned it, he’s “due” and that’s final.

Not now, not in the 1950s…not ever. What is Dr. Benjamin McKenna (James Stewart) trying to prove to all those Moroccan natives that he and his wife Jo (Doris Day) are running into? What is he so afraid of? Why is he wound so tight?

McKenna: “We may be in a land of camels and snake charmers and marketplaces in the medina, but we intend to talk, behave and dress like stodgy, uptight middle-Americans regardless…no sport shirts or safari jackets or desert boots…no apparel that might seem the least bit relaxed…nothing even vaguely North African.”

Look at all those #1 votes for Zoe Saldana!

She’s such an overwhelming favorite for Best Supporting Actress right now that Academy voters are going to decide early on that one acting Oscar is enough for Emilia Perez, which will leave Karla Sofía Gascón with the short end of the stick.

Saldana, trust me, plays the actual lead in Emilia Perez. Gascon’s titular character is an “almost” lead or a strong supporting role, but Netflix is campaigning her for Best Actress as a trans identity thing.

Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor (Nickel Boys) will probably earn a Best Supporting Actress nomination.

Yesterday Olivia Nuzzi filed a civil lawsuit against ex-boyfriend Ryan Lizza, claiming that Lizza, desperate to somehow prod or manipulate her into re-starting their sexual relationship, fed details to reporters about her provocative (if non-physical) relationship with RFK, Jr.

New York‘s Herb Scribner reported the story today. The things that jilted ex-lovers will do to keep things going. Nuzzi’s lawsuit is unproven but would Nuzzi have filed it if she didn’t have the proof horses that affirm her argument and then some?

There are two sides to every breakup saga.

…in a family relationship film, co-written by DDL and his twentysomething, red-haired son Ronan Day-Lewis and directed by the latter. But dear God, the title of the film is so precious-sounding, so dandified, so high-falutin’and Charlie Kaufman-esque (remember Anomalisa?) that it will probably repel or elude 97% of potential moviegoers or streaming viewers out there….trust me.

It’s called Anemone, and while the word signifies a kind of flower, to most people it will probably sound like an exotic disease.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m delighted that DDL is back on the stick. I’ll probably watch Pheromone…sorry, Anemone at least two or three times theatrically. I love pretentious-sounding titles and the movies they adorn, seriously, and I’m literally humming with excitement about this one. Even though we all understand that this is purely DDL’s gesture of love and support for Ronan, which makes you wonder how good the script is.

There’s been a slight press dispute about the title. It’s almost certainly called Anemone (according to Variety and other outlets) but if you’re inclined to believe Daily Mail reporter Amelia Wynne, it may instead be called Avelyn.

Who’s betting on Avelyn? Not me. I’m just presuming Wynne made a rookie mistake, even though her story was updated last night at 6 pm eastern.

If you ask me the Day-Lewis clan probably wants the Anemone title to repel or elude or at least sightly confuse. It’s their way of saying “we’re too sensitive and attuned to the invisible, spiritual beauty of life to use a schlubby common-man hot dog title, and if you don’t like our decision….well, sorry.”

There would be more interest in this film among the schmoes, trust me, if Anemone was called Flapdoodle or Manchester Soup or Sod Off, Dad! or Advanced Toenail Fungus.

Either way DDL, 67, is back in business after retiring from acting in 2017, when he turned 60.

DDL’s Anemone costars are Sean Bean, Samantha Morton, Samuel Bottomley and Safia Oakley-Green.

9:05 pm: Bad camera decisions…we missed the walk-ons, the handshakes…Walz’s forceful reply on Israel-Iran is used to lob grenades at Vance. Vance replies with a generic, this-is-who-I-am stump speech, which then segues into an attack on Biden’s foreign policy.

Vance: “Donald Trump consistently made the world more secure”…WHAT? Walz furiously scribbling notes. Love that deep, raspy voice. Vance is lying and misrepresenting, but he’s younger, taller and thinner than Walz & his delivery is cool and measured. He’s doing okay. Walz is also doing well. Frank-sounding, lots of statistics, forthright delivery. And then right back to his notes.

9:17 pm: How many solar panels are being made in China, and how many here in the U.S.? Southern border immigration, “stop the bleeding”, fentanyl smuggling.

Walz: Trump torpedoed a Mexican immigrant bill “because he wanted a campaign issue to run on.” A verbal scuffle between Vance and moderators….Vance won’t stop yapping it up while the moderators are trying to adhere to structure and procedure.

Vance is really running for himself as a 2028 MAGA candidate — he knows Trump won’t be running in ’28, and he’s better at this than Trump ever has been or will be.

Frank Luntz focus group: Walz and Vance are better at digging into the issues than Harris and Trump were. Vance is a bigger liar — Walz is less combative than he could be. He’s a straight shooter, but he’s too decent of a guy to go in for the kill.

9:35 pm: Walz’s defense of Biden-Harris’s economic record is fast, vigorous and factual. Walz is reviewing his career. Travelling to China 35 years ago, but he “misspoke” about the timing of the visit. “I’ve learned a lot about China…now look, my community knows who I am…I’ve not been perfect but my commitment has been there from the beginning.”

9:45 pm: Vice-presidents don’t make policy. The vice-presidency “isn’t worth a warm bucket of spit,” as John Nance Garner once said. Vice-presidents are ceremonial figureheads. They control nothing — strictly backup.

Walz is recounting the story of the late Amber Thurman, who died due to a slowup of procedure due to the absence of Roe vs. Wade regulations.

My head is spinning. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat….ratta-ratta-ratta. I can’t keep up with all the point-counterpoint…whew. But these guys are evenly matched. Nobody’s losing or winning.

10 pm: Should parents be held responsible for school shootings? The easy availability of automatic weaponry is obviously at the root of this.

Walz: My 17 year-old son witnessed something violent close by. In Minnesota we enacted “red flag laws, backup checks.” Finland doesn’t allow these horrible things to happen. We can keep our weapons and still make this work. Sometimes it’s just the [availabilty of] guns. Death from at-home suicides. Kids getting guns and accidentally shooting themselves.

Vance is making an excellent case that despite his lies and evasions, he’s a better, more issue-oriented and mature-minded debater than Donald Trump.

Walz: Kamala Harris will stand by Obamacare (i.e., the ACA) and you will not suffer if stricken by a disese because of the pre-existing conditions clause.

Tim Walz is a smart, decent, honorable fellow, but J.D. Vance is a taller, smoother operator with a nicely trimmed goatee. They’ve both indicated that they respect each other. Hell, they almost even like each other. Nobody’s doing any bitch-slapping.

I think the debate was a draw. Walz closed strongly, especially when discussing he Affordable Care Act and the criminal chaos of Jan. 6th. Vance did a little bit better, I think, during the first half-hour. Vance’s lying aside and attempts to sane-wash the crazy, it was a reasonable discussion for the most part. I don’t think it changes the Presidential race at all.

Thanks to a confederacy of corrupt, clueless slowboats in India, Payal Kapadia‘s All We Imagine As Light is out of the Best Int’l Feature Oscar race. It therefore deserves and must receive a push for a Best Picture Oscar nom.

People need to see this masterful film and come to an obvious realization. Yesterday the Indian film industry — technically the Film Federation of India (FFI) — not only dropped the ball but embarrassed itself. They look like whores, fools. The U.S. film industry needs to correct this. Seriously. Kapadia’s film is too good to be shunted aside.

Posted from Cannes on 5.24.24: “My head is spinning from last night’s surprisingly moving and undeniably artful All We Imagine As Light, a feminism-meets-impoverished-social-realism drama from Payal Kapadia, a 38 year-old, Mumbai-born, obviously gifted auteur.

Shot in Mumbai with a third-act escape to a beach resort, All We Imagine As Light is all about subtle hints, moods, observations and milieu. I knew within 60 seconds that it would deliver profoundly straight cards in this regard — one of the seven or eight humdingers of the festival.

It’s a quiet, soft-spoken, women-centric film but without any current of vengeance or payback or “look at what pathetic fools men are”…there are hints of militant #MeTooism but little in the way of thrust.  

What got me was the observational simplicity and restraint. I was deeply impressed with what can be fairly described as a reach-back to low-key Indian social realism, which is anything but the flamboyant Indian genre known as masala and regarded in some circles (I’m a little fuzzy about this term) as Dacoit cinema, which flourished in the mid 20th Century.

All We Imagine As Light, a title that’s very difficult to remember, focuses on three struggling women of varied ages who work in a second-tier Mumbai hospital (Kani Kusruti‘s 30something Prabha, Divya Prabha‘s younger Anu, Chhaya Kadam‘s 40something Parvaty).

There are only two noteworthy supporting males (a timidly amorous doctor and a bearded man recovering from having nearly drowned) — both are passive and of relatively little consequence.

The three women are all living in the massive, overflowing, sea-of-ants sprawl of Mumbai, and the tone is basically one of resignation and frustration or, if you will, “we’re all unhappy but social codes are very strict and so we believe in staying in our lanes…restraint and decorum…but we’re going a bit crazy underneath.”

And you can tell from the get-go that Kapadia knows what she’s doing.  Her film is solemn, visually plain, matter-of-fact, unsentimental — the work of a formidable, singular filmmaker who knows herself and isn’t into showing off. This is a truly masterful arthouse flick.

Last night I finally went to see Matt Walsh‘s Am I Racist?

Walsh’s low-key manner, gravelly-gurgly voice and logical trains of thought make for an engaging package. And the film certainly comes to the right conclusions, of course — since ’19 or thereabouts and certainly since the George Floyd summer of 2020 many of us (wealthy liberal women in particular) have been prodded and besieged by maniacal race-hustlers.

But the amiable Walsh struck me as being a little bit afraid of sounding too snippy and smart-ass.  I could have punched up Matt’s narration if asked.  I got a distinct feeling that he didn’t want to let his inner white guy off the leash.

Am I Racist?, in short, plays it a little too gently. It seems to skirt and soft-pedal — it’s a little too low-key.  Too much respectful listening and not enough eye-rolling.  

Matt’s strategy is to let the race-hustlers hang themselves, which mostly succeeds as far as it goes. But I wanted more of a Ricky Gervais or an Adam Carolla or a Bill Maher-like attitude.  Why couldn’t Matt just say what the woke cultists seem to believe, which is that POCs are generally angelic figures with halos and white males (especially the older ones) are more or less demonic Trumpies who need to be shunted aside?

Friendo responds: “But that’s the whole point. It was the same with What is a Woman?. Walsh made it in such a way as people could not write it off as mocking or vicious. People expected it to be a Bill Maher thing but it wasn’t. That was the brilliance of it.”

Jesse Eisenberg‘s A Real Pain (Searchlight, 11.1), a quirky, shifty dudes-travelling-through-Poland thing, is going to connect because of Kieran Culkin‘s richly eccentric and occasionally unhinged character, Benji Kaplan…one of those hyper, live-wire guys whose irreverent, unfiltered energy most of us can’t help but enjoy or even get off on in short bursts.

But Culkin’s stoned-jumping-bean manner is also a bit much after repeated exposures. And knowing that Benji is doomed to some kind of arduous instability later in life…a poet who’s fated to “die in the gutter,” as Bob Dylan might put it…is, of course, quite sad.

Everyone has encountered a Benji or two in their life, and this is the film’s big irresistable draw. A Real Pain has to be seen for the Culkin effect. I had heard quite a lot about his firecracker turn, and yet Culkin didn’t disappoint in the least. God, what an amazing, infectious asshole…love his shpiel! And I adore the fact that he loves to sit in airline terminals and study the travellers.

Pic is basically about a pair of tristate-area Jewish cousins, crazy Benji and anxious, straightlaced, somewhat dull David (Eisenberg, who is strangely being campaigned for Best Actor with Culkin going for a Best Supporting nom) embarked on a group holocaust tour in Poland. The usual intrigues and complications ensue.

On top of which Dirty Dancing‘s Jennifer Grey, 63 years young when the film was shot in mid ’23, is also a participant. (The others are like lumps of mashed potatoes.)

This, trust me, is an excellent trailer:

From Owen Gleiberman’s excellent 1.21.24 Variety review, posted nine months ago during Sundance ’24:

“David is a sweet but conventional middle-class drone, whereas Benji is a loose cannon — a bro who never grew up, the kind of dude who says ‘fuck’ every fifth word, who advance-mails a parcel of weed to his hotel in Poland, and who has no filter when it comes to his thoughts and feelings. He’ll blare it all right out there. Since he’s a brilliant and funny guy who sees more than a lot of other people do, and processes it about 10 times as fast, he can (sort of) get away with the running monologue of hair-trigger nihilist superiority that’s his form of interaction. He can also be quite nice, and knows how to play people.

“Benji is a hellacious man-child the world should shun, only he turns out to be the life of the party. But at heart he’s an anti-social misfit, one who’s clinging to the recklessness of youth just at the moment he should be leaving it behind.

“[And] yet Culkin, for all his crack timing, is not giving a ‘comedy’ performance. He’s doing a sensational piece of acting as a compulsive wiseacre addicted to the ways of one-upmanship. Benji has the personality of a hipster slacker crossed with that of a corporate dick. He’s funny, he’s rude, he’s charming, he’s manipulative, and he will suck the life out of you. Yet Culkin makes him real, and the movie, which Eisenberg has scripted with an ear for the music of ideas and for contrasting voices, presents the story of these two cousins — how they interact, what they mean to each other, how their past intersects with the present — in a way that’s so supple you can touch their reality.

“To put it as Benji might: This, people, is what fucking filmmaking is about.”