It’s Paul Schrader (The Card Counter, First Reformed) speaking to The New Yorker‘s Richard Brody, and if you’re the type of person who wishes that serious theatrical adult-angled features will somehow rebound when theatres come back, what Schrader says is, of course, hugely depressing. But what else is new?
Schrader: “I see four venues for theatrical. (1) Extreme spectacle, which is like 4DX—or like that van Gogh immersive experience that’s coming. That you have to go out of the house for. That’s a reason to go out of the house; (2) Children’s movies, of course, because you want to see your kids laugh with other kids, and that’s really for the parents more than the kids; (3) Date-night movies, which is horror and a certain kind of teen comedy, and there’ll still be a place for that. And (4) what we now call Club Cinema, which is where you have a membership. This is like the Burns or the Metrograph or the Film Forum or Angelika.
“They’re all event-based. And I think those places will come back. But the normal mall cinema or multi-cinema, I think that’s a real struggle.
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“They say that 50% of New York restaurants won’t reopen. That’s certainly true, also, of the movie theatres. And so we are rethinking that whole concept, and it’s a rethinking going across the board, because it’s also happening to the Oscars. What do the Oscars mean anymore? Does anybody care anymore? Will the festivals have the strength that they used to have?
“And this idea of the two-hour serious movie, which evolved in many ways as a reaction to television, where the film companies all had agents in New York looking for the new serious book…From Here to Eternity, we’re going to do that.” And that’s gone now. Nobody’s looking for the new serious book. And to make a movie today, a quality movie, let’s say a movie like Hud or The Hustler, that movie’s just not being made. Now, there is quality long-form but I think the serious two-hour film [is a commercially shaky proposition].
“I have a film that’s opening [The Card Counter], which fits in that mold. And I’ve been thinking of writing a new script after that, and I just find myself wondering, ‘Who will make such a film?’
I for one didn’t revisit Fatal Attraction on the occasion of its 30th anniversary, which happened three and a half years ago (9.16.17). But others have in the interim, and the #MeToo view is basically that even though Glenn Close‘s Alex Forrest was damaged and unstable and jumped the gun as far as Michael Douglas‘s Dan Gallagher was concerned, she was coming from a no-bullshit emotional place, and she had a point.
Gallagher, a married attorney, saw an opportunity for some hot recreational sex (the kind that married people generally don’t have as a rule) and a brief revisiting of his hormonal hound-dog past with an enticing woman while his wife was out of town, and he went for it.
But almost right out of the gate Forrest began asking him why he was cheating. In some corners the new thinking is “was Alex really so wrong to want something real from the guy? She wasn’t some predatory psycho — she was hurting and off-balance, agreed, but it was the mid ’80s, she was 36 years old and she didn’t want to be treated like a sex poodle. She was simply putting her cards on the table.”
Hollywood Elsewhere re-watched Fatal Attraction two or three nights ago, and here’s the basic deal, #MeToo or not.
Forrest was way out line to even fantasize that a weekend (36 hours, give or take) of great sex and spaghetti and opera and more sex plus a suicide attempt…she was way out of line to think that there was even a slight basis for a serious extra-marital affair between herself and Gallagher.
The rules are the rules, and everyone knows that the first night or two of sex between consenting adults is strictly about sensual abandon and intoxication…under the best of circumstances and with the right person the initial stages of a sexual escapade can be a glorious and ecstatic escape from the regular grind of living and working and carrying the weight of it all.
And this rule goes double if not triple if one of the parties is married. In such a situation there’s always an assumption that this is strictly a one-timer or a one-weekender…all sane adults understand this.
If, on the other hand, the affair continues and the married man or woman becomes more and more attached to the non-married lover or vice versa, then it’s cool for the unattached person to ask “what are we doing exactly? Because I’m not into recreational, gymnastic sex for its own sake…I’m interested in having a real-deal relationship with someone I truly care for so where are we exactly?”
That kind of conservation is completely normal and par-for-the-course after the affair has been going on a while. But you can’t broach the subject after only a night or two. That’s crazy — totally bonkers.
Which is why Gallagher froze and said “oh, shit” to himself at the 42-second mark in the above scene, or right when Forrest said “so what are you doing here?”
4 pm update: Before anything else, consider information supplied this morning by Lee Hill, a British-residing HE reader and Terry Southern biographer who stated that the Dr. Strangelove pie-fight sequence exists on film and is currently being stored in British Film Institute archives.
Earlier: This morning I stumbled upon a fascinating article by Dr. Strangelove co-writer Terry Southern. Titled “Notes From The War Room“, it contains several inside-baseball stories about the making of Stanley Kubrick‘s 1964 classic comedy, and particularly a blow-by-blow description of the pie-fight scene:
“[Then] we began shooting the famous eleven-minute ‘lost pie fight,’ which was to come near the end of the movie. This footage began at a point in the War Room where the Russian ambassador is seen, for the second time, surreptitiously taking photographs of the Big Board, using six or seven tiny spy-cameras disguised as a wristwatch, a diamond ring, a cigarette lighter and cufflinks.
“The head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Air Force General Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) catches him in flagrante and, as before, tackles him and throws him to the floor. They fight furiously until President Merkin Muffley intervenes: “This is the War Room, gentlemen! How dare you fight in here!”
“General Turgidson is unfazed. ‘We’ve got the Commie rat redhanded this time, Mr. President!’
“The detachment of four military police, which earlier escorted the ambassador to the War Room, stands by as General Turgidson continues: ‘Mr. President, my experience in these matters of espionage has caused me to be more skeptical than your average Joe. I think these cameras” — he indicates the array of ingenious devices — “may be dummy cameras, just to put us off. I say he’s got the real McCoy concealed on his person. I would like to have your permission, Mr. President, to have him fully searched.’
“‘All right,’ the President says, ‘permission granted.’
“General Turgidson addresses the military police: ‘Okay boys, you heard the President. I want you to search the ambassador thoroughly. And due to the tininess of his equipment, do not overlook any of the seven bodily orifices.’ The camera focuses on the face of the ambassador as he listens and mentally calculates the orifices with an expression of great annoyance.
A few years ago I ran a list of the five worst cinematic parents of all time: John Huston‘s Noah Cross from Chinatown, Daniel Day Lewis‘s Daniel Plainview from There Will Be Blood, Chris Walken’s Brad Whitewood from At Close Range, Faye Dunaway‘s Joan Crawford in Mommmie Dearest and Marion Lorne‘s Mrs. Antony (mother of Robert Walker‘s Bruno) in Alfred Hitchcock‘s Strangers on a Train.
And then a real motherfucker of a dad I hadn’t thought of in a long time popped into my head: Karl Malden‘s oppressively demanding John Piersall, the father of Tony Perkins‘ Jim Piersall, in Robert Mulligan‘s Fear Strikes Out (’57).
I decided to stream an HD version the other night on Amazon, in part because I wanted to savor the detail of a black-and-white film shot in VistaVision. It looked pretty great, but God, Malden played such a fiend I couldn’t believe it. His son’s glories and accomplishments were never enough. The film throws a semi-happy gloss on their relationship at the end, but Malden is the kind of papa you need to keep at a certain distance until he’s dead.
But you know what? The Malden-Perkins relationship is almost exactly the kind of thing I have going on with the little man in my chest who’s never fully satisfied with anything good that I do. He’s always saying “okay, that’s pretty good but don’t get smug and coast on your laurels. You could probably do a little better than you’ve done so far, as you know. Because while you have talent and drive, you could use a bit more of each. And what about tomorrow’s agenda? And don’t forget to buy groceries and call the cleaning lady,” etc.
Please post your favorite dads and moms. The deceased Mrs. Bates in Psycho. Angela Lansbury in The Manchurian Candidate and All Fall Down, for sure. Harrison Ford in The Mosquito Coast. Who else?
I’ll never forget the first time that my sons (Jett, Dylan) and I watched Alfred Hitchcock‘s The Birds together, and more particularly their reaction to the “homicidal crows attack the fleeing schoolchildren” scene. They were somewhere around 8 or 9 years old, as I recall, and basically found it hilarious. The more the schoolkids cried and screamed and fell to the ground and bloodied their knees, the more J & D laughed. A better word is “cackled.”
This happened, I immediately presumed, because the boys found the absurdly mannered and constricted behavior of the kids ridiculous. (Hitchcock was always terrible with children). They especially couldn’t stand the stilted, formal-sounding dialogue that poor Veronica Cartwright was obliged to say. And who, by the way, who doesn’t loathe that awful, perfectly phrased song the kids were singing inside Suzanne Pleshette‘s schoolhouse just before the attack?
Excerpt from Camille Paglia’s book-length essay about The Birds (BFI Film Classics): “It’s another race, this time foot versus wing. Like Furies, the crows harass the children from behind, nipping their necks and cheeks, as we seem to slide helplessly backward downhill, with the mob about to trample us. There’s a tremendous noise of mingled screams and raucous bird cries.
“After the first flash of real horror, I generally settle down to laughing and applauding the crows, whom I regard as Coleridgean emissaries vandalizing sentimental Wordsworthian notions of childhood. It’s like my idol Keith Richards cuffing about Pollyanna and Beaver Cleaver. There’s an exuberant, Saturnalian, Mad magazine zaniness to the whole grisly business.“
Certain George C. Scott recollections about the never-seen Dr. Strangelove pie-fight sequence were recently posted on Facebook by director-writer Patrick Reade Johnson. Johnson directed Scott in Angus (’95), and presumably got the following from him during shooting.
I’d never read Scott’s story until this morning, and I have to say two things. One, I don’t believe that Strangelove director Stanley Kubrick would have behaved in the petty, wimpy, small-minded way that Scott describes. And two, I’ve found a photo of Kubrick directing Scott during the pie-fight sequence so take the following with a grain:
Johnson: “Scott told me a couple great stories from the Strangelove shoot. One contradicted a popular myth about the film — that the removal of the pie-fight scene was due to concerns over a line in which Scott’s General Buck Turgidson (or someone else in the scene) said, ‘Gentlemen, our beloved president has been struck down in the prime of his life!’ It was deemed insensitive in the wake of JFK’s assassination.
Obviously the rear angle means we can’t be 100% certain this is a shadowed Stanley Kubrick directing the pie-fight sequence, but it sure looks like him.
“Another theory holds that Kubrick just felt the scene didn’t work.
“’Bullshit!’, roared George, when asked about it. ‘The scene was terrific! Which is WHY Stanley CUT it!” George’s eyes narrowed, a big, toothy grin spreading across his face… “Because the sonofabitch didn’t DIRECT it! THE FIRST A.D. DIRECTED IT!”
“I asked George why Stanley would entrust his first A.D. (possibly Eric Rattray) with directing a high comedy scene, featuring most of his leading cast. And why the venerable actors would even agree to that arrangement.
Scott: “We DIDN’T agree to it! But on the day when we all showed up to shoot the fucking scene, including the guy with 500 goddamn pies, Stanley was nowhere to be found! We sat around on our asses for an hour or so, until the 1st A.D. walked in and said Stanley had a terrible cold…ALL OF A SUDDEN…and that he wouldn’t be able to work today.
“But then he added that Stanley had also said that if we didn’t forge on without him, the scene, which everyone LOVED, would NEVER get DONE!”.
Johnson: “So, you just went ahead and…“ Scott: “And SHOT a goddamn SCENE for a fucking STANLEY GODDAMN KUBRICK FILM that was NOT DIRECTED BY STANLEY GODDAMN KUBRICK! Which is WHY the fucking scene never made into the fucking MOVIE!”
Johnson: “But what about JFK and being sensi—“
Scott: “OH, what a load of CRAP! Stanley couldn’t have cared less about that! If ANYTHING, he PROBABLY HATED not having something so GODDAMN IRREVERENT in his FILM! He just didn’t hate it as much as he hated his First A.D.’s goddamn DIRECTING!”
The following excerpt from Sasha Stone‘s “94th Oscars — It’s Time to Rethink Oscar Coverage” (4.30) doesn’t once mention the “w” word. Nor does she mention the legacy of Maximilien Robespierre or allude to new-styled blacklists or HUAC committees, etc. So HE readers who get upset or annoyed or threaten to abandon this site when the concept of woke terror is mentioned can rest easy:
Sasha: “Where bloggers were once the outspoken ones, the ones willing to puncture the status quo and say what couldn’t be said, now they have become hamstrung and silenced out of fear.
“If, say, Scott Feinberg or Kyle Buchanan or even Anne Thompson ever dared speak out about the things that all of us see going on [every day] ** — if they ever started to puncture the status quo the way bloggers used to do way back when — they’d be out of a job by the end of the day. If Next Best Picture’s Matt Neglia or Will Mavity stepped outside of the Twitter ideology for even a minute, both would be viciously attacked and eventually tossed onto the shunned pile.
“No one in the real world cares all that much about their online platform but if you work in any kind of media, content or entertainment you have to. You are under the thumb of the hive mind. You have only one option: total compliance. ‘When you have ’em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.’
“Not only is dissent not allowed in film coverage — it isn’t allowed in news either. Even if the regular person out there doesn’t pay attention to Twitter, what they’re seeing around them is shaped by Twitter — CNN, MSNBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post — all of it is under the thumb of the tiny minority of Twitter users who control 80% of the content.
“They are purists, they are strident and they will come for you if you slip up even once. Sure, you can offer the withering apology. That is always an option but in general, they will keep coming at you, scrutinizing your past for any offense and going in for the career kill.
“Even the little bit of pushback I have been doing has essentially blackballed me from Film Twitter. David Poland has been likewise purged and shunned from Film Twitter for having slightly controversial views. Jeff Wells has been stripped of his Broadcast Film Critics membership for posting an anonymous conversation that was deemed offensive. I have to wonder what David Carr would make of today. Would he pander to the hive mind out of fear? Would he be outspoken? Would he be fired?
“Wells and Poland were among the few who helped launch Oscar blogging in the early days” — late ’90s. “It isn’t that they’ve stopped writing what they think — they do. It’s just that Twitter pays little attention to them because what Twitter wants from them is something they can no longer give, and it’s something I can no longer give: total compliance. It’s just not happening for those of us from a different generation who remember what it was like to get noticed for being controversial.”
…and take a nice friendly pass on Physical, a half-hour Apple series set to debut on 6.18? It’s apparently just another self-empowerment saga aimed at women of a certain age, set in the ’80s and starring Rose Byrne, etc.
I’m only saying that the trailer for Perfect (’85) persuades that despite being one of James Bridges‘ lesser efforts, it’s clearly a smarter, sharper, more handsomely produced A-level film than Physical ever dreamt of being. Obviously — you can tell immediately.
(A year earlier Bridges’ Mike’s Murder, a Los Angeles-based love story-slash-drug murder film with a lead performance from Debra Winger that becomes more poignant every time I re-watch it, received a bungled, half-hearted release from Warner Bros.)
I saw Perfect once 36 years ago, and I don’t recall anyone gasping or doing handstands or backflips. I shrugged it off, never gave it a second think. But I’d much rather sit through it again than watch Byrne reinvent herself as a celebrity gymnast while working out to “Video Killed The Radio Star.”
I’ve just watched these two scenes from Brian DePalma‘s Carlito’s Way (’93), and they seemed fresh as a daisy. Here’s the reason: I have excellent recall of the films I like and therefore want to recall. I’ve therefore remembered almost nothing about Carlito’s Way. I didn’t hate it, mind — I was “meh.”
I’ve seen it exactly once, and I remember two things about it — (a) Sean Penn‘s light brown frizzy Jewfro (i.e., Alan Dershowitz) and (b) Al Pacino hiding from the bad guys on an going-down escalator by lying down on a going-up parallel escalator.
From “De Palma Getting Gold-Watch Treatment,” posted on 9.10.15: “DePalma was a truly exciting, must-watch director from the late ’60s to mid ’70s (Greetings to The Phantom of the Paradise to Carrie), and an exasperating, occasionally intriguing director from the late ’70s to mid ’90s (Dressed To Kill, Scarface, The Untouchables, Carlito’s Way, Mission: Impossible, Snake Eyes).
“De Palma is one of the most committed and relentless enemies of logic of all time. For a great director he has an astonishing allegiance to nonsensical plotting and dialogue that would choke a horse. I tried to re-watch Blow Out last year — I couldn’t stand it, turned it off. The Fury drove me crazy when I first saw it, although I love the ending. I found much of Dressed To Kill bothersome when it first came out 35 years ago, and to be honest I haven’t watched it since.”
8:40 pm: Nobody expected the 2021 Oscars to be anything too special or riveting, but I was intrigued by what Soderbergh might do with it. Whatever he did, it sure as hell wasn’t like a movie. As the show finally turned out, it was just kinda “meh” and not funny or pizazzy enough and the only big surprise, really, was the Hopkins win. How did Viola Davis manage the Best Actress SAG win while losing the Oscar? The simplest answer is that SAG-AFTRA allegiance is not synonymous with Academy worship.
8:10 pm: Time for the keenly awaited Best Actress presentation — the big moment. And the Oscar goes to Frances McDormand! Okay, that’s a wee bit disappointing. But okay — Nomadland‘s third Oscar, and McDormand’s third also. “And I like work…hah-hah! Thank you for that.” And The Father‘s Anthony Hopkins wins for Best Actor! The show was jiggered to end on a big emotional note with Chadwick Boseman winning, and then Hopkins takes it and he doesn’t show up. And the show’s over. They managed to push the running time to 3:17 without songs or dancing or a jokey monologue.
8:01 pm: Wait…Rita Moreno is presenting the Best Picture Oscar now? Before the Best Actor and Best Actress presentations? Okay — the second Nomadland Oscar. I’m fine with this. We all expected it. It’s a well-made film. Fran’s coyote yell worked. That and “see this movie on the biggest screen,” etc. Who expects to see an IMAX version of Nomadland sometime this summer?
7:57 pm: The pace of the death reel was steady at first, then it went faster and faster, and then it slowed down at the end to acknowledge the passings of Sean Connery and Chadwick Boseman. They seemed to include everyone. I guess the show is going to last 3 hours and 15 minutes, something like that. No worries on this end.
7:37 pm: Zendaya presenting the Best Score Oscar, and the winner is Soul. Jon Batiste is cool. H.E.R. wins the Best Song Oscar for Judas and the Black Messiah — “Fight For You.” What’s with all the time-killing chit-chat…the padding? At least Glenn Close is getting into it.
7:27 pm: Tyler Perry accepting the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. “Refuse hate…don’t hate anyone,” he says, “because they’re black or white or Asian,” etc. How about wokesters not hating centrist types? How about not trying to destroy the lives of people who aren’t woke enough, or who might have tweeted the wrong thing ten years ago? Do they count?
7:18 pm: Time for the Best Editing Oscar. How is silvery Harrison Ford going to play Indiana Jones again? He seems a bit frail; sounds wheezy. Wait…Sound of Metal wins! Who saw that coming? Congrats!
7:07 pm: The Best Cinematography Oscar goes to Mank‘s Eric Messerschmidt! That’s a bit of a surprise, no? Friendo: “So now things get interesting. Will Nomadland only win Best Picture and Best Director? Will it win best Editing also? Will McDormand win through?”
7:05 pm: We’re now in the final hour (55 minutes to go), and Mank has won the Best Production Design Oscar…congrats! Why does this show have no clips?
6:56 pm: Brad Pitt hands the Best Supporting Actress Oscar to Yuh-Jung Youn, the spunky Minari grandma who burned the barn down. The first Asian actress to win in this category since Sayonara‘s Miyoshi Umeki, and the first Korean actress ever. She’s going on a bit. An elegant lady, nicely dressed, amusing…class act.
6:51 pm: The Visual Effects Oscar should go to Tenet, I feel, and it does!
6:40 pm: Time for My Octopus Teacher to win the Best Feature Documentary Oscar…right? Correct. What happened to “this show will feel like a movie?” I thought that meant that nominees and winners would perform snappy dialogue with the camera darting in and out. I thought that meant that some kind of light narrative would develop. Something along those lines. The winning Octopus couple is going on and on. Friendo: “Oh, for the days of Joe Pesci when a simple ‘Thank You’ was sufficient.”
6:35 pm: Best Documentary, Short Subject Oscar goes to Colette. I’m sorry but this show is just plodding along…it’s not zippy, funny, nervy, irreverent. The tone of sincerity mixed with “earnest” and “heartfelt” is almost suffocating. It feels like a meeting of kindly, friendly Trotskyites in formal wear.
6:26 pm: Reese Witherspoon reading off the Best Animated Feature nominees. I’m sorry but I hate animation. The Oscar goes to Soul — a film that I didn’t much care for. Excerpt: “Soul betrays its audience by (a) encouraging them to identify with and believe in Joe Gardner‘s long-denied dream about becoming a jazz musician instead of a frustrated middle-school music teacher, only to (b) pull the rug out on Joe’s dream in Act Three and end things with Joe feeling uncertain about what he really wants to do with his remaining time on earth. Possibly jazz, possibly teaching…who knows?”
6:15 pm: Two Distant Strangers wins for Live Action Short. We are reminded that cops will continue to shoot people of color on a disproportionate basis. The Best Animated Short winners (“If Anything Happens I Love you”) also deplore gun deaths at the hands of police.
6:12 pm: This show doesn’t feel “like a movie” at all. It feels like a dud-level Kiwanis Club awards event in a mid-sized restaurant. The vibe is pure Spirit Awards, but without the jokes. The most touching acceptance speech so far has been given by poor Thomas Vinterberg (what a terrible loss) — the others have been (here comes that word again) solemn.
6:08 pm: And the Best Sound Oscar, announced by Riz Ahmed, goes to Sound of Metal….thank you! Fully and completely deserved, if I do say so myself.
5:59 pm: The Best Directing Oscar goes to Nomadland‘s Chloe Zhao. Her hair is quite ungussied and un-styled — middle part, Pocahantas braids, large ears. She’s wearing a somewhat plain gold-champagne colored gown with white sneakers. Where’s the jean jacket?
5:47 pm: I have to be honest — the Soderbergh Oscar atmosphere feels a bit curious. Solemn, doleful, downbeat, no jokes. Emphasis on the solemn. In years and decades past, the Oscar elite (nominees, plus-ones, ticketed guests) were the usual Anglos with a smattering of Black, Latino, Asian, etc. Tonight the visuals are diverse-plus…mostly (am I allowed to notice this?) people of color, it seems, with a smattering of palefaces. Okay, more than a smattering but fewer, for sure. 60-40? Plus the absence of jokes and general mirth…what can I say? The words “fun” and “lively” will not be used to summarize this show after it’s over.
5:42 pm: Best Makeup and Hairstyling goes to Sergio Lopez-Rivera, Mia Neal and Jamika Wilson for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. And Ma Rainey‘s Ann Roth wins the Costume Oscar.
5:38 pm: I have to admit that those clips of Steven Spielberg‘s West Side Story (due eight months hence) are alluring. A little Robert Wise-y, but more arthousey. The cinematographer is Janusz Kaminsky, but the default milky desaturated thing has been put aside.
5:28 pm: Dern again, presenting the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor…Daniel Kaluuya, Leslie Odom, Jr., Lakeith Stanfield, Paul Raci, Sascha Baron Cohen…and Kaluuya wins, as predicted. I would’ve chosen Stanfield, as indicated previously. Kaluuya’s thick accent, fast slurring and murmuring, heavyish appearance, etc. He was too old to play the 21 year-old Fred Hampton, and didn’t resemble him otherwise. Nobody minded.
5:21 pm: Laura Dern announcing the winner of the Best International Film Oscar. HE is rooting against Another Round, due respect, and for Quo Vadis, Aida or Collectiv. Thomas Vinterberg‘s Another Round, an underwhelming film, wins. Vinterberg alludes to his (and more particularly his daughter Ida‘s) highway tragedy in 2019. Very sad….”Ida, this is a miracle that has happened, and you’re part of it…this one’s for you.”
5:08 pm: Despite the last-minute Bo Burnham switcheroo at the end of Promising Young Woman, Emerald Fennell wins for Best Original Screenplay. An omen that might indicate a Mullligan win later on? These origin-story speeches are definitely going on a bit. Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar about to be announced…and the Oscar goes to the co-writers of The Father, Christopher Hampton and Florian Zeller. Zeller, speaking from Paris at 2:14 am, is holding an Oscar statuette. Makes logistical sense.
5:04 pm: One Night in Miami‘s Regina King tracking shot through the sparsely attended Union Station festivities, and then up to the stage. First thing out of her mouth — this has been a painful year and people of color are not safe, or words to that effect — “This of this as a movie set…” Friendo: “Mentioning racial anxiety at the very beginning of the telecast…millions of Americans just switched to the other channel.”
2:42 pm: HE’s live-blog commentary on the lowest rated, most who-gives-a-shit? Oscar award ceremony in Hollywood history (although possibly the most inventively staged and written, courtesy of Steven Soderbergh) begins at 5pm Pacific / 8 pm Eastern. Tune in, turn on, check your tweets.
Here’s one reason why Hollywood Elsewhere has such a high regard for Spectrum service:
4:45 update: Signal issues persisted, so I downloaded the Spectrum app on my Apple TV box and am now using this — good to go.
Leo Carax‘s Annette (7.6.21) is about how the lives of a stand-up comedian (Adam Driver) and his world-famous soprano wife (Marion Cotillard) are jarred and turned around when they discover that their daughter Annette has been born with a unique gift.
The trailer doesn’t say what the gift is, but it might have something to do with…you tell me. Nice tease. Great looking film.
Filming began in August 2019 (Los Angeles, Brussels, Bruges, Münster, Cologne, Bonn), and wrapped in November of that year.
