Tip Hunt

I sent a message to a friend who always goes to the Telluride Film Festival, which is starting six days from now but never announces its slate until the night before (or Thursday, 8.29). I actually wrote three…no, four guys about it, fishing around for anything.

“I’m hearing Mike Leigh‘s Happy Go Lucky,” I told friend #1. “I’ve never loved a Leigh film, although I’ve liked or at least respected each one. And I know about a special tribute presentation for a major director (which will include a short 10 or 12-minute reel from his latest film, which will open later this year), along the lines of a tribute TFF had last year for Paul Thomas Anderson that included a short There Will Be Blood reel.
“I’m also hearing that Guillermo Arriaga‘s The Burning Plain won’t be there. I’m hearing…okay, intuiting that Jonathan Demme‘s Rachel Getting Married may be included, but this is based on a long history of fall Sony Classics releases showing up there. What else?”

Last Moments

As today is probably the day when Barack Obama‘s actual vice-presidential pick will be text-messaged around, I am taking this opportunity to say (a) Joe Biden….please, and (b) if Obama had truly man-sized cojones (which means, in part, not caring if your friends and enemies think you have big ones or not) he would suck it in, allow his penis to revert down to the size of a cashew nut and persuade the demonic Hillary Clinton to join him.
Just like JFK sucked it in and got the slippery, conniving, wheeler-dealing Lyndon Johnson to be his vp.
Because then, at least, BHO would have a genuine shot at winning because those Hillary holdouts might finally say “okay, I’ll vote for him.” Clinton is a conniving diabolical fiend and a fang-toothed, baggy-eyed monster from hell, but she shares many of the same values and would probably be able to assist BHO in Congress, blah blah, and she’d kick ass on the campaign trail and so would Bill, even with his resentments and whatnot. Politics is about locality, practicality and cutting deals, and you don’t have to like someone to make a deal that will get you what you want.
CNN is reporting that BHO called some of the short-list guys and gals yesterday and told them he’s chosen someone else. I presume that group included Hillary. I presume — hope, pray, need to hear — it’s Biden. A part of all of us will die inside if he picks Texas Rep. Chet Edwards.

Kong on Skull Mountain

McCain not knowing how many homes he owns is a good score for the Obama team. That plus defining rich as having $5 million in assets are excellent personal-economic-values distinctions that need to brought up again and again. But as Richard Miniter wrote yesterday on pajamasmedia.com, the easiest and least problematic answer to “How many homes do you own” would have been for McCain to say “none — my wife owns them all.”

But that would mean big John McCain acknowledging to the whole world that his presumptive dominant alpha-male posture is that just — a posture — compared to Cindy’s economic power. And righties can’t do that. They need to be able to beat their chests like gorillas in front of their friends and their business or political friends, or they’re nothing. That’s why McCain pretended not to know (or care) yesterday. Because speaking the truth would have made him feel diminished.

Post-Elegy

I saw Isbael Coixet‘s Elegy (Samuel Goldwyn, 8.8) twice before it opened — once at a screening, again at the Aero theatre –and in so doing told myself and two or three friends that I rather liked it, or at least was okay with it. But I haven’t been able to write a darn thing about it. Despite the fine lead performances by Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz and the secondary Patricia Clarkson, Peter Sarsgaard, Dennis Hopper, etc. Despite enjoying the upscale pedigree, the obvious intelligence of Nicholas Meyer‘s screenplay (based on Phillip Roth‘s “The Dying Animal”), the tasteful nudity, the general atmosphere of cultivation, manicured toenails and older-guy gloom.

Why did I blow it off? Because there was something too glum and quiet and resigned about it — something overly subdued, sensitive, talky. I enjoyed the quality vibe, I had no real problems with any of it, but it didn’t turn me on in the slightest.
And because — here we go with another shallow thought (and what would this site be without such things on an occasional basis?) — I didn’t like the idea of a fetching 30ish brunette like Cruz going to bed with an old coot like Kingsley. He’s too weathered, too nuts (Kingsley will always be Don Logan, and vice versa), his nose has gotten too bulbous with age (it was just the right size when he made Betrayal and Gandhi in the early ’80s) and I didn’t like the bedroom scene with Clarkson when the camera just sits there and stares at the puffy soles of his white feet and his pushed-together toes for a couple of minutes straight. Call me empty, but that’s why more people haven’t paid to see it.

Easy One

“Mr. [Blankety-blank], we have rules that are not open to interpretation, personal intuition, gut feelings, hairs on the back of your neck, little devils or angels sitting on your shoulder. We’re all very well aware of what our orders are and what those orders mean. They come down from our Commander in Chief. They contain no ambiguity. Mr. [Blankety-blank], I’ve made a decision, I’m captain of this boat, now shut the fuck up!” — an oft-repeated quote from (a) Run Silent, Run Deep, (b) The Enemy Below, (c) Captain Ron, (d) Two Years Before The Mast, (e) Crimson Tide, (f) Billy Budd.

Road to Claremont

Both Variety‘s Robert Koehler and CHUD’s Devin Faraci have recently driven out to Claremont to see Religulous, and have today posted poz reviews, Koehler calling it “brilliant” and “incendiary” and Faraci saying that anti-religion barbs aside, it “stacks up really well” as a film.

On top of which The Envelope‘s Tom O’Neil, who caught the Bill Maher-Larry Charles doc at a New York screening in Tuesday, is saying it’s clearly “in the derby” due to this week’s Oscar-qualifying bookings, the rave responses and the fact that savvy big-time publicists Michele Robertson and Jeff Hill have been hired to push an awards campaign.
“The only recent comparable example of entertainers venturing into such serious cultural-political territory is Penn & Teller‘s Showtime series Bullshit!, which skewers sacred cows from a skeptical-libertarian perspective,” Koehler notes. “Charles’ previous smash, Borat, used funnyman Sacha Baron Cohen to make satirical/political points, but the particular intensity and seriousness of Maher’s project are nearly unprecedented.
“Indeed, its arrival shortly after the death of George Carlin — a profound influence on Maher’s standup act and politics — suggests the kind of film Carlin might have made in his prime.
“Considering he was once a minor comic on the circuit and a supporting thesp in generally awful film comedies, Maher’s transformation into one of America’s sharpest social critics is remarkable. He takes no script credit, but his periodic monologues to the camera are undeniably written, and written well.
“Ending minutes, though, will catch auds up short: Suddenly, the laughs die down, and as in his closing monologues on Real Time, Maher turns deadly serious with a final statement that will stir raging arguments in theater lobbies.”


Laemmle’s Claremont during construction phase prior to opening last year.

Faraci notes that “the basic concept has Maher traveling around the world talking to believers about what they believe, and most importantly why (or how they can believe it, for that matter). From the Holy Land to the Holy Land Experience theme park in Florida, Maher goes where the believers are and engages them on their home turf. That makes a huge difference in how the film feels, as does the fact that he actually confronts them.
Religulous is directed by comic genius and Borat helmer Larry Charles, and it would have been easy to do this movie in a similar vein to that one — letting these people dig themselves a ridiculous hole with their own words — but Maher isn’t interested in that. He wants to interact with these people, to confront them with the logic-hating aspects of their faiths and see what they come back with.
“That’s where I think the movie succeeds the most, but also one of the main places where detractors will come after it. They’ll say that Maher is looking just to clown these people, but that isn’t the case. He’s more than slightly exasperated with the cop-out answers that people give him (to the point where he actually gets kind of excited when a Jesus impersonater explains the paradoxical Holy Trinity by comparing it to the three states of water — it’s bullshit, Maher says, but it’s interesting and new bullshit to him).
“This film is supposed to be funny so he’s being funny, but he’s also being fair. He’s asking these people straight, direct questions. In return he’s getting garbage like ‘What if you die and find out you’re wrong?'”

Midnight Kiss Guys

I sat down late this afternoon with Alex Holdridge, director-writer of In Search of a Midnight Kiss, and his two stars, Scoot McNairy and Sara Simmonds. Easily the best written, most recognizably “real” younger person’s relationship drama I’ve seen since Richard Linklater‘s Before Sunset (and probably the most beautifully photographed), it opens in Los Angeles on Friday. I’ll relate some of our conversation tomorrow.


In Search of a Midnight Kiss costars Scoot McNairy (l.), Sara Simmonds, director-cowriter Alex Holdridge (r.) at West Hollywood’s Le Pain Quotidien — Wednesday, 8.21, 6:15 pm

Holdridge, McNairy

Gotta Let Me Know

Should I stay or should I go?, asks Jean Arthur‘s “Bonnie.” But Cary Grant‘s “Jeff” isn’t the declarative type, so he suggests a coin flip — heads you stay, tails you go. He flips the coin. “Heads — what about it?” he asks. “I’m hard to get, Jeff,” she says, hurt. “All you have to do is ask me.” He gives her the coin, a kiss, out the door, “See ya, Bonnie!” The plane he’s co-piloting with Allan Joslyn is tearing down the runway when she looks at the coin. The scene starts at 7:55.

Frost/Nixon Peek

Firstshowing.net‘s Alex Billington has posted the European (i.e., German subtitled) trailer for Ron Howard‘s Frost/Nixon (Universal, 12.5).

For what it’s worth, Frank Langella seems a little more Nixon-like in this than he did in the Broadway play, which required broader strokes and playing to the upper balcony. (On top of which his size — Langella is a big man — couldn’t be disguised on stage, but it can here.) Michael Sheen, also, naturally, seems to be using more subtlety in his performance as David Frost.
But you know what I’m also feeling? That the name-level supporting players — Oliver Platt, Sam Rockwell, Rebecca Hall, Toby Jones, Matthew Macfadyen — are going to deliver first-rate snap, edge, smarts. We know Langella and Sheen are going to score, but the second bananas are going to bring it home.

Acknowledging

Old news, happened five days ago, etc., but let no one say Bill Murray lacks that quietly confident machismo thing — perhaps churning within (who knows?) but dry, calm, self-amused. Grace under pressure. But whatever happened to jumping on your own and pulling your own ripcord? It’s a bit pussy-ish to jump with a guy on your back…no?

Gaps Filled In

Yesterday Variety‘s Anne Thompson did some good spade work in uncovering what really happened between Warner Bros., Tom Cruise and The 28th Amendment. Alluded to by L.A. Times reporter Rachel Abramowitz, yes, but not as specifically as Thompson explains. What it all boiled down to was that Cruise wanted to play a beleagured U.S. president fighting a shadow cabal or the reins of power, and WB basically said nope, can’t do it, won’t fly. As Thompson says at the very end of the piece, “Wow.”