A first-hand report from Josh Horowitz about New York Observer critic Rex Reed nearly getting his legs amputated while interfering with everyone’s concentration at a screening of Miami Vice last night in Manhattan.

“What typically nails me to my chair on the first viewing [of any Michaal Mann film] is mood, pure and simple, and Miami Vice holds to that pattern perfectly,” writes Ain’t It Cool‘s Drew McWeeny. (Drew calls it mood, I called it “fumes.”) “This is a smart, adult, demanding motion picture that may well be the most artistically successful translation from a TV show to the bigscreen. Although you won√ɬ¢√¢‚Äö¬¨√¢‚Äû¬¢t hear the Jan Hammer theme, and you won√ɬ¢√¢‚Äö¬¨√¢‚Äû¬¢t see any of the same fashions or even the same sort of stylization [o fthe ’80s TV series], this film perfectly captures the broken heart of the series, that sense of slipping into a world that corrupts even the best intentions. And the fact that the film fairly drips with cool doesn√ɬ¢√¢‚Äö¬¨√¢‚Äû¬¢t hurt a bit.”

Jamie Foxx is a deeply charming and likable guy in-person…no question. But in this Kim Masters Slate piece about the making of Miami Vice, the 38 year-old Oscar-winner comes off as a swelled- head movie star who (a) lacks a certain something — a lack of commitment to “the job”, moxie, intestinal fortitude — or (b) has gotten a bit too full of himself. The bottom line is that Foxx put his own personal concerns over that of Miami Vice during shooting, and this, according to one of Masters’ sources, didn’t do the film any good.

The key thing was Foxx’s decision to abruptly bail on the film’s Dominican Republic location shoot after a local man was shot and wounded by one of the film’s security guards. This forced director-writer Michael Mann to change Vice‘s ending and shoot it back in Miami. Mann spins it more positively than an unnamed crew member, but Masters’ story leaves you with a clear feeling that Foxx’s departure may have dramatically wounded Miami Vice to some extent.
“Even before going to the Dominican Republic, Mann had written an ending set in Miamii,” Masters writes, “but then decided to go to Paraguay, then to remain in Miami, and then again to film in Paraguay. Now he went back to the Miami ending.
“It was like turning an oil tanker around on a dime,” Mann tells Masters. “But the Miami ending worked out to be the better ending. It brought all the conflicting characters together in one arena.” Maybe, but would Mann say any different if the Dominican Republic ending was in fact superior? He’ s got a movie to sell and he doesn’t want to “war” with Jamie Foxx, with whom also made Ali and Collateral.
“‘It was very scary’ after the local man was shot, Mann says. ‘What if this guy has six brothers? What if they blamed us? All these questions rush into your head.’ He says care was taken to ensure that the cast and crew could leave the set safely that day.
“But immediately after that incident, Foxx and his entourage packed up and left for good. ‘Jamie basically changed the whole movie in one stroke,’ a crew member says — and not, in his opinion, for the better. The ending that was supposed to be shot in Paraguay would have been ‘much more dramatic.’
“Asked about Foxx’s departure, Mann doesn’t speak for a moment and then says, ‘You hear the sound of silence.'”

My second exposure to Miami Vice (Universal, 7.28) last night was no less pleasurable than the first — this is a great adult popcorn movie that’s about heightened realism and also about life on another planet — a planet I’d like to live on.
Viewing #2 was actually better in a sense because I was able to digest the first-act complexities with a bit more ease. Director Michael Mann throws you right into a very dense and layered situation at the very start, and it may take you ten or fifteen minutes to sort it through. (A movie that makes you work a bit is a good thing.)
A guy I spoke to after the screening said that a woman sitting next to him was having issues with the violence. Which seems silly to me since Vice‘s shootings and sluggings aren’t the least bit gratuitous — it’s just honest, and it has nothing as cruel as the Brandon Routh-getting-half-kicked-to-death sequence in Superman Returns.
A very smart, somewhat snooty industry woman derided the final 10 minutes of the romantic arc between Colin Farrell and Gong Li as “a Sydney Pollack ending”. (I answered that Sydney Pollack endings work for me just fine. )
Another woman I spoke to didn’t care for the Thomson Viper photography — i.e., the sometimes grainy, sometimes-not texture.
So it wasn’t all happy camping at the Arclight, but the after-vibe was, I felt, one of general satisfaction.

The adventures of Smith and Grip-Boy in Austin, briefly recounted.

Not that anyone cares, but HE solemnly pledges to see The OH in Ohio sometime this weekend. That 25% Rotten Tomatoes rating, I’ll admit, hasn’t exactly gotten my hopes up, and those complaints about no nudity and an oddly asexual vibe haven’t added to the allure, but I feel strangely drawn regardless. Directed by Billy Kent from a script by Adam Wierzbianski, it’s about a somewhat arch and brittle Parkey Posey not having an orgasm with husband Paul Rudd, but eventually hitting paydirt in this regardwhen she runs into a kind of pool guy-sex guru played by Danny DeVito. I was speaking about this last night with colleagues outside of the Arclight after a Miami Vice screening (my second),. When I heard about this I asked, “How does DeVito administer the pleasuring?” and one of them replied, “He goes up on her.” (This is a great line, and I’ll give this guy credit for it if he gives permission.)

“Simply put, Snakes on a Plane (New Line, 8.18) wouldn’t work without Samuel L. Jackson. Even as the [film] escalates beyond any semblance of reality, Jackson anchors this film with an unwavering performance. Not once does he act like this flick is beneath him or is he playing camp, even when he takes an infamous request from the online community and delivers a line of exasperated dialogue that he’ll inevitably be associated with for the rest of his life…Jackson is fully committed here.” And once the action cranks up, “the director, screenwriters and snakes show no mercy. The attacks are unremitting and even child passengers get a taste of venom. This is the ultimate movie to see with an audience. There will be pandemonium in the theater, especially during the finale.” — Derek Flint on Ain’t It Cool.

People like me — i.e., those with some understanding of online technical issues, but lacking a Master Jedi Degree in advanced web skills — are currently being blocked from downloading the Mozilla ActiveX plugin, which means they are not permitted to view the new trailer for Hoax (Miramax, 11.3), the Lasse Hallstrom drama that will presumably turn up at the Toronto Film Festival.

It’s about the fraud that author Clifford Irving (Richard Gere) perpetrated in the ’70s by selling a fake Howard Hughes biography to McGraw-Hill. (I interviewed Irving for an EW piece 11 or 12 years ago.) The costars are Alfred Molina, Marcia Gay Harden, Julie Delpy and Hope Davis. If anyone sees the trailer, please let me know how it plays. Better yet, if anyone knows of a URL that allows you to download that infuritating Mozilla ActiveX plugin, please forward. Update: The trailer is viewable after all at another location.

“There are several problems with You, Me and Dupree, not least that there is no filmmaking to speak of, just a progression of competent- looking scenes in which the actors appear to have successfully hit their marks. The directors, the brothers Anthony and Joe Russo, have made a few other features, including Welcome to Collinwood, an unnecessary redo of Big Deal on Madonna Street that nonetheless looked like someone was paying attention to the lighting and how objects and bodies fit in the frame, which isn’t the case here.” — N.Y. Times critic Manohla Dargis in Friday’s edition.

I’ve given Michael Winterbottom several chances over the past ten years and I’ve never been that happy with anything he’s done…not really. I’ve therefore regrettably decided he’s the wrong guy to direct Angelina Jolie in that just-announced flick about the life and death of Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl,who was kidnapped and then beheaded in Karachi, Pakistan, in early 2002.

Winterbottom’s film will be an adaptation of a book by Pearl’s widow, Mariane Pearl (whom Jolie will potray) called “A Mighty Heart: The Brave Life and Death of My Husband Danny Pearl.” Brad Pitt will produce with Dede Gardner of Plan B and Andrew Eaton of Revolution Films.
I’ve been told by the Ivory Tower /Planet Zircon crowd that not liking Winterbottom’s Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story isn’t an option; I’m sorry but I found it passable at best, and finally tiresome. The Road to Guantanamo has parts that don’t ring true, and it’s one of those critically-hailed films that are less and less admirable the more you think about them. I found it infuriating that Winterbottom didn’t seem to want to know why those three guys decided to travel to Afghanistan right after 9/11 — it’s one of the all-time dumbest travel decisions ever made by anyone, ever. I was okay with 25 Hour Party People but I loathed 9 Songs and wasn’t that high on Code 46.
Winterbottom knows his way around and has sold the industry on his indie-political British down-and-dirty cred, but I’ve come to be convinced he’s not especially gifted. He won’t make a bad film of the Pearl book, but I swear to God and I’ll bet my life insurance he won’t make a great one or even an especially stirring one. It’ll just be good, not bad, an agreeable shoulder-shrugger, etc. At his very best, when he’s peaking, that’s the kind of film that Winterbottom makes, I know what I’m talking about. It’s probably too late for Pitt, Gardner and/or Eaton to somehow queer the Winterbottom deal, but maybe it isn’t.

How “The Diary of Anne Frank” evolved into Snakes on a Plane in one four-minute conversation: “I went nuts for ‘Anne Frank’, Don…it’s crying out to be made, by us…kind of like Schindler’s List meets Panic Room. One niggly little thing, though, and don’t panic, Don. The whole secret hideout thing feels a little stagnant…a little slow, a little stationary. But I have a solution…are you sitting down? We put ’em on a plane, Don….shoot it on the back lot…with snakes. And instead of a little Jewish girl being terrorized by snakes…” (Confession: YouTube video link appropriated from Nikki Finke‘s Deadline Hollywood Daily, which posted it two days ago.)

No slight to Marlon Brando‘s emoting in Sayonara, but Red Buttons — who died today at age 87 — was less actorish and affected in that film than Brando was (i.e., the Alabama accent and all). Button’s performance as Joe Kelly, the pissed-off Air Force grunt who defied military pressure to marry a Japanese woman (Miyoshi Umeki) only to join her in a suicide pact down the road, was the best work he ever did — frank, blunt, b.s-free. He won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for it. He also delivered a strong performance in Sydney Pollack ‘s They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969). But almost everything else Buttons did besides these two felt either forced or cornball or over-sold.