Earlier today Netflix content honcho Ted Sarandos shared some Irishman numbers. Over the first seven days (11.27 to 12.3), he said, the 209-minute gangster flick was streamed by 26.4 million account holders.

He added that Netflix expects that household number to hit or closely approach 40 million after 28 days, or as of 12.25.

Sarandos said that the 26.4 million viewers over the first seven days watched “at least 70%” of The Irishman. Good dogs! Give ’em a biscuit! So as far as Sarandos knows, an undetermined number of Netflix viewers have yet to see the other 30%, or roughly the last 60 or 70 minutes. Or, you know, they watched some of it, turned it off, watched a little more, turned it off, and then watched the last hour or whatever.

Sincere question: What kind of droopy-lidded slug stops watching The Irishman at the 130-minute mark, which is just after the point when things begin to get more and more entertaining (“People aren’t freezin’ to death in New York…it’s summer”) and just when the suspense element is kicking in (when and how will Hoffa be hit?) and which delivers the legendary jaws-of-death finale (getting older and older, “Peggy won’t talk to me”, “leave the door a little bit open”).

The reason that 40 million are expected to watch The Irishman by Christmas, obviously, is because it’s easy. Just turn it on and flop on the couch.

But what if Netflix had decided to delay streaming until 12.13 or thereby kept it in theatres all through November and half of December, or roughly 42 days? Or if it had delayed the theatrical release until Christmas day? What percentage of that 40 million might have trekked down to a theatre and bought a ticket?

Knowing that most people are as lazy as overweight cats, my guess is that 10% might have shown up. 4 million tickets x $9 average ticket price = $36 million. Maybe I’m being too conservative. Maybe 15% or 20%. You tell me.

Ivan Reitman‘s original Ghostbusters came out 35 years ago. I can still feel the hate. Some of Bill Murray‘s quips were amusing, but I despised the third act with a passion — that idiotic demon dog, Sigourney Weaver‘s possession by “Gozer” and especially that huge marshmallow monster clomping around Manhattan’s Upper West Side. GTFO.

A woman I was seeing at the time, a marketing exec, found it delightful. I think on some level this may have contributed to our eventual breakup. I remember taking a walk one afternoon and realizing that her Ghostbusters worship was a bridge too far.

Jason Reitman‘s Ghostbusters: Afterlife (Sony, 7.10 20) is obviously not an urban thing, and looks heartland picturesque a la Andrew Wyeth.

Boilerplate: “After being evicted from their home, two teens (Mckenna Grace, Finn Wolfhard) and their single mom (Carrie Coon) move to Summerville, Oklahoma after inheriting property from their late grandfather. Paul Rudd is a local egghead professor who gradually hooks up with Coon. When the town experiences a series of unexplained earthquakes, the kids discover their family’s link to the original Ghostbusters”, blah blah.

Quickie cameos from original cast members Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson and Annie Potts.

Reitman co-wrote the screenplay with Gil Kenan (Monster House, City of Ember).

There’s one interesting thing about Jay Roach‘s Bombshell (Lionsgate, 12.13) that I haven’t mentioned, and it’s a pretty good trick when you think about it.

There’s no disputing that Fox News has been a malevolent cultural force in this country, generating rancid rightwing spin for over 20 years now, and that the late Roger Ailes did everything possible to trash President Barack Obama during his two terms and block every initiative of his center-moderate agenda. Worst of all, Fox News did more than any other entity to inflame rural bumblefucks and pump them up for the candidacy of Donald Trump.

Look where we are now, thanks to the Foxies — the country convulsing over the criminal reign of the most destructive sociopath president in U.S. history.

Megyn Kelly, Gretchen Carlson.

What Bombshell manages to do, then, is present lead protagonists Megyn Kelly (Charlize Theron) and Gretchen Carlson (Nicole Kidman) — a pair of charismatic on-camera professionals who contributed to the anti-Obama poisoning of the political waters and blew toxic rightwing smoke on a daily, dedicated basis…what Bombshell manages to do is make you forget that these women are no one’s idea of noble or heroic or even fair-minded as far as disseminating the news was concerned.

Any viewer would and should feel empathy for Kelly and Carlson’s situation with the sexually predatory Ailes, but it’s hard not to feel conflicted at the same time. Because Kelly and Carlson served an agenda that pushed racist, highly questionable, xenophobic propaganda.

Slate‘s Dana Stevens: “I can think of more important whistleblower stories than Megyn Kelly’s. A person with a platform that size who uses her on-air time to argue vehemently that Santa Claus is white just isn’t that exciting to root for. No one deserves to be harassed at work, and the fact these women banded together to bring down an enormously powerful and malignant man is admirable. That doesn’t mean I want to spend two hours gazing at Megyn’s seemingly poreless face as she wrestles with whether and how to tell her truth, while continuing to play a highly public part in a media ecosystem based on lies.”

Progressive Hollywood and “gender equity watchdogs” are raging over four top-ranked female directors — Little Women‘s Greta Gerwig, The Farewell‘s Lulu Wang, Hustler‘s Lorene Scafaria and It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood‘s Marielle Heller — not being nominated for any significant Golden Globe awards. Not for Best Director, I mean, and not for Best Picture in either dramatic or comedy/drama categories.

If you leave aside notions of quotas and gender equity, the truth is that three of these films — Gerwig’s, Heller’s and Scafaria’s — could be fairly described (and are generally regarded) as somewhere between agreeable, good and better-than-pretty-good.

Neighborhood has a fine supporting performance (Tom Hanks as Fred Rogers) and a great third act scene (Rogers visits Lloyd’s dying dad) but the rest is just…well, good enough. Gerwig’s Little Women is very well liked in certain quarters, I realize, but it has struck more than a few as somewhat flawed and occasionally irksome. Scarfaria’s Hustlers is a fine, feisty, fact-based thing about Scores dancer scamming Wall Street wolves, but it’s an A-minus at best and realistically more of a B-plus. Be honest.

I believe that Wang’s The Farewell is a fresher, stronger, more emotionally gripping film than The Two Popes, so if you’re talking about switching out one of the five nominees for Best Motion Picture, Drama, there’s your trade — The Farewell goes in and The Two Popes drops out.

But as God is my witness, there’s no way in hell that one could make a reasonable argument for Little Women, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood or Hustlers being more transporting or historic or eye-opening than Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman, Sam Mendes‘ 1917 or Todd Phillips‘ Joker.

You could make an argument that Noah Baumbach‘s Marriage Story is a candidate for possible substitution, but tell me how the arguments would go that Little Women, It’s A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood or Hustlers are fuller meals or more humanist or more grounded in human vulnerability. I’d really like to hear those arguments.

HFPA president Lorenzo Soria to Variety: “What happened is that we don’t vote by gender. We vote by film and accomplishment.”

Globes exec producer Barry Adelman: “Every year, somebody gets left out. There’s so much talent going on, maybe we need to expand the categories so more people can be part of it. I also think that if you look at some of the other things…a lot of the big television shows are created by women, so I think across the board there is a good representation. Maybe in a couple of those categories, we wish it could be a little different. Who knows what will happen next year?”

These deepfakes struck me as better than decent. Imagine where this can go as the inevitable refinements become common. The creator is iFake, a person (presumably a youngish male) looking for Patreon support. Excerpt: “Deepfaking takes a lot of time and resources to pull off and so I’ve created this page for fellow DeepFake enthusiasts who might be interested in supporting me and my work.”

Atlanta Journal Constitution editor Kevin Riley is concerned about the paper’s reputation having been “severely tarnished” ** by Clint Eastwood‘s Richard Jewell (Warner Bros., 1.13). Hence the AJC has hired Los Angeles pitbull attorney Marty Singer to convey objections to Warner Bros., Eastwood and others involved in the film’s production.

The AJC and Singer are “asking” that the producers “issue a statement acknowledging that some events were imagined for dramatic purposes, and that artistic license and dramatization were used in the film’s portrayal of events and characters,” as Riley has explained in a 12.9 email. “In addition, we’re requesting a disclaimer to that effect be added to the film’s credits.”

The AJC beef is basically about an implication in the film that AJC reporter Kathy Scruggs, portrayed in Richard Jewell by Olivia Wilde, used sexual favors to obtain information from law enforcement sources.

Riley’s email includes an attached a copy of Singer’s letter to WB, Eastwood, screenwriter Billy Ray, etc.

Riley: “We welcome the accurate telling of Richard Jewell’s story. In fact, the AJC worked closely with the Atlanta History Center on a recent program that focused on a definitive new book on the subject by a former Wall Street Journal reporter and the former U.S. Attorney who handled the case. We recognize that the AJC, and the news media in general, are not above criticism.

“We can’t be silent when a film that purports to take the media to task engages in the very behavior that it criticizes. I feel compelled to stand up for the dedicated journalists who work for the AJC — otherwise a deceased reporter will be maligned in movie theaters across the country and around the world. This is especially concerning at a time when the nation’s leading news organizations are being attacked.”

If this morning’s Golden Globes nominations said any one thing, it’s the fact that Netflix has kicked everyone’s ass with 17 nominations (more than double the second-place finisher). Another thing is that we’re all living in a streaming, streaming, streaming world these days, and that images projected out of a theatre booth and onto a big screen in front of popcorn eaters is no longer the primary thing…no longer the dominant way in which the art and transportation of cinema is dispensed and contemplated.

It breaks my heart to say it (although we’ve all felt this building over the last decade or so), but theatres are no longer the churches of our culture, the places where it all shoots out and caresses and coagulates and massages and comes together — living rooms are. For megaplexes are essentially zoos, gladiator arenas, amusement parks, video arcades, comic-book mythology salons. The communal experience survives to some extent, yes, but screening rooms and film festivals are the only decent way to go, certainly for anyone seeking a pure and unsullied experience.

Living rooms diminish the current between filmmakers and audiences, mainly by diluting the concentration levels. Which fits right in with the generally fragmented ADD thing — food breaks, bathroom breaks, walk-the-dog breaks, take-out-the-garbage breaks and deciding to watch the 209-minute Irishman in two or three installments rather than the whole thing in one setting. Not to mention texting and surfing while watching Robert DeNiro pop some guy.

Three Netflix features landed Golden Globes nominations in the Best Motion Picture, Drama category — Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman, Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story, Fernando Meirelles‘ The Two Popes — and Craig Brewer, Eddie Murphy, Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski‘s Dolemite is My Name was nominated in the comedy or musical category.

Many of us were presuming that Netflix would probably do better than anyone else with the GG noms, but I didn’t think Marriage Story would snag more noms than The Irishman. But it did, six to five.

And yet MS‘s Noah Baumbach didn’t land a Best Director nomination, and neither did partner Greta Gerwig for Little Women.

I think it’s vaguely shitty (or vaguely clueless) of the Globe guys to blank Uncut Gems‘ Adam Sandler and The Irishman’s Robert De Niro in the Best Actor, Drama category, but that’s what they did.

The Irishman‘s Al Pacino and Joe Pesci are eyeball to eyeball in the Best Supporting Actor category (and also threatening to cancel each other out), but as Pesci isn’t a campaigner and Al is a brilliant one, we probably know where this is heading.

Ricky Gervais will host the Golden Globes ceremony from the usual Beverly Hilton location on 1.5.20.

The Philadelphia Film Critics Circle today handed Rian Johnson‘s Knives Out their Best Film award. I’m presuming that when Johnson heard the news he called the PFCC president and demanded a recount. All I can figure is that the Philly crix couldn’t decide on a Best Pic winner and so somebody finally said “fuck it, let’s give it to Johnson’s unpretentious, expertly written Agatha Christie throwaway flick,” and a majority shrugged and said “okay, whatever.”

Don’t misunderstand — I really like Knives Out (I’ve seen it twice), but it’s not a Best Picture-type deal. It’s a well-acted, super-witty popcorn diversion.

The other Philly eyebrow-raiser was giving their Best Supporting Actress award to Little Women‘s Florence Pugh. Nobody is thinking along these lines out here, I can tell you. For most of the film her Amy character behaves like a resentful, arch-backed little beeyotch. All she seems to do is taunt Saoirse Ronan‘s Jo. She even burns Jo’s manuscript at one point.

Best Director: Martin Scorsese, The Irishman
Best Actor: Adam Driver, Marriage Story
Best Actress: Lupita Nyong’o, Us (again?)
Best Supporting Actor: a tie between Brad Pitt in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and Joe Pesci in The Irishman.
Best Foreign Film: Parasite (South Korea)…can’t give it to Ladj Ly’s Les Miserables!
Best Animated Film: Toy Story
Best Documentary: Apollo 11 (agreed)
Best Cinematography: The Lighthouse (agreed)
Best Script: Knives Out

Nine months ago I went apeshit for Kent Jones‘ Diane (IFC Films). “One of those modest, drill-bitty, character-driven films that just reaches in and flips your light switch,” I wrote. “It makes you feel human. It makes you care.”

I was especially knocked out by Mary Kay Place‘s titular performance, but you know what? I didn’t have the courage or stamina to start re-promoting her performance when award season began several weeks back. Because Diane had opened and gone away so many months beforehand, and because IFC Films wasn’t pushing her, and because no one else was on the Mary Kay bandwagon.

And so I dropped it. I folded. I moved on. I knew she’d given one of the best lead female performances I’d seen in a long time, and I didn’t have the strength to keep reminding people of this.

But the Los Angeles Film Critics Association did. A couple of hours ago they gave Mary Kay Place their Best Actress award. My immediate reaction was one of elation mixed with a little shame. Because, as I’ve just explained, I didn’t have the fortitude. HE salutes the LAFCA foodies for doing the right thing in this regard. They showed real backbone.

Many have said this is a weak year for Best Actress performances, and they’re not wrong. Lupita Nyong’o winning two (or is it three?) Best Actress trophies for channelling Jamie Lee Curtis in her John Carpenter phase is proof of that. But Mary Kay Place is the real deal. Her Diane turn is more arresting than any other female performance I’ve seen this year.

IFC Films hasn’t mounted a Best Actress campaign for MKP because they’ve haven’t the surplus dough, but this shouldn’t stop Academy and SAG members from watching Diane at the first opportunity. It’s streaming right now on Amazon.

From my 3.27.19 review: “The Oscar situation is always weighted against intimate, small-scaled films that open in the spring, but at the very least Diane is a guaranteed Gotham and Spirit Awards contender for Best Picture. And I can’t imagine Mary Kay Place, who plays the titular character, not being an all-but-certain contender for a Best Actress Oscar nom. Unless SAG and Academy voters take leave of their senses. Which is always a possibility.”

As we speak Place is anything but an all but certain contender for a Best Actress Oscar nom, in part because of cowards like myself.

“Diane is really and truly the shit. Even if you’re a GenZ or Millennial who doesn’t want to think about what life will be like 35 or 40 years hence, it’ll still sink in. There are those, I’m presuming, who’d rather not settle into a simple Bressonian saga about the weight of responsibility and life being a hard-knocks thing a good part of the time. Or who’d rather not consider the existence of a 70-year-old New England woman who lives alone but has good friends, and who drives carefully, tries to do the right thing, works part-time in a homeless soup kitchen and has been coping with certain dark recollections for decades.

Gal Gadot: “My lieyeefe…(beat)…hahsn’t been whutyouproblythinkithahs….(bump-bump-bump-bump)…we ahll have our strahggles.”

Kristin Wiig: “Yehvuhbeeninlohhf?

GG (smiling): “A lohnng time agooh.”

I guess I’m wondering why Chris Pine‘s Steve Trevor character, a mortal in his mid 30s when he ran into Wonder Woman during the first World War and who sorta kinda blew himself up in Act Three…I’m not only wondering how he escaped death, but how come he isn’t at least 105 years old in 1984? Obviously there’s an explanation.

I mostly hated the first Wonder Woman. I was okay with Gadot and Pine’s romantic scenes, but I hated the D.C. Amazonian-destiny-mythology bullshit. I found Robin Wright‘s Antiope and Connie Nielsen‘s Hippolyta irksome, and I couldn’t stand Danny Huston‘s Erich Ludendorff and David Thewlis‘s Ares. Their turgid dialogue, I mean.

Welcome to 1984…to big hair, shoulder pads, no smart phones or iPads, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Reagan in the White House, Huey Lewis and the News‘ “The Heart of Rock & Roll”, shitty 480p TVs, Lionel Richie performing “All Night Long” at the close of the Los Angeles Olympics, etc. Oh, and disco was dead in ’84 — it flourished from ’76 to ’80 or ’81.

I was still the proverbial lad in ’84…no marriage, no kids, driving a beater, living in Beachwood Canyon.

The Toronto Film Critics Association (TFCA) have given Bong Joon-ho‘s Parasite their Best Picture and Best Foreign-language Film award, and also their Best Director trophy….c’mon! Parasite is a worthy, well-made film but it’s not without issues or speedbumps. What purpose does it serve to pour this much award syrup over it? If they’re going to give their Best Picture and Best Director awards to Parasite, why not give the foreign language award to Les Miserables or Portrait of a Lady on Fire? As in, you know, “spread it around”?

Martin Scorsese‘s The Irishman has scored 14 nominations for the forthcoming Critics’ Choice Awards, and Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood has been handed 12 noms.

Not to make any rash predictions, but do you know what this means? I’ll tell you what this means, given that the Critics Choice Awards have generally tended to mirror Oscar noms and winners. It means that the odds strongly favor The Irishman winning the Best Picture Oscar, and that Quentin’s film…who knows? Some kind of split vote outcome. Possibly a Best Director of Best Screenplay makeup…something like that.

The CC gang has given The Irishman noms for best picture, director, best actor (Robert De Niro), best supporting actor (Al Pacino and Joe Pesci) and best acting ensemble, among others.

The other heavyweight CC contenders are Little Women (nine nominations), Marriage Story (eight) plus Jojo Rabbit and Parasite (seven noms each).