On this, the occasion of Steve Martin‘s 75th birthday, I’m declaring that among my five favorite Martin performances only one could be called “broad” or “silly” — the All Of Me attorney with the split personality. The other four are the ill-fated loser in Herbert Ross‘s Pennies From Heaven (’81), the Larry Gordon-ish film producer in Lawrence Kasdan‘s Grand Canyon, “Neal Page” in John Hughes‘ Planes, Trains and Automobiles and the low-key con man in David Mamet‘s The Spanish Prisoner,

Honestly? I think his Spanish Prisoner guy might be my all-time favorite. Because I’ve always believed each and very word he says in that film, and yet the character is lying all the time. I’m sorry but I don’t like his silly stuff for the most part, and I don’t care that much for the domestic family comedies. I don’t know why I can’t remember much from Roxanne but I can’t.

Martin in Prisoner: “One thing my father taught me about business. Always do business as if the person you’re doing business with is trying to screw you. Because most likely they are. And if they’re not, you can be pleasantly surprised”

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Seconds after I began watching this trailer for Netflix’s Away, a 10-episode series about a long and difficult mission to Mars…right away I was thinking “I really don’t give a shit about Hillary Swank‘s feelings about leaving her teary-eyed daughter (Talitha Bateman) and husband (Josh Charles) behind for three years…please spare me the sorrow and the ‘I miss you and love you’ torture and the tinkling piano and all the rest of that ‘family is the only thing that matters’ crap…seriously.”

I hated Brian DePalma‘s Mission to Mars, but I’d rather re-watch that failure than this new thing.

Based on a December 2014 Esquire article by Chris Jones, Away was created by Andrew Hinderaker (Penny Dreadful) and exec produced by Jason Katims (Friday Night Lights), Matt Reeves, Adam Kassan and Ed Zwick. Zwick directed the pilot episode. I haven’t watched a minute of this miniseries and I already hate it with a passion.

Charles’ hubby apparently suffers some kind of brain aneuryism — I can only hope that he dies.

From Michael Cohen’s opening essay in “Disloyal,” his forthcoming book about having served as Donald Trump‘s special attorney, close counsel, hatchetman and bagman:

“I urge you to really consider that fact: Trump has no true friends. He has lived his entire life avoiding and evading taking responsibility for his actions. He crushed or cheated all who stood in his way, but I know where the skeletons are buried because I was the one who buried them.

“I was the one who most encouraged him to run for president in 2011, and then again in 2015, carefully orchestrating the famous trip down the escalator in Trump Tower for him to announce his candidacy. When Trump wanted to reach Russian President Vladimir Putin, via a secret back channel, I was tasked with making the connection in my Keystone Cop fashion. I stiffed contractors on his behalf, ripped off his business partners, lied to his wife Melania to hide his sexual infidelities, and bullied and screamed at anyone who threatened Trump’s path to power.

“From golden showers in a sex club in Vegas, to tax fraud, to deals with corrupt officials from the former Soviet Union, to catch-and-kill conspiracies to silence Trump’s clandestine lovers, I wasn’t just a witness to the president’s rise — I was an active and eager participant.”

“Disloyal” will be selling for $40 a copy — $32 and change if you pre-order.

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A saga of scurvy redneck trash in the Southern Ohio and West Virginia regions, The Devil All The Time (9.16) is the first of two 2020 Netflix features that will explore the low-rent depravity of rural yokels over a time span of a couple of decades (in this instance the late ’40s to mid ’60s).

The second Netflix film in this vein is Ron Howard‘s Hillbilly Elegy, which explores three generations of an Appalachian family, spanning between the ’80s and the aughts.

Directed and co-written by Antonio Campos (Simon Killer, Christine), Devil costars Tom Holland (whom I kind of half-dislike for his Spider-Man bullshit), Bill Skarsgård, Riley Keough, Jason Clarke, Sebastian Stan, Haley Bennett, Mia Wasikowska and Robert (“RBatz”) Pattinson.

In his 7.23.11 review of Donald Pollock’s same-titled novel, The Oregonian‘s Jeff Baker said that it “reads as if the love child of Flannery O’Connor and William Faulkner was captured by Cormac McCarthy, kept in a cage out back and forced to consume nothing but onion rings, Oxycontin and Terrence Malick‘s Badlands.”

22 years ago, man. A program of procreative racial deconstruction, you bet. And if you prefer milk-fed Farmer’s Daughters or curvy blonde Russian types, you must be LexG or somebody in that realm…right?

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Awards Circuit‘s Clayton Davis has been running around the award-season mulberry bush for 15 years, and now he’s ridden that horse into a new gig as Variety‘s film awards editor — the same position held by Kris Tapley until he left the trade publication 17 months ago, and more or less same job held down by The Hollywood Reporter‘s Scott Feinberg.

A sharply observant, politically fleet-footed type of guy (and who can blame him in this current climate of political terror?), Davis will begin his Variety duties as of Sept. 1.

Davis will deliver the usual award-season razzmatazz and soft-shoe tap dance — racetrack odds on various Oscar contenders, predictions about this and that, softball interviews, assessments of the intrinsic or historic value of you-name-it and who-the-fuck-knows?, etc.

Variety film-awards editor Clayton Davis

The art of award-season coverage was aptly summed up by Laurence Olivier in a third-act line to Jean Simmons in Spartacus: “You tread the line between truth and insult with the skill of a mountain goat!” (Or, if you will, the line between truth and flattery.) Most showbiz journos and columnists never approach that line, much less tread it. They like to hang in the shade.

No offense and due respect but Davis will almost certainly never use the term “Ma Bumblefuck” as a nickname for Glenn Close‘s “Mamaw” character in Ron Howard‘s Hillbilly Elegy. (The term was coined by Hollywood Elsewhere on 2.24.20.) Variety doesn’t want that, and that’s not who Davis is.

Another likelihood: If West Side Story‘s Ansel Elgort is once again attacked by Twitter wolves over the non-issue of having insensitively cut things off with “Gabby” after a brief romantic fling, Davis isn’t likely to stand up and call bullshit like Sasha Stone did on 6.21.20, and like I did on on 6.19.

Davis now stands side by side with Variety‘s award-season team — the longstanding Tim Gray, deputy awards and features editor Jenelle Riley, senior editor and red carpet guy Mark Malkin, and Artisans editor Jazz Tangcay.

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A remastered 20th anniversary 4K version of Darren Aronofsky‘s Requiem for a Dream will pop on 10.13.20. The critically admired film, based on Hubert Selby Jr.‘s 1978 novel and worshipped by Midwestern Evangelical audiences, opened on 10.6.00. (I’m kidding about the Evangelicals.) Presented in Dolby Vision with a new Dolby Atmos audio track + a pair of new behind-the-scenes featurettes.

Danny Wolf and Paul Fishbein‘s Skin: A History of Nudity in Movies (on demand, 8.18) is a sharp, highly intelligent doc that covers its own waterfront in a diverting, dryly amusing fashion. It’s not so much the nudie clips (here’s a three-hour, 45-minute reel that offers a lot of the same stuff) but the commentary that seals the deal.

I wasn’t expecting that much at first, but I sat up as I began to realize that the talking heads were elevating and deepening the focus with sage observations and occasional razor-sharp quips.

I’m talking about Sean Young, Peter Bogdanovich, Eric Roberts, Traci Lords, Pam Grier (who’s put on a few pounds since Jackie Brown), Malcolm McDowell, Sybil Danning, Bruce Davison (who delivers a funny line about Ben), Mr. Skin‘s Jim McBride, HE’s own Joe Dante, former employer Kevin Smith, the great Amy Heckerling (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), the late Sylvia Miles, the very much alive Erica Gavin, Liz Goldwyn, critics Amy Nicholson, Richard Roeper and Mick LaSalle, CARA ratings board member Joan Graves, film maven Irv Slifkin, The Hollywood Reporter‘s Tatiana Siegel and several others.

I was a tiny bit scared about reviewing this doc with any enthusiasm for fear of getting the side-eye from #MeToo types. Right now we’re living through the blandest, most buttoned-up, erotically stifled and almost Victorian eras in U.S. (or even human) history, more so than even the Eisenhower 1950s

Time and again actors (mostly actresses) who were in their prime back in the ’70s, ’80s, ’90s and early aughts remind us that time and biology are assassins — they spare no one. You can’t watch this film and not think “wow, aging is a mother.”

As we watched Tatiana asked what my all-time favorite nude scene is, and I honestly couldn’t think of one off the top of my head. Now I’m thinking it might be Kim Novak‘s bedroom scene in Of Human Bondage (’64). In and of itself nudity has always gotten my attention, but it’s never been that transporting. The tingle quickly fades.

Boilerplate: “The definitive documentary on the history of nudity in feature films from the early silent days to the present, studying the changes in morality that led to the use of nudity in films while emphasizing the political, sociological and artistic changes that shaped that history. [Also] a study of the gender inequality in presenting nude images in motion pictures and will follow the revolution that has created nude gender equality in feature films today. It culminates in a discussion of ‘what are nude scenes like in the age of the #METOO movement’ as well as a look at CGI nudity that seems a large part of motion pictures’ future.”