Ten years ago Hugh Jackman hosted the 81st Academy Awards, which aired on 2.22.09. He did a good enough job, I suppose, but God, that opening number. And the winners that year! I will never, ever watch Slumdog Millionaire again. I talked myself into thinking I liked it, but I didn’t actually. That game-show host drove me up the wall. The only part I really liked was the Bollywood number at the end.
I wasn’t all that delighted or levitated by any of the ’08 Best Picture contenders, to be honest — Frost/Nixon (good but calm down), The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (the idea of BradPitt as a man-child became more and more irritating), Milk (Sean Penn was/is too short to play Harvey Milk), The Reader (Harvey steamroller) and the Danny Boyle.
My favorite ’08 films: Che, Man on Wire, The Visitor, Gran Torino, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Burn After Reading, Tropic Thunder, The Wrestler, WALL*E, Doubt, Three Monkeys, Waltz With Bashir, I’ve Loved You For So Long, Rachel Getting Married.
Aching rib cages aren’t conducive to good writing. They play hell with your concentration, partly because you’re so fearful of the next acute pain spasm that…well, it’s hard to concentrate. See? I couldn’t follow through all that well on the premise of that second sentence.
Plus I was so afraid of the pain last night that I “slept” (if you want to call it that) on my back the whole time. Plus I’m using a cane to help me stand and walk around.
That said, I feel better now than I did last night. Well, somewhat. Maybe the recovery won’t take as long as I feared. Last night the pain was excruciating; today it’s merely grueling and oppressive. I don’t feel all that great but I’m half-sensing that recovery is just around the corner.
This morning a well-meaning commenter said I need to be more careful, etc. HE response: “I fell on slick ice and crashed into brutally hard ground yesterday and broke nothing. No stiff neck, no bruises, no cracked ribs, no sprained fingers…nothing. I have a painful condition now but I’ll be past it in a week or two. I slipped and fell on the ice in Park City four or five years ago and nothing happened that time either. I’m bionic, a battleship, nearly bulletproof…the biological exception to the rule.”
Congrats to Eighth Grade‘s Bo Burnham for winning the WGA’s Original Screenplay award, and especially to WGA members for collectively announcing that they don’t give a damn about channelling or predicting Academy thinking because — go for it! — Eighth Grade isn’t Oscar-nominated in this category.
“To the other nominees in the category, have fun at the Oscars, losers!’” Burnham said at the podium.
Congrats also to Can You Ever Forgive Me‘s Nicole Holofcener and Jeff Whitty for taking the WGA’s Best Adapted Screenplay award.
It was chilly and gently snowing as Tatyana and I trudged around a snow-packed area near a blocked-off road in the Sierras, south of Mt. Whitney. Took some nice shots, a good slow-pan video, satisfaction.
On the way back to the car I stepped on a harmless-looking patch of snow which had suddenly become icy. Total slip-out, feet in the air and a terrible crashing collision.
I literally heard a slight snapping or cracking sound as I hit the ground. I half-landed on my right arm and half on my right rib area. It hurt like a bastard plus my wind was knocked out. For five or ten seconds I whined and moaned like a candy-ass. If LeeMarvin had been there he would’ve been ashamed of me. Or for me.
I eventually got up and managed a brusque “I’m okay.” 100 feet later I fell again. Fucking 25 degree downward angle plus that icy snowfall. Then we couldn’t get the car out of the parking lot due to the same slick ice. After some struggling we figured it out. Jesus.
No broken wrist or broken arm, no leg bruise, 100% arm, hand, leg and neck mobility, no lung damage and just a couple of small cuts on my right hand. But my right rib cage acheslikeasonuvabitch.
As we speak Tatyana is driving me to a Cedars Sinai Urgent Care clinic on Wilshire near La Cienega. What are they gonna do if I have a cracked rib? Wrap my mid-section in one of those high-tension bandages? Prescribe some pain pills?
X–RayResult: No cracked ribs. But at the risk of sounding repetitive, it fucking hurts.
I’m harboring a deep and fundamental prejudice against Denis Villeneuve‘s Dune. I’ll see it, of course, and I’m naturally hoping it’ll be better than David Lynch‘s 1984 version, but as God is my witness I’m fearing the worst.
A part of me would actually prefer to avoid the Villeneuve altogether, which of course is not a real-world option on the table. Warner Bros. will open Dune on 11.20.20.
Last July screenwriter Brian Herbert said that a recent draft of the screenplay covered “approximately half” of Frank Herbert‘s novel, so it’ll probably wind up being a two-parter. Budapest filming will begin in the spring or early summer.
The following Villeneuve statement fills me with dread: “Most of the main ideas of Star Wars are coming from Dune so it’s going to be a challenge to [tackle] this. The ambition is to do the Star Wars movie I never saw. In a way, it’s Star Wars for adults.”
Timothee Chalamet, Rebecca Ferguson, Dave Bautista, Stellan Skarsgård, Charlotte Rampling, Oscar Isaac, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin and Jason Momoa…later.
If Dune turns out to be extra-formidable I’ll be able to recognize and proclaim that, but the honest truth is that I can’t wait to bring the hate.
Excerpt from a 10.10.14 assessment of David Ayer’s Fury: “The climactic situation comes when the weary Brad ‘Wardaddy’ Pitt and his four bone-tired men (Logan Lerman, Shia LaBeouf, Michael Pena and a revolting redneck animal played by Jon Bernthal) are stuck next to a country farmhouse with their tank temporarily disabled by a land mine. They soon after discover that 300 well-armed German troops are marching in their direction.
“Pitt has been ordered by his superior, Jason Isaacs, to protect a supply train, but five guys in a broken-down tank vs. 300 German solders is just suicide, plain and simple. They’ve no chance so why does Pitt decide to fight it out? To what end? They aren’t trapped. They could run for the trees and meet up with U.S. forces later and live to fight again. But no. You can call it bravery but I call it nihilism.
“I understand crazy courage and uncommon valor and all that. I choke up every time I think of Sam Jaffe climbing to the top of the temple so he can blow the bugle and warn the British troops of an ambush at the end of Gunga Din. And I understood the situation during the finale of Pork Chop Hill when 30 or 40 trapped U.S. troops have nothing to do but fight back against hordes of Chinese troops. And the ending of Platoon when U.S. troops were being overrun by North Vietnamese but they fight on regardless and even call in an air strike against their own position. And I certainly understand the Wild Bunch finale when William Holden and Ernest Borgnine and the other two decide that they’re getting old and their lives are over so why not go out in a blaze of gunfire?
“But the Fury finale is nothing like any of these scenarios.
Friendo: “That’s not how it went down.’
HE: “What do you mean that’s not how it went down’? That’s exactly how it went down. Pitt said ‘Nope, I’m gonna fight it out….you guys run for the trees if you want.’ Think about that decision for four or five seconds. It was utter suicide and for what?”
Friendo: “If they made a movie about guys who ran for the hills I don’t think it would be quite the same, would it?”
HE: “Not run for the hills but hide in the trees until the company passes by, and then regroup with the nearby American troops and fight on. What’s wrong with that?
“They weren’t fighting the enemy in order to give other Allied troops time to achieve some other objective — this wasn’t the Alamo. They weren’t ordered to protect a bridge at all costs, like the guys in Saving Private Ryan. This was April 1945 — the end of the war. Hitler would be dead in a couple of weeks. It didn’t matter. If Pitt and his homies had abandoned the tank and run like thieves I would have jumped out of my seat and said ‘Yes! Run for it! All right!'”
Friendo: “The Fury finale was analogous to those two cops in the mean streets of Los Angeles in Ayer’s End of Watch.”
HE: “Not the same thing at all. Sorry but you’re throwing out bad analogies. And that finale in End of Watch was ridiculous also. L.A. cop Jake Gyllenhaal is shot by gangbangers, what, 12 or 15 times and he’s attending the funeral of his partner in the next scene?
Friendo: “I will stand to the end of this thread defending my analogies just like Pitt did against the Nazis!”
HE: “During the big court-martial scene in Paths of Glory a French infantryman, Private Maurice Ferol (Timothy Carey), is asked by the prosecution why he retreated after his comrades had all been killed in an attack on the Ant Hill (i.e., a German fortification). The question is satirically re-phrased by Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas), the defense counsel. ‘Why didn’t you attack the Ant Hill single-handed?’ Dax asks. ‘Single-handed? Are you kidding, sir?,’ Ferol replies. ‘Yes, I’m kidding,’ Dax says.
“Pitt and his crew going up against 300 German troops isn’t much different from Ferol vs. the Ant Hill, trust me.
“A soldier can’t go into battle saying ‘I don’t want to die…where can I hide?’ He has to go into battle saying ‘we have to man up and accomplish our objective.’ The chances of survival are never good but suicide is suicide. And as a moviegoer I can’t support a battle in which there’s no chance of the protagonists prevailing. There has to be at least a shot at victory.
“If it’s a choice between self-destruction and running for cover in order to live and fight another day, just call me Jeff ‘run for the treeline’ Wells.”
34 degrees in Lone Pine — good morning. The snow-covered Sierra Nevadas loom in the near distance. The air is intoxicating but a bit thin, and obviously nippy. I’m looking around for a nice, well-heated breakfast diner as we speak.
George Stevens‘ Gunga Din, which no self-respecting Millennial or GenZ-er gives a shit about, shot its outdoor footage in the Alabama Hills region, about 35 or 40 minutes away. Above-the-title talent (Stevens, Victor McLaglen, Cary Grant, Sam Jaffe, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., Eduardo Cianelli, Joan Fontaine) stayed in the original Dow Villa, which was built in the early 1920s. But production company grunts and extras slept in a tent camp and used temporary showers and latrines. I don’t know how long the Lone Pine shoot lasted, but the whole film took just shy of four months — 6.24.38 to 10.19.38.
Gunga Din opened on 2.17.39, when the late William Goldman, who wrote so passionately about Jaffe’s “stupid courage” during the Khyber Pass action finale, was but a lad of seven. It grossed $2,807,000 and ranked #10 on the top-grossing films of 1939, but it cost $1,915,000 to complete and therefore, by RKO Radio Pictures bookkeeping standards, recorded a loss of $193K.
Here’s a piece about Eduardo Cianelli‘s “guru” character, posted four years ago (2.22.15) and titled “Among Filmdom’s Wisest and Most Elegant Villains“:
“In the legendary Gunga Din, Eduardo Ciannelli‘s fanatical leader of the Thug rebellion is called a ‘tormenting fiend’ by Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and is made to seem demonic in that famously lighted shot by dp Joseph H. August. But he’s easily the most principled, eloquent and courageous man in the film. Not to mention the most highly educated.
“And yet there’s an unlikely scene inside the temple that hinges on Ciannelli’s guru being unable to read English, despite his Oxford don bearing and his vast knowledge of world history.
I’m presuming I’ll be able to pre-screen Triple Frontier via the restricted Netflix press site, etc. But it’s such a handsomely shot film (Roman Vasyanov‘s images are obviously to die for) that it would seem a huge shame not to catch it on a big screen in a technically first-rate, bucks-up facility. Like the Academy theatre on Wilshire.
This morning I reached out to a Netflix Triple Frontier press rep. I’d like to participate in the press junket, speak to J.C. Chandor and Mark Boal, etc. The whole shmear.
Posted on 12.9.18: “You can sense a riveting, well-textured quality in J.C. Chandor‘s Triple Frontier (Netflix, 3.6). And an atmosphere of grit and sweat and heavy tropical air. A ‘rob the drug lords’ plot may suggest the realm of an elevated programmer, but it feels like the first really exciting ride of 2019.
“J.C. Chandor (All Is Lost, A Most Violent Year) is a first-rate director, and the Mark Boal script, which dates back to ’09, is tense and tightly constructed., or so I recall. Chandor has a co-writing credit. Ben Affleck, Oscar Isaac, Charlie Hunnam and Garrett Hedlund. I want to see this in a theatre. It feels formidable.”
Triple Frontier will play in select theatres for a week (starting on 3.6) before it begins streaming on 3.13.
Filing from Dow Villa motel, Lone Pine, California — 7:55 pm, 39 degrees: Left Las Vegas around 1 pm. Stopped in frozen Beatty, Nevada a couple of hours later. Hiked around Death Valley’s Mesquite flat sand dunes (much warmer) around 3:30 or 4 pm. Arrived in Lone Pine around 6:45 pm. The Sierras are snow-covered and shrouded in mist.
The basic visual aesthetic is the same one that Steven Spielberg used for the little red-coat girl in Schindler’s List, minus the horror.
From Jussie Smollet’s Wikipage: “On 2.13.19, Chicago Police raided the home of two ‘persons of interest” in the Jussie Smollet hate-crime case. The men are brothers and of Nigerian descent and have acted as extras on Empire. Police recovered bleach and other items from the home and are inquiring if the men know Smollett. The brothers were held on suspicion of battery but not charged. According to the brothers’ attorney, they know Smollett from working on the show and have also spent time with him at a gym.
“The two men were arrested after arriving on a flight to O’Hare International Airport from Nigeria on 2.13.19. The two Nigerian men were released on 2.15 without being charged with a crime, with Chicago Police spokesman Anthony Guglielmi stating: “Due to new evidence as a result of today’s interrogations, the individuals questioned by police in the Empire case have now been released without charging and detectives have additional investigative work to complete.”
Chicago police later told ABC News: ‘Police are investigating whether the two individuals committed the attack — or whether the attack happened at all.”‘
“On 2.16.19, two Chicago police sources informed CNN that Chicago police had discovered evidence indicating that Smollett had paid the two Nigerian brothers to stage the attack. Financial records indicate that the brothers purchased the rope found around Smollett’s neck at an ACE Hardware. Chicago police have reached out to Smollett’s attorney regarding additional questioning. Chicago criminal defense attorney Michael Monico is representing Smollett.”
A neurotic journalist (Seth Rogen) reconnects with his former baby-sitter and lust object (Charlize Theron) who’s now the Secretary of State and preparing to run for President. She hires Rogen to punch up her campaign speeches, and they gradually slip into a hunka-chunka thing.
The problem, of course, is that Rogen isn’t hot enough for Theron (not in a million years) and any would-be President caught fucking a bearded smart-ass journalist whom she used to babysit for…forget it. Journalists would slice and dice her six ways from Sunday.
Produced by Rogen, Theron and Evan Goldberg; written by Dan Sterling (The Interview) and Liz Hannah (The Post). Costarring O’Shea Jackson Jr., June Diane Raphael, Bob Odenkirk, Ravi Patel, Andy Serkis, Randall Park and Alexander Skarsgard. Directed by Jonathan Levine, The Long Shot opens on 5.3.19.
