Good morning, Friday. Several lightweight, marginal or otherwise inconsequential movies that I don’t care about — In’t It Romantic, The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part, Happy Death Day, What Men Want, Cold Pursuit, The Upside, The Prodigy — opened or continued last night.

Which, I realize, is par for the course for February. Oh, for the days when the (very) occasional February release was in the realm of The Silence of the Lambs.

Please convey your immediate reactions to this photo of Isn’t It Romantic costars Rebel Wilson and Liam Hemsworth. Imagine living in a world in which one is expected to at least feign interest…I don’t need to complete this sentence.

Rebel Wilson, Liam Hemsworth in Isn’t It Romantic.

“However one chooses to describe [Wilson] physically, never in the history of the genre has the heroine of a romcom required the NFL’s concussion protocol as early and as often as she does in Isn’t It Romantic. To what degree this unusual injection of corporeal menace is a result of Wilson being one of the few larger-sized actresses to star in a Hollywood film of this type (or any type, for that matter) or a way to exploit the breakout star of the Perfect Pitch series’ penchant for physical comedy is in the eye of the beholder. On which side you fall on that question will likely end up determining whether you enjoy the film.” — 2.14 review by Observer‘s Oliver Jones.

I know you’re not supposed to say stuff like this, but when I was a young buck I never ran into plus-sized women as a rule. I’m truly sorry but that was the world back then.

Nowadays heft and heavy are almost de riguer, and if you so much as mention this you’re an likely to be bloodied on Twitter. Nowadays movie stars like Hemsworth are obliged to occasionally pretend…I don’t need to complete this one either.

Back in the old days rock musicians were almost all slender — you could count the exceptions (Catfish’s Bob Hodge, Canned Heat’s Bob “The Bear” Hite, “Frosty” Smith who played with Lee Michaels) on one hand. The other night at Highland Park’s The Lodge I listened to a technically proficient band in which the singer-lead guitarist and bass player were the size of Sumo wrestlers.

Kent Jones‘ Diane (IFC Films, 3.29) is “a tender, wrenching, and beautifully made movie, and part of what’s revelatory about it is that it’s a story of boomers who are confronting the ravages of old age (disease and death, the waning of dreams), yet they’re doing it with a stubborn echo of the hopes and desires they had when they were younger. They’re getting on, but the movie is keenly aware, in a way that movies almost never are, that they remain every inch who they were. The past hangs over “Diane” not just as burden or nostalgia (though it can be that, too) but as an enthralling and entangling reminder of life’s mystery.” — from Owen Gleiberman’s Tribeca Film Festival review (4.22.18).

No one has ever been delighted about driving to Las Vegas in the pouring rain, but we’ll most likely manage. Somewhere out there it’ll ease up. Road trips are like showers — they launch fresh dreams and imaginings. I might try to file a couple of stories along the way.

Statement #1: I’m sorry but I never really watched this 2017 Patron commercial until this morning. Statement #2: It’s very well written…honest, personal, thoughtful. Statement #3: I love, love, love Guillermo’s purring voice, especially his elegant accent and supreme phrasing.

GDT on observation deck of Empire State Building, sometime around ’83 or so, 19 or 20 years old.

I’m doing my usual convos with Academy members, but I’d like to step outside the arena. Any AMPAS members who’ve just voted or are fixing to vote and want to share their thinking, please share your preferences. No names, no hints, no nothing — I’d just like to kick it around and pass it along. Or if you have a “friend” in the Academy…same difference.

Over 40 heavy-hitters have signed a letter of protest to the Academy, calling for a reversal of the decision to present Oscars for best cinematography, editing, production design, sound and VFX during commercial breaks.

The signers have called this plan “nothing less than an insult to those of us who have devoted our lives and passions to our chosen profession.”

The signers include (a) directors Damien Chazelle, Cary Joji Fukunaga, Spike Jonze, Ang Lee, Spike Lee, Dee Rees, Martin Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino, (b) producer Seth “Rogan” and (c) cinematographers Dion Beebe, Bill Bennett, Roger Deakins, Caleb Deschanel, Robert Elswit, Janusz Kaminski, Ed Lachman, Emmanuel Lubezki, Anthony Dod Mantle, Seamus McGarvey, Chris Menges, Reed Morano, Phedon Papamichael, Wally Pfister, Rodrigo Prieto, Robert Richardson, John Seale, Vittorio Storaro, John Toll and Hoyte van Hoytema.

Almost simultaneously, AMPAS officers have issued a letter blaming “inaccurate reporting and social media posts, [resulting in] a chain of misinformation that has understandably upset many Academy members.”

The letter said that “all 24 award categories will be presented on stage in the Dolby Theatre, and included in the broadcast.” It said that “the four winning speeches will be included in the broadcast.” It explained that the four “commercial break” categories “were volunteered by their branches to have their nominees and winners announced by presenters, and included later in the broadcast.” And it declared that “in future years, four to six different categories may be selected for rotation, in collaboration with the show producers…this year’s categories will be exempted in 2020.”

I despise Las Vegas but Tatyana has never been so what the hell. We’ll be crashing at Bally’s hotel and casino for a couple of days. Driving out Thursday morning, returning Saturday or Sunday. I don’t gamble but Tatyana wants to give it a taste. I tried to teach her the basics of blackjack yesterday. All I care about is hiking through Red Rock Canyon. That and catching Bill Maher‘s 10 pm show at the Mirage on Friday night.

Earlier today a certain party suggested that Hollywood Elsewhere is some kind of horrific site, or words to that effect. I’m horrific, the commenters are horrific…something in that vein. I don’t think so, but here’s how I replied:

So we’re talking about core human values amongst industry blogaroos? Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Richard Rushfield is an actual human being, but not everyone is. How gentle and compassionate is Pete Hammond? Very, I would actually say. Sasha Stone is another real-deal human being. How close to God and the infinite is Tom O’Neil? (Only Tom can say.) How many blind people have been escorted across busy streets by Kris Tapley?

Where does Michael Musto rank on a one-to-ten scale of kindness and compassion? How often does the gimlet-eyed Greg Ellwood smile serenely and let the alpha seep out? (Or in?) Steve Pond possesses kindness and general humanity, but can the same be said of Sharon Waxman? (I’m asking.) Jordan Ruimy and Scott Feinberg are human beings, but as William S. Burroughs once said to a gathering at Madison Square Garden, “Some people are shits.”

How many daily columnists have experienced LSD satori at a relatively young age, as I did? How many Oscar columnists have gotten married less than two years ago, lost two cats to disease over the past 18 months, suffered through a skin cancer operation, been stiffed by Sundance (with the gracious help of “the incel” Scott Weinberg) and presided over the births of six kittens within the last few weeks?

Who gets to stand behind the pulpit and say “you are a very good person but you, unfortunately, are not”? Especially if that pulpit condemner has a habit of scowling at people at parties.

Jett is in town for business. Staying in the Silver Lake area. Around 5:40 pm we met for a light dinner at Angelini Osteria, and then we drove over to the Lodge Room in Highland Park to see Blood Cultures. They’re into anonymity, these guys, hence the Zodiac headgear. I’ve been to grimmer neighborhoods than Highland Park (southeast of Glendale, just west of South Pasadena) but not lately. Under-40 types are living there for the cheaper rents. Depressing. Lemme outta here. An hour’s drive back to West Hollywood.

A voice is telling me it’s better to just leave the Beatles alone. Just let the songs and recordings they made between ’62 and ’70…just let them continue to simmer and culturally marinate and influence whomever. Or not influence anyone…whatever. Just let people listen to their stuff any way they want to.

All to say that movies like Yesterday…I don’t know, man, but I’m feeling really, really scared.

Boilerplate: “Jack Malik (Himesh Patel) is a struggling singer-songwriter in a tiny English seaside town whose dreams of fame are rapidly fading, despite the fierce devotion and support of his childhood best friend, Ellie (Lily James). Then, after a freak bus accident during a mysterious global blackout, Jack wakes up to discover that the Beatles have never existed — and he finds himself with a very complicated problem. Kate McKinnon also stars.”