Earnest gratitude to Critics Choice honchos Joey Berlin and John DeSimio for honoring me with a great seat (table #8, right next to the Mudbound crew) at tonight’s award ceremony at Barker Hangar. And congrats to all the winners. Yes, including Get Out director Jordan Peele, who won for Best Original Screenplay as well as Best Sci-Fi/Horror Film.

I respectfully disagreed with two or three of the choices (particularly Allison Janney winning the Best Supporting Actress award for I, Tonya instead of Lady Bird‘s Laurie Metcalf) but I’m getting a pretty good idea how the Oscars will shake out now, and I can feel the spirit leaking out of me. The herd has spoken. I just want to move on.

The Shape of Water and Guillermo del Toro took the Best Picture and Best Director trophies. Darkest Hour‘s Gary Oldman beat Call Me By Your Name‘s Timothee Chalamet. Three Billboards‘ Sam Rockwell won for Best Supporting Actor. James Ivory‘s Call Me By Your Name screenplay won in the Best Adapted category, and Roger Deakins‘ lensing of Blade Runner 2049 won for Best Cinematogrqphy — strictly an inside-baseball political call because Deakins has been snubbed for so many years.

I have to take off early to attend the BFCA’s Critics Choice Awards, which are happening later this afternoon inside Barker Hangar at the Santa Monica Airport. I’ve been asked to be there no later than 3 pm.
The CW will broadcast the show starting at 5 pm.

The phone-drop joke made me laugh, and that in itself suggested a thought: Will Tully (Focus Features, 4.20) bring director Jason Reitman back to that place that he used to own? After the winning streak of Thank You For Smoking, Juno and Up In The Air, the poor guy went into free-fall for two or three years with the disastrously received Labor Day and then Men, Women & Children. I for one was saying to myself, “Jesus, what’s happened here?”

Tully is obviously a “sensitive” Duplassy-type family relationship thing, and the teaser-trailer doesn’t even acquaint the viewer with the titular character (played by Mackenzie Davis). But it feels good. Charlize Theron, Mark Duplass, Ron Livingston; written by Diablo Cody.

I know James Franco slightly or vaguely. Three or four face-times over the last decade or so. He was close with an ex-girlfriend, WordTheatre‘s Cedering Fox, to whom he had donated some time and energy.

And now he’s facing the guillotine for having over-stepped and exploited. I’m not defending him. I don’t know anything one way or the other, but I don’t think he should be disappeared. He might have to offer a lot of make-ups and maybe do a sabbatical for a year or two, but a person who’s been pulled over for intoxicated driving shouldn’t be shot by a firing squad.

I was texting with a guy this morning about yesterday’s L.A. Times story about Franco’s alleged misdeeds. Guy: “So the Franco piece isn’t as damning as I had imagined it would be. He’ll be okay.” Me: “That’s not the way it tends to work. People don’t differentiate as a rule, and once you’ve been fingered you’re as good as dead. Why do you think it’s not that bad?” Guy: “I think it falls in line with the same caliber of creepiness that Louis CK or Lars von Trier are dealing with. No rape or physical assault, just general harassment.”

Recently there’s been a fresh wave of accusations against Woody Allen. Again. The last time I checked, and especially after reading Robert Weide’s 12.13.17 summary of the certainly debatable 25 year-old allegations against Allen, I thought the matter had been more or less put to bed. Move on, let sleeping dogs lie, etc.

Weide’s piece was posted in response to Dylan Farrow’s 12.7 L.A. Times essay that asked why Woody has escaped a #MeToo slapdown. But any fair assessment of the facts suggests that Dylan’s accusation is, at the very least, clouded by uncertainty. Just take ten minutes and read the Weide piece. It’s all there. Really.

Nonetheless the tide has recently turned, and we’re now back in a Crucible-like environment, and more or less due to three things.

One, that Richard Morgan Washington Post piece about Allen’s obsession with teenaged girls, as evidenced by certain scripts he’s written. Two, Greta Gerwig‘s declaration that she’ll never work with Allen again. And three, Mira Sorvino‘s open letter to Dylan Farrow (i.e., “I believe you”).

Something snapped inside when Hunter Lurie, the son of director and HE pally Rod Lurie, asked this morning why no one has queried Timothy Chalamet about a controversial-sounding Allen film, A Rainy Day in New York, that he co-stars in.

I took this to mean that Lurie believes that Chalamet needs to follow in Gerwig and Sorvino’s footsteps, etc. He claimed otherwise, but he also tweeted that he suspects that A Rainy Day in New York, which partly focuses on a 40ish guy (Jude Law) in a reportedly unconsummated relationship with a much younger woman (Elle Fanning), might become a hot potato and perhaps not even be released due to the real-life echoes.

The Directors Guild of America membership has an infuriating if not infamous decision to live down.

It has not only backhanded the brilliant Call Me By Your Name helmer Luca Guadagnino (i.e., “Sorry but the Oscars already did the gay thing last year with Moonlight, and we feel too gayed-out to go there again”) but has nominated Get Out director Jordan Peele twice(!!) — for its top-dog feature-film award award as well as a possible trophy for being the best first-time director.

This is impossible, ridiculous. I give up. Sheepthink, no justice, just politics. The fix is in.

For the top feature film award the DGA also nominated Lady Bird‘s Greta Gerwig, The Shape of Water‘s Guillermo del Toro, Three Billboards‘ Martin McDonaugh and Dunkirk‘s Christopher Nolan.

Other first-time nominees are Taylor Sheridan (Wind River), Aaron Sorkin, Geremy Jasper (Patti Cake$) and William Oldroyd (Lady Macbeth).

The Post‘s Steven Spielberg wasn’t nominated, and this, I fear, is the final death knell. The Post — ironically my favorite Spielberg film since Saving Private Ryan — will most likely not be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.

Other blow-offs include The Florida Project‘s Sean Baker, Mudbound‘s Dee Rees and The Beguiled‘s Sofia Coppola.

Who will take the top honor? Del Toro, I suspect, although I would give it to Nolan without blinking an eye.

Received from a New York guy who gets around: “What a kick in the groin to Steven Spielberg and Luca Guadagnino. I’m talking of course about the double-down bet the DGA just placed on Jordan Peele. If he’s a newcomer — and that’s how I think he should be considered — he doesn’t belong in both categories.”

N.Y. Times reporter Brooks Barnes has investigated the bizarre pay discrepancy between Mark Wahlberg and Michelle Williams for the All The Money In The World re-shoots, with Wahlberg being paid $1.5 million and Williams doing it more or less for free.

Barnes writes that while Williams and Wahlberg had agreed to appear in All the Money in the World for less than their standard fee, “[they] took different approaches to the reshoots.

“Because of the circumstances, Williams quickly agreed to return. The people briefed on the matter said that she did so believing that other participants had made the same decision. She ultimately worked over Thanksgiving, racing to London on an overnight flight after arranging for her 12-year-old daughter, Matilda, to spend the holiday without her.

“’They could have my salary, they could have my holiday, whatever they wanted,’ she said of the production team at the time. ‘Because I appreciated so much that they were making this massive effort.’

For the 47th (or is it the 48th?) time the three greatest films of 2017 are Luca Guadgnino‘s Call Me By Your Name, Chris Nolan‘s Dunkirk and Greta Gerwig‘s Lady Bird. Why then are so many predicting that Nolan and possibly Gerwig will be nominated tomorrow by the Directors Guild of America, but aren’t even allowing that Guadagnino is a possibility?

I get the Guillermo del Toro and Martin McDonaugh noms as their films, The Shape of Water and Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri, have become across-the-board soft defaults, but…wait, Get Out‘s Jordan Peele is among the likelies? Did somebody put something in the water? Is the seed-pod situation I described yesterday worse than I realized?

The DGA has added a “first-time director” category, and this is where Peele belongs, at best. Peele barely pulled his film together from a script that he himself wasn’t entirely sure belonged in the horror or comedy realm, an uncertainty that lingered even during post-production. Get Out obviously came together and made a lot of money, okay, but Peele deserves a DGA nom more than Luca Guadagnino?

Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone is predicting the following five DGA noms as of this time tomorrow: McDonagh, del Toro, Nolan, Peele and Gerwig. She’s saying the fifth slot “could” also go to Guadagnino or The Post‘s Steven Spielberg. She suspects that Guadagnino, along with The Florida Project‘s Sean Baker and Phantom Thread‘s Paul Thomas Anderson, may be a better bet for the Academy rather than DGA.

It was reported yesterday that residents of Zermatt, the Swiss ski town that lies in the shadow of the Matterhorn, had to be airlifted out due to extra-heavy snow, non-running trains and a fear of avalanches. Gee, that’s too bad. Five and 2/3 years ago Hollywood Elsewhere had a very irritating experience with this precious little hamlet, which is why I feel no sympathy. Here’s the tale once more:

Ever since seeing my first image of the Matterhorn when I was eight or nine I’ve wanted to stand in its shadow and just go “whoa.” So yesterday the guys and I drove the wrong way (i.e., four hours over winding mountain roads) from Lauterbrunnen to Zermatt, the affluent ski town that lies at the base of it.

The trip turned out to be mostly a disaster. Because of an innocent mistake I almost got slammed with a 350 Swiss franc traffic ticket — thank God I was able to talk my way out of it.

The signs on the long and winding approach to Zermatt fail to explicitly point out a basic fact — you can’t drive into town unless you’re a resident or a cab driver or a city worker. You have to park in Tasch, an ugly little settlement about six kilometers north of Zermatt, and take a train or a taxi in. Fine, no problem, but there are no signs that clearly say this, and certainly none in English.

When I see a sign that says “park here,” I say to myself, “Okay, that’s an option, fine. It’s not something I necessarily intend to do as I am the sole master of my fate, but it’s nice to know it’s there.”

HE suggestion to Zermatt brainiacs: The words “Non-resident passenger vehicles are not allowed in Zermatt” would definitely be understood if you said as much on a road sign. Or how about an image of a car with a big red X or a circle slash across it? Idiots.

From 1.10.18 N.Y. Times piece by Julie Hirschfeld Davis and Nicholas Fandos [see 8:35 mark]: “President Trump on Wednesday declined to commit to being interviewed by the special counsel investigating whether his campaign colluded with Russia to sway the 2016 election, backing off a promise he made last year to talk to Robert S. Mueller under oath.

‘“I’ll speak to attorneys,’ Trump told reporters in the East Room during a news conference with Prime Minister Erna Solberg of Norway, when asked whether he would speak with Mr. Mueller without preconditions. ‘We’ll see what happens.’

The dodge was a marked change from last June, when Mr. Trump defended his firing of the F.B.I. director, James B. Comey, denying that it was related to his handling of the Russia investigation, and said he would ‘100 percent’ be willing to give a sworn statement to Mr. Mueller.

“The president called Mr. Mueller’s probe and the ones being pursued by the Republican-led Congress a partisan ‘witch hunt’ and a ‘Democrat hoax.’

“’For 11 months, they’ve had this phony cloud over this administration, over our government, and it has hurt our government,’ Mr. Trump said. “When they have no collusion, and nobody’s found any collusion at any level, it seems unlikely that you’d even have an interview.”

Last night (i.e., Tuesday) Tatyana and I attended a well-catered if crowded Mudbound party. It happened inside a mid-sized, two-story Chateau Marmont bungalow (the fabled oval-shaped pool was just outside) and was sponsored by Sandra Bullock and Moonlight costar Trevante Rhodes. Director Dee Rees and costars Mary J. Blige, Jason Clarke, Garett Hedlund and Rob Morgan attended; ditto producer Cassian Elwes.

During last night’s Mudbound gathering: (l. to r.) director Dee Rees, costar and Best Supporting Actress contender Mary J. Blige, Sandra Bullock. (Thanks to Ginsberg-Libby’s Paige Niemi for supplying photos.)

The idea was to remind Academy members who haven’t yet filled out their nomination ballots (Friday, 1.12 is the final day) that Mudbound is (a) one of the year’s most awarded and nominated films, (b) that Blige is a serious Best Supporting Actress contender, and (c) that the striking cinematography by ASC-nominated Rachel Morrison deserves a nom of its own.

I spoke briefly to Clarke, Elwes, Showbiz 411‘s Roger Friedman and elite Manhattan party orchestrator Peggy Siegal, et. al. The Mark Wahlberg-Michelle Williams pay disparity thing was a hot topic; the James Franco and Michael Douglas accusations less so. People are rolling their eyes and waving the stories away. The waiters were serving small bowls of lightly sauced Fettucini Bolognese — best I’ve ever tasted since sampling a similar dish in Rome last June.

Ask ten film historians about David Lean‘s Ryan’s Daughter, and they’ll all say it nearly killed Lean’s career. Slow and stately, over-indulged, visually pompous and old-schoolish to a fault. And that awful, Oscar-awarded village-idiot performance by John Mills. Magnificent Freddie Young cinematography, okay, but otherwise a sudden fall from grace. Not even close to the realm of Lawrence of Arabia or Brief Encounter or Bridge on the River Kwai or even the respectably second-tier Dr. Zhivago or A Passage to India.

But you know what? Last night I began watching an HD Amazon stream of Ryan’s Daughter on my Sony 65″ 4K TV. I was sitting there like a 12 year-old and studying the Super Panavision 70 detail and just marvelling at how good it looks. The HD transfer was apparently taken from a 35mm source but it’s staggering all the same. It looks much better than what I recall from some half-forgotten viewing at some Massachusetts or Connecticut bijou (i.e., not a 70mm house).

And I realized that the trick to watching Ryan’s Daughter is to watch it on a monitor like mine, and to ignore as much of the story and the dialogue as possible (not to mention the bland British officer performance by Christopher Jones) and just focus on the visuals and the music.

That opening shot of the steep Irish cliffs near Dingle Bay, and that tiny little ant (i.e., Sarah Miles) running left to right as she approaches the edge…my God! And that footsteps-in-the-sand sequence with Robert Mitchum. 20th Century filmmaking rarely exceeded this level of immaculate care and visual eloquence.