Ridley Scott‘s All The Money In The World screens today for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, but the rest of us will be on hold until, I’m presuming, next week. This aside I’ve seen almost everything (not all but most) and so here, almost finally, are HE’s Best Films of 2017 — chosen not on the basis of award-season heat but for their own engaging qualities, finessed and shaded in their own particular way. Certain films in the ’17 Oscar Derby will do a fast fade after 3.4.18, but a good percentage of these will stir some level of interest 10, 20 or even 50 years hence.

Top ten: (1) Luca Guadagnino‘s Call Me My Your Name, (2) Chris Nolan‘s Dunkirk, (3) Greta Gerwig‘s Lady Bird, (4) Darren Aronofsky‘s mother!, (5) Ruben Ostlund‘s The Square, (6) Matt Reeves‘ War For The Planet of the Apes, (7) Oliver Assayas‘ Personal Shopper [2016 holdover], (8) Michael Showalter’s The Big Sick, (9) Steven Spielberg‘s The Post, (9) Cristian Mungiu‘s Graduation [2016 holdover], and (10) Andrey Zvyagintsev‘s Loveless.

Honorable fraternity: (11) Martin McDonagh‘s Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, (12) Edgar Wright‘s Baby Driver, (13) Sean Baker‘s The Florida Project, (14) Guillermo del Toro‘s The Shape of Water, (15) David Lowery‘s A Ghost Story, (16) David Gordon Green‘s Stronger, (18) Fatih Akin‘s In The Fade, (19) Brad Pitt‘s War Machine, (20) Joseph Kosinski‘s Only The Brave, (21) Paul Thomas Anderson‘s Phantom Thread, (22) Jordan Peele‘s Get Out, (23) Denis Villeneuve‘s Blade Runner 2049, (24) Patti Jenkins‘ Wonder Woman, (25) Taylor Sheridan‘s Wind River, (26) Steven Soderbergh‘s Logan Lucky, (27) Geremy Jasper‘s Patty Cake$ and (28) John Curran‘s Chappaquiddick (saw it in Toronto, opening in April ’18).

Four words automatically come to mind when I think of senior Indiewire critic David Ehrlich — “brilliant if occasionally deranged.” I will never forgive Ehrlich for praising Quentin Tarantino‘s The Hateful Eight as “a national treasure” and “The Thing meets an early John Ford movie”…never! He is, however, a skilled editor with a talent for artful finessing of film clips, and so kudos to this 25 Best Films of 2017 reel. There are some choices that I deeply disagree with (Okja, Wonderstruck, Good Time), but at least Ehrlich’s picks aren’t as wackjobby as Esquire‘s Nick Schager. One comment: Too many Baby Driver clips?

Ehrlich picks (HE commentary when warranted): 1. Call Me by Your Name, 2. Dunkirk, 3. A Ghost Story, 4. Personal Shopper, 5. The Florida Project, 6. Columbus (haven’t seen it), 7. Lady Bird, 8. Faces Places (haven’t seen it — apologies), 9. The Post, 10. Phantom Thread, 11. A Quiet Passion (haven’t seen it), 12. Okja (“dreadful, cliche-ridden, odiously endearing”), 13. Wonderstruck (“tediously passionate”), 14. Good Time (“the punchiest and craziest film to play during the [2017 Cannes Film Festival], but I can’t abide stupidity, and after 40 minutes of watching these simpletons hold up a bank and run around and ruthlessly use people to duck the heat I was praying that at least one of them would get shot or arrested”), 15. The Beguiled, 16. Get Out, 17. Thelma (didn’t see it), 18. The Big Sick, 19. Foxtrot, 20. A Fantastic Woman, 21. Lady Macbeth, 22. mother!, 23. Baby Driver, 24. The Lure (didn’t see it), 25. All These Sleepless Nights (didn’t see it).

Hollywood Elsewhere is offering a limited apology to the Los Angeles Film Critics Association for calling them “eccentric foodies” and the “bagel, cream cheese and sliced onion guys” prone to “doing that nutty LAFCA thing.” Not that I was insincere two days ago when I posted a riff about their tendency to almost obsessively celebrate outliers and oddballs, but yesterday they did a fairly glorious thing by giving three big trophies to Call Me By Your Name — Best Picture, Best Director (Luca Guadagnino, shared with The Shape of Water‘s Guillermo del Toro) and Best Actor (Timothee Chalamet). They also gave a split Best Foreign Language Film award to Andrej Zvagintsev‘s Loveless, which has been on HE’s top fave list since last May. I reserve the right to hold onto those bagel-and-cream cheese jokes — LAFCA is known as the film critics group that chows down halfway through voting — but right now they deserve a salute and a pass.

I’ve been doodling around with my nominating ballot for the Broadcast Film Critics Association, which is due no later than 9 pm on Monday, 12.4. I know where I stand, but I’m also half-open to suggestions. I don’t want to necessarily swim with the minnows — I have my own leanings, convictions, instincts. Why, then, am I asking for thoughts? Because submitting to slings and arrows might remind me of something I’ve put aside or forgotten about. Note: Most of the BFCA categories ask for three nominees, but I’m listing five anyway.

BEST PICTURE: 1. Call Me By Your Name, 2. Lady Bird, 3. Dunkirk, 4. mother!, 5. The Post.

BEST DIRECTING: 1. Luca Guadagnino, Call Me By Your Name; 2. Greta Gerwig, Lady Bird; 3. Darren Aronofsky, mother!, 4. Christopher Nolan, Dunkirk; 5. Steven Spielberg, The Post.

BEST ACTOR: 1. Timothy Chalamet, Call Me By Your Name, 2. James Franco, The Disaster Artist, 3. Gary Oldman, Darkest Hour, 4. Jake Gyllenhaal, Stronger, 5. Tom Hanks, The Post.

BEST ACTRESS: 1. Saoirse Ronan, Lady Bird; 2. Frances McDormand, Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri, 3. Sally Hawkins, The Shape of Water; 4. Meryl Streep, The Post; 5. Kate Winslet, Wonder Wheel.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: 1. Michael Stuhlbarg, Call Me By Your Name; 2. Willem Dafoe, The Florida Project; 3. Sam Rockwell, Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri; 4. Jason Mitchell, Mudbound; 5. Kevin Costner, Molly’s Game.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: 1. Laurie Metcalf, Lady Bird; 2. Allison Janney, I, Tonya; 3. Mary J. Blige, Mudbound; 4. Holly Hunter, The Big Sick; 5. Melissa Leo, Novitiate.

There are many other categories — Best Young Actor/Actress, Best Acting Ensemble, Best Screenwriting (Original and Adapted), Best Cinematography, Best Editing, Best Costume Design, Best Hair & Makeup, Best Action Movie, Best Comedy, et. al. — but I’ll get into these tomorrow.

Surely Chris Pratt understands that he can’t continue to star in light-hearted, mock-ironic fantasy jizz films indefinitely, one after another after another. The man keeps inhaling helium — The Lego Movie, Guardians of the Galaxy, Jurassic World, The Magnificent Seven, Passengers, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Avengers: Infinity War, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom, Untitled Avengers film. I don’t believe that any actor, no matter how engaging or popular he may seem on talk shows, can continue to make empty movies indefinitely. Every fourth or fifth film that a marquee-brand actor has to at least aspire to something real and soulful. It an actor performs in nothing but paycheck movies, sooner or later the well will run dry. Within the next two or three years Pratt has to deliver an honest, well-honed performance in a movie about real life, real people, etc. The last intelligent, human-scaled film Pratt made was Her, and it wasn’t even his.

The headline sounds a tad cynical but I mean it. Variety‘s Guy Lodge is right on top of what’s happening right now, and hats off for his being first. Because Dunkirk, a long-presumed Best Picture nominee, suddenly seems to be faltering and wobbly-kneed, and the great-guns assumption that Gary Oldman‘s broadly actorish performance as Winston Churchill in Darkest Hour is locked to win is suddenly in question. It may be, in fact, that Oldman isn’t the front-runner any more, and that Call Me By Your Name‘s Timothy Chalamet might be elbowing him aside. Maybe.

That, at least, is what Lodge seems to be suggesting and what HE’s insect-antennae are conveying as we speak.

Today was the day I realized that Dunkirk, which almost everyone has had at the top of their Best Picture roster since last July, isn’t happening any more. The complaint about Dunkirk lacking a traditional arc and not delivering anything in the way of affecting mainstream emotion has always been out there, but now the critics aren’t standing up for it either. It may eventually be Best Picture-nominated (it seems inconceivable, still, that the Academy would brush it aside in this respect) but winning is out of the question. That much is certain, and what a shock to confront this.

Because in the back of my mind I’ve always been saying, “How can a film like Dunkirk, a film that delivers such amazing scope and intensity and you-are-there realism, and which swan-dives so grandly and decisively into a groundbreaking, time-flipping narrative approach…voters will have to come back to it in the end. It’s too powerful, too overwhelming to be dismissed.” Now I’m starting to realize that the Dunkirk current isn’t there, and that perhaps it never was.

It also hit me today that Chalamet is arguably more of a Best Actor frontrunner than Oldman, at least among the somewhat younger and more progressive, alive-in-the-present-tense crowd. The older, better-safe-than-sorry contingent has been hearing “Oldman, Oldman, Oldman” for several weeks now, but Chalamet has won Best Actor trophies with the New York Film Critics Circle and the Los Angeles Film Critics Association, and that really means something. At the very least the Best Actor situation is now a horse race.

Lodge appears to believe that Chalamet is to the 2017 Best Actor race what Isabelle Huppert was to the 2016 Best Actress race — the most frequently awarded contender before Emma Stone came along and took the Best Actress Oscar. Maybe so, but at least things are suddenly more interesting.

Lodge responds: “Not saying that at all — just that the faction most inclined to vote for Oldman, as with Emma Stone last year, hasn’t chimed in yet.”

Luca Guadagnino‘s Call My By Your Name was the big winner in today’s Los Angeles Film Critics Association awards, taking the Best Picture trophy, splitting the Best Director trophy between Guadagnino and The Shape of Water‘s Guillermo del Toro, and with Timothee Chalamet taking the Best Actor prize. On top of which The Florida Project‘s Willem Dafoe won LAFCA’s Best Supporting Actor prize, and Lady Bird‘s Laurie Metcalf won the Best Supporting Actress trophy.

Call Me By Your Name has now won two Best Picture trophies (LAFCA, Gotham Awards), and is likely to win the same trophy from the 2018 Spirit Awards, which has nominated Guadagnino’s film for six awards. Chalamet has won Best Actor from both LAFCA and the New York Film Critics Circle, plus a Breakthrough Actor award from the Gothams. Dafoe seems all but unstoppable with Supporting Actor trophies from LAFCA, NYFCC and the National Board of Review. Metcalf has taken the Best Supporting Actress awards from LAFCA and the National Board Of Review.

Earlier: I was talking to a friend last night about this morning’s Los Angeles Film Critics Association voting, and he went “Yeah, well.” What, you don’t think they’re influential or at least interesting? “I don’t know that anyone cares all that much,” he replied. “They always seem to go with off-the-wall picks. We’ll see.”

Talk about flaky — the LAFCA website has a LATEST NEWS crawl on the top, and one of the headlines says “LAFCA names Moonlight as Best Film of 2016.”

10:57 am: They’re voting right now, the bagel-and-cream cheese-and-onions gang, and the first winner is…

11:13 am: Best Cinematography: Dan Laustsen, The Shape of Water. (Runner-up: Roger Deakins, Blade Runner 2049.) HE comment: What about Dunkirk‘s Hoyte von Hoytema?

11:25 am: Best Music/Score: Johnny Greenwood, Phantom Thread. (Runner-up: Alexandre Desplat, The Shape of Water.) HE comment: 1st runner-up support for Desplat plus dp Dan Lausten‘s win obviously suggests strong current for The Shape of Water. Will Guillermo’s erotic-aquatic fable take the Best Picture prize?

11:40 am: Best Supporting Actor: Willem Dafoe‘s harried, exasperated but altogether decent motel manager in Sean Baker‘s The Florida Project. Runner-up: Sam Rockwell‘s effed-up deputy sheriff in in Three Billboards outside Ebbing Missouri. HE comment: Okay, fine.

11:51 am: Best Production Design: Blade Runner 2049‘s Dennis Gassner. Runner-up: The Shape Of Water‘s Paul D. Austerberry. Excerpt from my BR49 review: “Deakins has done his usual first-rate job here and everyone knows he’s well past due, but the real whoa-level work is by production designer Dennis Gassner and supervising art director Paul Inglis.” HE comment: Another Shape of Water runner-up vote! Clearly there’s a hardcore contingent that will vote for Shape of Water in any category, come hell or high water.

12:01 pm: Best Editing award goes to Dunkirk‘s Lee Smith. Runner-up: I, Tonya‘s Tatiana S. Riegel.

12:06 pm: Lady Bird‘s Laurie Metcalf win LAFCA’s Best Supporting Actress award. Runner-up: Mudbound‘s Mary J. Blige.

12:17 pm: Winner of LAFCA’s Documentary/Nonfiction award is Agnes Varda and JR’s Faces Places. Runner-up: Brent Morgen‘s Jane, a doc about chimpanzeetarian Jane Goodall, which had its big L.A. premiere at the Hollywood Bowl.

[Brunch break] [HE nap break]

2:09 pm: For LAFCA’s Foreign Language Film award, a tie between Robin Campillo‘s BPM (Beats per Minute) and Andrej Zvyagintsev‘s utterly brilliant Loveless. LAFCA’s animated feature award went to The Breadwinner and not Disney’s Coco. The Best Screenplay award was won by Jordan Peele‘s Get Out. Runner-up: Martin McDonagh‘s screenplay for Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri.

3:15 pm: LAFCA’s Best Picture of 2017 is Luca Guadagnino‘s Call me By Your Name — all is forgiven, no more bagel and cream cheese jokes until next year. Runner-up: The Florida Project. The Best Director Award is a tie between CMBYN‘s Luca Guadagnino and The Shape of Water‘s Guillermo del Toro. Best Actor is CMBYN‘s Timothee Chalamet (runner-up: James Franco, The Disaster Artist). The Best Actress award has gone to The Shape of Water‘s Sally Hawkins

Earlier: If I was there voting with Bob Strauss, Myron Meisel, John Powers and the rest of them, I would toast my bagel just so, going for a nice light brown color. Then I’d add a schmear of Philadelphia 1/3 Less Fat Cream Cheese, a few slim rings of red onion, a thin slice of lox, some diced Roman tomatoes.

The Wonder Wheel quartet — Kate Winslet, Jim Belushi, Juno Temple and Justin Timberlake — sat for a 10 pm q & a last night inside the Arclight Cinerama Dome. Moderator Pete Hammond presided over what turned out to be a lively, somewhat competitive conversation.

Winslet, trying to land one of the five Best Actress nomination slots (and in so doing will have to dislodge one of the well-ensconced pack leaders — Frances McDormand, Sally Hawkins, Meryl Streep, Saoirse Ronan or Margot Robbie), scored first with a riff about the high-quality script, the responsibility of making a melodramatic, life-and-death piece come to life, and the excitement of working with director-writer Woody Allen.

(l. to. r.) Wonder Wheel costars Juno Temple, Jim Belushi, Justin Timberlake, Kate Winslet, Deadline‘s Pete Hammond.

Then it was Justin Timberlake‘s turn, but he took too long in telling about his initial meeting with Allen. (Woody doesn’t audition his actors — he just smiles and says “hi.”) Then the effusive Belushi had the mike (both he and Timberlake stood up and acted out portions of their stories), and then the British-born Temple, who arguably gives the most open-hearted, least-denial-imprisoned performance in the film, had a couple of minutes. And then Winslet took over again. And then Timberlake and Belushi got into a joust.

It was a four-way competition of sorts, a friendly scrimmage about who could score with the most interesting observations and/or pass along the most amusing anecdotes.

For some reason the Arclight staff refused to turn up the lights, which made the actors harder to see, caused the photos to look grainy and rendered the brief video clip I shot all but worthless. Winslet, Belushi and Timberlake were immediately swarmed by security guards when the chat ended. Temple, on the other hand, was cool with mingling and posing for selfies, etc.

I had trouble laughing last night, or feeling any kind of mirth for that matter. One of the most grotesque and calamitous tax revision bills in U.S. history, passed by gargoyle righties and abetted by Sen. Susan Collins (R., Maine) and Sens. John McCain and Jeff Flake (so much for their recently burnished reputations) + a tax-bill provision that will damage the effectiveness of the Affordable Care Act + a decent chance that Alabama Senatorial candidate Roy Moore, sexual misconduct allegations notwithstanding, is going to defeat Doug Jones. (Or maybe not.)

“With barely a vote to spare early Saturday morning, the Senate passed a tax bill confirming that the Republican leaders’ primary goal is to enrich the country’s elite at the expense of everybody else, including future generations who will end up bearing the cost. The approval of this looting of the public purse by corporations and the wealthy makes it a near certainty that President Trump will sign this or a similar bill into law in the coming days.

“The bill is expected to add more than $1.4 trillion to the federal deficit over the next decade, a debt that will be paid by the poor and middle class in future tax increases and spending cuts to Medicare, Social Security and other government programs. Its modest tax cuts for the middle class disappear after eight years. And up to 13 million people stand to lose their health insurance because the bill makes a big change to the Affordable Care Act.” — from 12.2 N.Y. Times editorial, “A Historic Heist.”

What kind of oddball, left-field choices will the Los Angeles Film Critics Association share tomorrow (i.e., Sunday, 12.3)? If past award picks are any guide LAFCA will probably vote for someone or something of an eccentric cast. If nothing else LAFCA members will want to live up to their well-earned reputation as the quirkiest and foodiest of all the major critic groups.

As noted last year, LAFCA is the only prestigious film critic group that notoriously interrupts its voting process halfway through so the members can chow down on toasted bagels, scrambled eggs, potato salad, lox, cream cheese, cole slaw and red onions. Bon appetit! But LAFCA members have another reputation to live up to, and that is a determination to choose way outside the realm of semi-conventional, emotionally-centered thinking.

A nominee or two, I mean, that will win an award because of some kind of arbitrary, socially progressive, possibly Jen Yamato-endorsed notion or belief scheme of the moment. A choice, I mean, that will feel like the right kind of politically correct fulfillment or projection — a choice that will point the way and especially defy the Gurus of Gold and Gold Derby-ites. Has LAFCA’s eccentricity reached a point of self-parody? Could some members be fearful of letting people down if they don’t give an award to at least a couple of unlikely contenders? Sure seems that way.

Last year, for example, the Yamato cabal brought about a decision to give the org’s Best Supporting Actress award to Certain Women‘s Lily Gladstone, mainly because Gladstone was playing a lesbian Native American (two p.c. check marks) who was obsessively in love with Kristen Stewart. Another what-the-eff was LAFCA handing its Best Actor award to Adam Driver for his portrayal of a quiet, poetry-loving bus driver in Jim Jarmusch‘s Paterson. Driver had delivered a gentle, honestly spiritual vibe, but the main reason that LAFCA voted for him was that they were psychologically and constitutionally incapable of voting for Manchester By The Sea‘s Casey Affleck, the front-runner by a country mile.

There’s no question that certain currents in my life have been neurotic or obsessive. Perhaps the strongest neurotic theme has been a lifelong tendency (and I mean going back to my early childhood) to feel greater emotional attachments to movies and movie stars than to my own family members. Aside from my mother, whom I loved start to finish, I’ve always thought of my family relationships as unremarkable, and at times trying and downish. Certainly when it came to my father, brother and sister.

I first realized this when my father, with whom I had a conflicted relationship, passed in June 2008. (Here’s what I wrote the next day.) I realized then and there that I felt much sadder after the passing of Cary Grant, whom I’d long regarded as a kind of family member in a sense. I choked up when I heard about Grant’s passing on 11.29.86, and I remember feeling a pall in my soul for a day or two after. All my life he’d been my pal, my debonair uncle, my role model, a guy I’d always admired.

Snapped outside my parents’ home in Wilton, Connecticut, sometime around ’85.

Off-screen Grant was no day at the beach. I’d read that he could be a mood-swinger and a neurotic prick on a certain level, but that wouldn’t have dimmed my feelings if I’d tasted this first-hand. I felt a blood bond with the guy.

But when I heard about my dad’s death 22 years later (on 6.20.08) I felt…well, not a great deal. A little misty but only that. I felt relief for the poor guy, as he’d been seriously unhappy with the deteriorating quality of his life over the previous two or three years. And I felt a bit glum, of course, about his testy, often crabby manner when I was a kid, and how he’d inspired me to join Al Anon in the mid ’90s, but also how he’d inspired me to take a crack at writing and, later on, to embrace sobriety. Jim Wells was a fine, honorable fellow whom I admired and respected when I began to find myself in my mid 20s, but Cary Grant was kin.

I managed to shake Grant’s hand in early ’84 during an Academy after-party for George Stevens: A Filmmaker’s Journey. Too many people were crowding around so a couple of pleasantries was the sum of our exchange. There was so much I could’ve said and shared.

I’m an odd duck and I know it, and my weirdnesses are my own. I’m presuming that few out there have felt a greater emotional alliance with this or that actor or musician or politician, even, than he/she felt for someone of their own blood or tribe. But if anyone has, please share.

The top image is a 1953 or ’54 Rene Magritte painting called “the Dominion of Light.” The bottom image was snapped a couple of weeks ago at the corner of Wilshire Blvd. and Stanley Drive. I wasn’t trying to duplicate “The Dominion of Light” — I only noticed the similarity a few days ago. I realize that Magritte’s work has never been taken seriously by anyone in the know. I’m just…fuck it, I’ve said it.