“I knew that she couldn’t close,” Steve Bannon tells The Hollywood Reporter‘s Michael Wolff, referring to Hillary Clinton. “They out-spent us 10 to one, had 10 times more people and had all the media with them, but I kept saying it doesn’t matter, they got it all wrong, we’ve got this locked.”

Because, as Bannon explains, Donald Trump connected big-time with “people without a college education…high school people…that’s how you win elections.” As in: The under-educated none-too-brights, the ADD crowd, the xenophobes, the macaroni-and-cheese eaters. Look at jowly, unshaven, pot-bellied Bannon — yes, a brilliant, highly-educated Machiavellian schemer par excellence (albeit from Hades), but he looks like an alcoholic who manages an East Tampa trailer park.

With a straight face Bannon describes Donald Trump as “the greatest orator since William Jennings Bryan, coupled with an economic populist message and two political parties that are so owned by the donors that they don’t speak to their audience. But he speaks in a non-political vernacular, he communicates with these people in a very visceral way. Nobody in the Democratic party listened to his speeches, so they had no idea he was delivering such a compelling and powerful economic message. He shows up 3.5 hours late in Michigan at 1 in the morning and has 35,000 people waiting in the cold. When they got [Clinton] off the donor circuit she went to Temple University and they drew 300 or 400 kids.”

Perhaps the key image or metaphor of Trump’s message to the portly masses was that moment in Richard Donner‘s Superman (’78) when Chris Reeve‘s Man of Steel, howling with grief over the death of Margot Kidder‘s Lois Lane, zooms into orbit and reverses the west-to-east spinning of the globe and in so doing reverses time itself, and this allowing him to save Lane while still alive.

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“We sir, we are the diverse America who are alarmed and anxious that your new administration will not protect us, our planet, out children, our parents or defend us and uphold our inalienable rights, sir. But we truly hope that this show has inspired you to uphold our American values and to work on behalf of all of us. All of us. We truly thank you for sharing in this show, this wonderful American story told by a diverse group of men, women, creeds and orientations, and we truly hope that you heard our message sir, because you all represent all of us. We don’t have to fight one another. The beautiful part of this country is…we don’t have to agree, but we gotta live here, baby, and share with one another.”

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Manchester By The Sea opened today in New York and Los Angeles. When was the last time that a Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic aggregate rating for a film was averaging around 97%? You know what I hate? When some ticket-buyer goes to see a much-praised film on opening night and tweets “this is what they were down on their knees about? What were critics thinking? Overpraised, disappointing.” Shut up. Sometimes the worst thing about living a life of movie-worship is hearing from Regular Joes who just aren’t smart or sensitive enough to get it — the megaplex version of Trump voters.

These guys are outliers, fanatics, hardcore hammers…Himmler, Goering, Hess. Colin Powell reportedly called Trump’s new national security adviser Lt. Gen. Micheal T. Flynn “rightwing nutty.” Oh, for the occasionally moderate, semi-sane approach of the George Bush team!

Deadline‘s Brian Brooks moderated a critics panel this afternoon at The Porch (“A quirky, quaint hangout with comfy porch seating and a varied selection of artisanal beers & wines”). The Key West Film Festival panelists included Indiewire‘s Eric Kohn, Rolling Stone‘s David Fear, MTV News‘ Amy Nicholson, Wall Street Journal contributor Steve Dollar and a young guy I don’t know who praised A Bigger Splash. (Yes!) Asked to name their favorite films of the year, Kohn mentioned Pablo Larrain‘s Neruda, Nicholson enthused about Vikram Gandhi‘s Barry (yes again!) and Fear all but dropped to his knees in praise of Barry Jenkins‘ Moonlight, a strong film that has been nearly suffocated with overpraise. (Nicholson mentioned that she’s heard a “scary” story about moviegoers in Dallas laughing during a second-act sex scene.) The p.a. system wasn’t loud enough, and there was a lot of competition from crowing roosters, overhead jets, sirens, rumbling motorcycles, gear-grinding buses and drunks singing in a bar across the street. Complimentary key lime mini-pies were served on paper plates.

Today’s film critic footwear included a pair of Merrell’s comfort shoes, white sneakers without laces, gray cross-training shoes with lime green accents and a pair of black Converse lace-ups. No Bruno Magli’s, no Italian suede, no saddle shoes, no cowboy boots, no canary yellow sneakers…nothing exceptional! 

(l. to r.) Steve Dollar, Amy Nicholson, David Fear, Eric Kohn.

Statement from David O. Russell about Past Forward, a 12-minute monochrome “surreal dreamscape” short that he directed: “It was completely what I wanted to do. It was so open that I didn’t think it was going to happen. Because nobody got paid or anything. It wasn’t like that. It was to do it just to do it. I almost think the whole thing is almost a premonition of how the country feels right now to me. Because the movies that I love, the dreams that I love, have a feeling of uncertainty in them. You can still find love or locate yourself in them, but they’re tinged with a feeling of uncertainty.” Allison Williams, Freida Pinto and Kuoth Wiel as the same woman “trapped in a suspenseful dream.” Costarring John Krasinski (who needs to lose weight), Ben-Hur‘s Jack Huston, Connie Britton, Paula Patton, Sacha Baron Cohen, etc.

By the measure of Hollywood’s award season, Santa Barbara Film Festival director Roger Durling is a Nick the Greek-like figure. Three things happen when Durling “bets” on this or that Oscar contender by booking them for a special SBIFF tribute. One, Santa Barbara-residing Academy members are at least semi-inclined to vote for Durling’s favorites. Two, award-season blogaroos take notice, post coverage of said tributes and weight their predictions accordingly. And three, SBIFF tributes inject an aura of heft, esteem and good favor.

Ryan Gosling, Emma Stone in Damien Chazelle’s La La Land.

And so La La Land costars Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone are suddenly that much hotter with today’s announcement that they’ll be presented with the SBIFF Outstanding Performers of the Year award on Friday, 2.3.17. Gosling is smooth and bothered and wholly alive in La La Land, but c’mon — we all know that Stone is more likely to win a Best Actress nomination than Gosling is to even be nominated. His performance feels honest and lived-in but Stone pretty much owns Damien Chazelle‘s musical. Charisma, emotion, spirit-lift, strain, heartache.

The 32nd annual Santa Barbara International Film Festival will take place from Wednesday, 2.1 through Saturday, 2.11.

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Hollywood Elsewhere will be checking out of the Duval House this morning, and with few regrets. Thanks to the Key West Film Festival guys for putting me up here, but life is short. My second-floor Duval room is cool but the wifi is all but worthless up there — the only location where it really functions is on the front porch adjacent to Duval Street — and the TV is showing distorted images. Plus the bathroom sink is all stopped up. Plus I had a marginally unpleasant encounter last night with a couple of scurvy, cigarette-smoking hinterland guys. They’re almost certainly Trump supporters, I figured, and I have to admit I gave one of them a mildly dirty look before we exchanged words around 11 pm or so.

I was filing my Burt Reynolds piece on the porch, and they came sauntering over from whatever bar they’d been drinking at. The younger guy (buzzcut, slender, upper-torso tattoos) said to me, “Are you still working on that computer?” I just looked at him. Asshole. The older guy (cutoffs, cigarette stink, sandals) asked if I was a hotel employee. “No, I’m just here as a guest,” I said. “Well, this area of the porch is ours,” he said. “We paid for that room so this is our territory so you need to sit elsewhere, if you don’t mind.” I didn’t care so I said “sure” and he said “thank you.” A front porch at any hotel is common territory for all guests, of course, but I figured it wasn’t wise to argue with a pair of louts who’d had a few. Hey, John Mellencamp — were you were thinking of fine upstanding citizens like these guys when you wrote “ain’t that America”?

I’m off to the Merlin House around noon.

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Patriot’s Day reviews penned by Variety‘s Peter Debruge, The Hollywood Reporter‘s Shari Linden and Indiewire‘s Steve Greene suggest that Peter Berg and Mark Wahlberg‘s Patriot’s Day is a more layered and complex ensemble-type deal than the promos have indicated.

The only unfortunate aspect may be the decision to wedge Mark Wahlberg‘s Sgt. Tommy Saunders, a composite character, into the action whenever and however possible so he can play the impassioned, connect-the-dots hero.

“To the extent that the film works as a composite celebration of the dozens of people who came together to make ‘Boston strong,’ it’s an unwelcome distraction trying to follow Wahlberg’s character as he elbows his way into scene after scene, the way Jack Bauer or some fictional anti-terrorist action figure might,” Debruge writes.

“Wahlberg may be the star, but he’s not the hero of Patriots Day,” Debruge explains. “That would be Dun Meng (Jimmy O. Yang), the young Chinese immigrant who called 911. And Sgt. Jeffrey Pugliese (J.K. Simmons), the small-town police officer who actually tackled one of the terrorists. And Sean Collier (Jake Picking), the MIT campus cop who refused to let them take his weapon.”

“Wahlberg is no less engaging than in any of his somewhat under-appreciated screen performances,” says Linden. “Yet this is the least interesting of the men of duty he’s played for Berg, more a stand-in for the American working-class hero than a fully fleshed character. It’s no fault of Wahlberg’s when his brief third-act monologue remains a screenwriterly statement of theme, never finding a pulse.”

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Burt Reynolds sat for a q & a this evening at Key West’s San Carlos Institute folllowing a screening of Jesse Moss‘s Bandit (which isn’t half bad). Good old Burt. His usual, familiar smoothie self — cool and collected, deadpan humor, mellow vibe. But with a beard and tinted shades. The audience was laughing, applauding, in love. Burt’s legs are on the frail, shaky side but he walked out without a cane — good fellow. Here’s an mp3 of the whole thing. The interviewer was Rolling Stone critic David Fear.

Reynolds, who resides in Jupiter, Florida, teaches an acting class every Friday, he said, for students ranging “from ages 18 to 88.” He’s recently acted in a couple of smallish films (I didn’t write the titles down but he described one as kid-friendly with a feel-good vibe) and he’s got another couple of roles coming up.

I was sitting in the front row and raised my hand right away when Fear asked for questions. HE: “If you could do it over again would you still turn down Jack Nicholson‘s role in Terms of Endearment (’83)?” Reynolds: “I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my time, but that was one of the dumbest…no, I’d do it.” He actually may not have said the word “dumbest” (I haven’t transcribed the recording) but the thrust of his response was basically “yeah, I fucked up.”

After the half-hour chat ended Reynolds stood up, leaned over and began speaking to a good-looking little blonde boy (maybe six years old) who was sitting with his family in the second row. “Wow, you’re really gorgeous,” Reynold said, and then cautioned the kid to be careful and use his head. It’s a good thing David Ehrlich wasn’t there. He would have been enormously upset by this, a reminder that sometimes attractiveness really does help in certain ways.

Again, the mp3.

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As of right now, Peter Jackson‘s misbegotten King Kong remake (’05) has been officially forgotten and erased from mass consciousness. You can never trust trailers, of course, but Jordan Vogt-Roberts‘ Kong: Skull Island (Warner Bros., 3.10.17) seems to be a superior creation. Clearly. Apocalypse Kong with a super-plus-sized ape — 70 or 80 feet tall as opposed to the 25 foot tall creature from the 1933 original. I love the vibe of this thing — it looks like wall-to-wall dessert.