Woody Allen needs to stop piddling around with relationship trifles like Rifkin’s Festival and make a movie that metaphorically grapples with the one great tragedy of his life — an alleged episode that happened nearly 30 years ago and is still hovering.
He needs to write a Crimes and Misdemeanors-level drama that might resemble David Mamet‘s Oleanna or Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse, or might not resemble either of these. But he has to come to grips with the wokester mob in dramatic terms.
Make it a murder thing perhaps — a possibly innocent middle-aged guy appears to be guilty of murdering an ex-wife or ex-girlfriend. Or maybe an ex-business partner. Circumstantial evidence accumulates and he’s eventually charged and prosecuted. Maybe he goes to jail or maybe he gets off. Or maybe we learn at the last moment that he’s guilty. Something along those lines.
Allen has addressed the Farrow fiction in his autobiography, but it needs to be used for dramatic fodder.
And then imagine that Scott never wrote it and Gabe Johnson never produced it. Do you understand that Scott and Johnson would never compose such a piece today? Because the political climate at the N.Y. Times and throughout wokester culture (which Scott subscribes to body and soul) wouldn’t allow for a favorable Polanski tribute because of the #MeToo vendetta against the 78 year-old director.
If Scott was for some reason ordered by his eccentric editors to re-assess Rosemary’s Baby in a video-essay format, he would adopt an entirely different tack — trust me. Because at the end of the day, all film criticism is political.
Cultures change and consciousness evolves, and this is where we are today — an artist’s unfortunate personal history (which I personally deplore in Polanski’s case) automatically and irrevocably cancels the artistic value of his or her films…period. The idea of judging a flawed but genius-level artist and his/her work on separate planes has been thrown out the window. “Polanski is evil” and so his latest film, J’Accuse, must be indefinitely shunned.
And I mean shunned…you can’t even buy an English-subtitled Bluray or rent a streaming version of same, and it’s easily among my top-five films of 2020. A brilliant investigative drama on the level of Z, a first-rate courtroom drama, a magnificent capturing of 1890s “belle epoque” Paris…crafted with absolute surgical genius…a meticulous, hugely engrossing reconstruction of the Dreyfus affair..a tale told lucidly, clue by clue, layer by layer.
I’m reposting something that’s less than four months old, but it has to be re-injected and re-contemplated. The spiritual message herein is like oxygen, like honeysuckle, like the moisture of clouds in Switzerland.
Three and a half months ago a journo pally became alarmed by my anti-Khmer Rouge postings. He wanted to help me adjust and accept. “If you were a driver heading into the wrong lane of the Malibu Canyon tunnel, I’d stop you,” he wrote, sounding like a combination of O’Brien in Nineteen Eighty-Four and Bing Crosby in Going My Way. “If you were a neighbor whose house was on fire, I’d hand you the water hose. If you reported to me at [a publication], I’d steer you toward writing about film and television…writing that called upon your vast reservoir of knowledge, your passion, intellect, savvy — and away from your darker impulses.”
“There’s a way to have fun, serve your readers and steer a sober, responsible business course,” O’Brien went on. “There are ways for you to embrace the changes of our times, to highlight the incredible talents in every creative category of filmmaking, celebrate filmmakers from around the world and in every corner of our country. That’s a much better use of your time and a much better business strategy than [following your present course].
“You wrote a column a while back about reflecting on your life, your feelings, about turning over a new leaf. Do that. Lay down your weary tune. Turn on your love light. Get in touch with your inner Pig Pen. Submit, surrender, get with the program.”
HE to Journo Pally: Wow, thanks. I agree with the positive thrust of the message, but — don’t take this the wrong way — you also sound a bit like Dr. Kauffman trying to persuade Kevin McCarthy‘s Miles to relax and let the seed pods take over.
Dr. Kauffman: Less than a month ago, West Hollywood was like any other town. People with nothing but problems. Then out of the progressive community came a solution. Seeds drifting through space for years took root in a farmer’s field. From the seeds came pods which had the power to reproduce themselves in the exact likeness of any form of life. Miles: So that’s how it began…out of the sky. Dr. Kauffman: Your new bodies are growing in there. They’re taking you over cell for cell, atom for atom. There is no pain. Suddenly, while you’re asleep, they’ll absorb your minds, your memories and you’ll be reborn into a simpler, purer world. Miles: Where everyone’s a wokester? Dr. Kauffman: Exactly. If you give in, tomorrow you’ll be one of us, and you can become the new Perri Nemiroff. You’ll be happier. You’ll smile all the time. Miles: I love films by Roman Polanski and Woody Allen. Will I feel the same tomorrow? Dr. Kauffman: [shakes his head] There will be no more need for Allen or Polanski or any other artist who hasn’t accepted the new reality. Miles: No more watching J’Accuse or Rosemary’s Baby or The Pianist? No more Manhattan or Crimes and Misdemeanors? Dr. Kauffman: You say it as if it were terrible. Believe me, it isn’t. We’ve all seen their films. They never last. They never do. Sardonic wit. Love and desire. Intrigue. Betrayal and facing evil. Without their films, life will be so much simpler, believe me. Miles: You’re basically saying I need to stop fighting the idea that if I wasn’t a huge fan of Little Women, I’m a sexist who doesn’t get it. Dr. Kauffman: Miles, if you didn’t like Little Women you are a sexist who doesn’t get it. Don’t you understand that? Miles: I don’t want any part of it. Dr. Kauffman: You’re forgetting something, Miles. Miles: What’s that? Dr. Kauffman: You have no choice.
Everyone knows how Scott Feinberg‘s award-season forecasts break down. The ten films included in his Frontrunners tally are well-situated to the extent that most (i.e., Scott always includes a couple of stragglers) are likely to be Best Picture-nominated.
It’s axiomatic in this highly political year, especially in the wake of last summer’s George Floyd protests, that any well-reviewed, professionally assembled film featuring a primarily POC cast will be Best Picture nominated, and so Feinberg, being no fool, has included Netflix’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, Amazon’s One Night in Miami and Pixar’s Soul in his Frontrunners roster.
None of these three films even approaches the quality of Steve McQueen‘s Mangrove, Lovers Rock and Red White & Blue, but McQueen’s “Small Axe” quintet is Emmy material and so we’re left with what we’re left with. No disrespect intended, but two of these features are basically filmed plays, and Soul is emotionally indecisive and all over the map and fairly infuriating for that.
The question for Oscar-race handicappers is “why does Feinberg have it in for Spike Lee‘s Da 5 Bloods“? I don’t mean to imply that Feinberg has a hardnosed problem with Lee’s film but there must be some reason why he’s included it in the much-dreaded “Major Threats” category.
If Feinberg has categorized your awards-hopeful film as a “major threat,” you’re…well, I’d better be careful here. I was going to say “you’re as good as dead” but what I really mean is that “major threat” means “uh-oh.” Over the last several weeks Da 5 Bloods has been on just about every Best Picture top-ten contender list. Right now it’s occupying the #9 slot on the Gold Derby expert list.
Feinberg is just one guy, of course, and voters will vote how they want to vote, etc. Especially the crowd that voted last year for Parasite…people that live on their own planet.
Here are the films included in Feinberg’s top four categories. Hollywood Elsewhere has boldfaced those titles that really and truly have the Best Picture juice …films that deserve to be Best Picture nominated in the eyes of the Movie Godz. Before starting I’m going to say for seventh or eight time over the last three or four weeks that while Steve McQueen’s Mangrove and Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse won’t be under consideration for reasons that have nothing to do with quality, they would DEFINITELY be Best Picture hotties in a fair and just universe.
Frontrunners
Nomadland (Searchlight) The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Netflix) Minari (A24 — Spirit Awards) Promising Young Woman (Focus) Sound of Metal (Amazon) The Father (Sony Classics) Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (Netflix) One Night in Miami (Amazon) Soul (Pixar) Mank (Netflix)
Robert Towne‘s definition of the essence of a good film is “four or five” fundamental, touch-bottom moments “between two people.” That’s not the same thing as Howard Hawks‘ definition of a good film — “Three great scenes and no bad ones.” But it’s close enough or at least in the same ballpark.
Yes, that’s correct — it’s time once again to ask which of this year’s presumed Best Picture candidates satisfy the Hawks or Towne requirements.
Without getting too bogged down in micro-analysis, does Nomadland measure up? I’d say “certainly” without question. Ditto Steve McQueen‘s Mangrove, Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse (again — one has to be able to separate one’s opinion of an artist from the work itself), Aaron Sorkin‘s Trial of the Chicago 7, Florian Zeller‘s The Father (which I watched last night for the second time), David Fincher‘s Mank and Darius Marder‘s Sound of Metal.
You want me to list the great or very good scenes in each one? Sure but later. I’m going on a hike soon.
What about Promising Young Woman, Minari, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, One Night in Miami, News of the World, Da 5 Bloods and Soul?
If you’ve ever read any of Scott Feinberg‘s “Brutally Honest Oscar Voter” columns, you know that a lot of Academy members are, to put it gently, stubbornly resistant to what could be described as present-tense, finger-to-the-wind, representational snowflake currents.
If you wanted to be dismissive you could call them woke-indifferent, under-the-radar scowlers. As in unenlightened, incurious, living in their own foxholes, “I miss the ’70s”, somewhat resentful, “I’m from Missouri,” “everything sucks,” etc.
They’re not lacking in talent or intelligence or love for movie lore, these people, but they do seem irked by the social justice warrior syndrome…to processing all the contenders with a carefully calibrated woke filter. They like what they like and respect what they respect, but they sometimes vote for films that the wokesters despise (i.e., Green Book) and thank God in heaven for that.
God Herself howled in triumph, trust me, on the night that Green Book won and Spike Lee turned his back. And She beamed with delight when Get Out was blown off.
There are, of course, many other Academy members who see things differently. Particularly the newly added internationals who voted overwhelmingly for Parasite + the New Academy Kidz who hate anything that smacks of OLDER WHITE GUYS and are always thinking “let’s give actors and filmmakers who aren’t part of the older-white-guy, Spielberg-stamped network a chance.”
But based on those “Brutally Honest” confessionals, a good percentage of Oscar voters and guild members don’t think like…well, any of the elite critics and Oscar-watching columnists.
It’s like Clayton Davis, Eric Kohn, Justin Chang, Tom O’Neill, Robbie Collin, Manohla Dargis, Angelica Jade Bastién, Steve Pond, Erik Anderson, David Ehrlich, Alison Willmore…it’s like the wokesterati and SJW banner carriers live on one planet, and the people who actually work in the film industry and vote for Oscars (and Emmys and guild awards) live on another.
Do certain tastes and preferences overlap? Yes, of course, but generally speaking very few….I should say almost no critics or columnists seem to live, think and breathe like the rank and file. Put another way, very few critic-columnists dare to think and write like stubbornly independent foxhole contrarians. Because to do so would mean (and this is crucial) not getting hired by the editors and publishers who are also living in fear of the Khmer Rouge…who are white-knuckle terrified of offending the comintern.
Bottom line: If you want to be survive in the film-assessing, Oscar-covering journalistic world of 2020 and ’21, you must play along with the wokesters. Or at least pretend to play along. Which is why almost everyone is more or less singing the same tune.
Except, that is, for Hollywood Elsewhere (i.e., myself) and a few others out there. That’s right…HE and very few others stand alone. Alone against the wind and the herd.
Here’s HE’s latest Best Picture chart. I’m honestly split 50/50 on the merits of Chloe Zhao‘s Nomadland and David Fincher‘s Mank, and so they’re tied for second place. (At least for the time being.) They’re both excellent films, and in a Mangrove-free world either could easily occupy the #1 slot. But Steve McQueen’s film happened, and there’s no question it’s 2020’s finest.
Curious as it may seem to some, I regard Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse (i.e., An Officer and a Spy) as a 2020 feature, even though it never opened (and probably never will open) stateside.
It had its world premiere at the 2019 Venice Film Festival, and began to illegally stream earlier this year. In my book that makes it a necessary 2020 release, as there was no other way to see it. The Polanski stamp demanded the attention of film mavens the world over. Even if J’Accuse was streaming right now on Amazon, Netflix or HBO Max, would most critics ignore it all the same? Probably. The applicable terms are “fear” and “cowardice.” Or, if you will, “playing it safe.”
I have nothing but disgust and condemnation for any sexual abuser in any realm, but in this instance it’s also unconscionable, I feel, to not separate Polanski the artist from Polanski the flawed individual. Brilliant filmmaking is brilliant filmmaking, and it’s completely derelict for critics to ignore this film, as almost all of them have over the last year or so.
I had to give J’Accuse the third place slot — it’s too mesmerizing, too exacting and too searing to be designated any other way.
The Mangrove irony, of course, is that Amazon has decided not to go for Oscars but Emmys, which I regard, due respect, as a mistake. If I’d been in Amazon’s shoes I would have submitted the other four Small Axe films — Lovers Rock, Education, Alex Wheatle and Red, White and Blue — for Emmy consideration while declaring Mangrove to be a theatrical, Oscar-qualifying, stand-alone feature.
There’s no theatrical realm to speak of these days so any half-decent streamer can (and in Mangrove‘s case, definitely should) be regarded as a Best Picture contender. If any 2020 film deserves to be so regarded, it’s Mangrove.
If not for the pandemic Mangrove would have premiered in Cannes last May, perhaps played a couple of early fall festivals besides NYFF ’20, and gone on to a semblance of theatrical glory. It would’ve certainly emerged as a top-ten favorite on all the lists. Academy and guild voters would’ve had no choice but bestow a Best Picture nomination, as they did six years ago with McQueen’s 12 Years A Slave.
1. Steve McQueen‘s Mangrove — despite Amazon aiming it at the Emmys, it’s the best dramatic feature of 2020.
2. (tied for 2nd place) Chloe Zhao‘s Nomadland and David Fincher‘s Mank.
3. Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse (An Officer and a Spy) — Ignoring this brilliant film is cowardly and shameful on the part of distributors and everyone else who has looked away in fear.
4. Florian Zeller‘s The Father
5. Aaron Sorkin‘s The Trial of the Chicago 7
6. Emerald Fennell‘s Promising Young Woman
7. Rod Lurie‘s The Outpost
8. Judd Apatow‘s The King of Staten Island
9. Lee Isaac Chung‘s Minari
10. Ryan Murphy‘s The Prom — Not a fan of the first 50 to 60 minutes, but I love how it ends. Made me choke up, in fact.
HE Honorable Mention: Chris Nolan‘s Tenet, Kornel Muncruczo‘s Pieces of a Woman, Charlie Kaufman‘s I’m Thinking About Ending Things, Michael Winterbottom‘s The Trip to Greece, Cory Finley and Mike Makowski‘s Bad Education, Kelly Reichardt‘s First Cow, George C. Wolfe‘s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, Regina King‘s One Night in Miami, Spike Lee‘s Da 5 Bloods. (9)
Yesterday I finally saw a good portion of Steve McQueen‘s “Small Axe” quintet — specifically Mangrove, Red White and Blue and Lover’s Rock. (I’ve yet to watch Alex Wheatle, which I’m been told is the least of the five, and Education.) I was delighted to be finally sinking into the Big Three. McQueen is such a masterful filmmaker. He elevates material simply by focusing, framing and sharpening. His eye (visual choices) and sense of rhythm are impeccable. This, I was muttering to myself, is ace-level filmmaking….this is what it’s all about.
I was hugely impressed by all three, but especially by Mangrove, a gripping, well-throttled political drama which echoes and parallels Aaron Sorkin‘s Trial of the Chicago 7.
Both are about (a) landmark trials involving police brutality in the general time frame of the late ’60s and early ’70s, (b) activist defendants and flame-fanning media coverage, (c) an imperious, disapproving judge (Alex Jennings is McQueen’s Frank Langella), (d) a passionate barrister for the defense (Jack Lowden as a kind of British Bill Kuntsler), and (e) a decisive verdict or narrative aftermath that exposed institutional bias.
Mangrove (Amazon, currently streaming) is primarily about the late Frank Crichlow (Shaun Parkes), the owner-operator of a neighborhood-friendly Notting Hill restaurant that served spicy food, attracted a cutting-edge clientele (locals, journalists, activists, Jimi Hendrix) and became a kind of community nerve center for political hey-hey.
Racist British cops raided the Mangrove 12 times between January ’69 and July ’70. A “hands off the Mangrove” protest march happened in August ’70. The event ended in violence and the arrests of nine protesters (the “Mangrove Nine”), who were tried in the Old Bailey. They were almost entirely acquitted of all charges.
Everything about the 128-minute Mangrove is perfectly fused and balanced just so — the brilliant script by McQueen and Alastair Siddons, Shabier Kirchner‘s cinematography, Chris Dickens‘ editing and just about every performance (Parkes, Jennings, Letitia Wright, Malachi Kirby, Lowden, Rochenda Sandall, Nathaniel Martello-White , Darren Braithwaite, Sam Spruell).
The decisive way in which McQueen focuses on Crichlow/Parkes when the jury verdicts are finally read — staying on him, never cutting away, drilling down on the feeling — is one of the most riveting courtroom shots I’ve ever seen.
I was saying to myself that if Mangrove was a Best Picture contender, it would absolutely be right at the top of my list. Actually it is at the top of my list, except Amazon hasn’t categorized any of the “Small Axe” films (which were aired as a British miniseries) as features, and is aiming them, award-wise, at Emmy voters. But Mangrove is easily good enough to stand alongside Nomadland, Mank, Trial of the Chicago 7 and any other highly-rated 2020 film you might want to celebrate.
Mangrove is a major, grade-A motion picture — angrily alive, emotionally and atmospherically vibrant and urgent, heartfelt and rooted in real-deal history and hurt. And yet Amazon has decided, for reasons that no doubt make sense from a certain perspective, that it doesn’t belong the Best Picture competish. For me Mangrove is the second major 2020 film that warrants the top prize but which no one will be considering, the other being Roman Polanski‘s J’Accuse (i.e., An Officer and a Spy), which I saw earlier this year and went totally nuts for.
We all understand how quaint the idea of physical media has become. I’m nonetheless indebted to Tatiana for having insisted last night that I alphabetizemy450Blurays. A paltry-sized library by some standards, I realize, but I’ve been slowing down on purchases over the last three or four years. I’ve been buying Blurays since ’06, but until last night I hadn’t alphabetized. Strange as it sounds, I enjoyed searching for five or ten minutes in order to find a given title.
We now have a special row of Region 2 Blurays, two rows of Criterion, and sections devoted to Kubrick, Polanski, Hitchcock, etc.
Did you know, incidentally, that American movie fanatics aren’t allowed to even stream Polanski’s latest film, the utterly brilliant J’Accuse (aka An Officer and a Spy), because of some reprehensible personal behavior on Polanski’s part that happened 40-plus years ago? I’ve suggested that his personal history shouldn’t be confused with his artistic accomplishments, that they exist on separate planes. J’Accuse is indisputably one of the finest films of 2020 (not exaggerating) but that don’t cut no ice with a certain segment.
HE to Journo Pally: You know what’s going on out there. You know how p.c. knee-jerk spitballing is baked into the default mindset of at least some Gold Derby handicappers. That or they’ve been terrorized into thinking that way. I talk about possibly gathering together an alternative attitude fraternity that might not fall into line with quite the same willingness and p.c. obsequiousness, and you put me down for that?
Journo Pally to HE: If you were a driver heading into the wrong lane of the Malibu Canyon tunnel, I’d stop you. If you were a neighbor whose house was on fire, I’d hand you the water hose. If you reported to me at [a publication], I’d steer you toward writing about film and television…writing that called upon your vast reservoir of knowledge, your passion, intellect, savvy — and away from your darker impulses.
There’s a way to have fun, serve your readers and steer a sober, responsible business course. There are ways for you to embrace the changes of our times, to highlight the incredible talents in every creative category of filmmaking, celebrate filmmakers from around the world and in every corner of our country. That’s a much better use of your time and a much better business strategy than [your] Straight Shooters idea.
You wrote a column a while back about reflecting on your life, your feelings, about turning over a new leaf. Do that. Lay down your weary tune. Turn on your love light. Get with the program.
HE to Journo Pally: Wow, thanks. I agree with the positive thrust of the message, but — don’t take this the wrong way — you also sound a bit like Dr. Kauffman trying to persuade Kevin McCarthy‘s “Miles” to relax and let the seed pods take over.
Dr. Kauffman: Less than a month ago, West Hollywood was like any other town. People with nothing but problems. Then out of the progressive community came a solution. Seeds drifting through space for years took root in a farmer’s field. From the seeds came pods which had the power to reproduce themselves in the exact likeness of any form of life. Miles: So that’s how it began…out of the sky. Dr. Kauffman: Your new bodies are growing in there. They’re taking you over cell for cell, atom for atom. There is no pain. Suddenly, while you’re asleep, they’ll absorb your minds, your memories and you’ll be reborn into a simpler, purer world. Miles: Where everyone’s a wokester? Dr. Kauffman: Exactly. If you give in, tomorrow you’ll be one of us, and you can become the new Perri Nemiroff. You’ll be happier. You’ll smile all the time. Miles: I love films by Roman Polanski and Woody Allen. Will I feel the same tomorrow? Dr. Kauffman: [shakes his head] There will be no more need for Allen or Polanski or any other artist who hasn’t accepted the new reality. Miles: No more watching J’Accuse or Rosemary’s Baby or The Pianist? No more Manhattan or Crimes and Misdemeanors? Dr. Kauffman: You say it as if it were terrible. Believe me, it isn’t. We’ve all seen their films. They never last. They never do. Sardonic wit. Love and desire. Intrigue. Betrayal and facing evil. Without their films, life will be so much simpler, believe me. Miles: You’re basically saying I need to stop fighting the idea that if I wasn’t a huge fan of Little Women, I’m a sexist who doesn’t get it. Dr. Kauffman: Miles, if you didn’t like Little Women you are a sexist who doesn’t get it. Don’t you understand that? Miles: I don’t want any part of it. Dr. Kauffman: You’re forgetting something, Miles. Miles: What’s that? Dr. Kauffman: You have no choice.
Deadline‘s Peter Bartreported today that Roman Polanski, 87, is “resolutely pursuing [an] appeal” about the Motion Picture Academy’s 2018 decision to expel him from Academy membership.
Polanski feels he was denied due process, but of course “due process” had nothing to do with it — he was ousted because wokesters and #MeToo-ers have blacklisted him, plain and simple. Not just over the 43 year-old Samantha Geimer case but other reports about sexual misconduct, also dating back to the ’70s and ’80s.
The Academy appeal is headed for Los Angeles Superior Court tomorrow (Tuesday, 8.25).
HE response: I have seen Polanski’s An Officer and a Spy (aka J’Accuse) twice online. It’s an immaculate period piece and an indisputably brilliant film in pretty much every respect, not to mention a highly persuasive argument against mob-driven injustice and ant-Semitism — easily the finest film I’ve seen so far this year. A mature way of processing this dichotomy would be to say there are two entities to consider — Polanski the flawed human being (and who isn’t?) vs. Polanski the artist. A mature conclusion would be that it is rash and unwise to throw the artist baby out with the flawed-human bathwater.
