“Look at the picture. Where are my eyes? I’m staring at her nipples because I am afraid they are about to come onto my plate. In my face you can see the fear. I’m so frightened that everything in her dress is going to blow — BOOM! — and spill all over the table.” — Sophia Loren speaking to Entertainment Weekly‘s Joe McGovern in an 11.3 piece that I ignored until Vanity Fair‘s Joanna Robinson posted a link piece two days ago, and even then I dilly-dallied.

Batman can huff and puff and roar around in his Bat-cycle and in his fucking Batmobile and jump off skyscrapers and yaddah-yaddah but he can’t kick Superman’s ass because he’s mortal and quite vulnerable while Superman is — hello? — a super-stud extra-terrestrial who’s faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, can hurl an about-to-detonate atomic device into space and reverse the earth’s rotation if it comes to that. Superman can kick Batman’s ass while taking a nap or a bath or having a manicure so just shut up. The idea is fundamentally stupid.

Today is the 100th birthday of the great actor-producer Norman Lloyd, whom I had the honor of interviewing at his home a little more than nine years ago. At the time I was hopping up and down over Lloyd’s smallish but eloquent and quite stirring performance in Curtis Hanson‘s In Her Shoes. Two or three years ago I ran into Lloyd again when he was being honored in Cannes. Here’s a Todd McCarthy tribute that appeared in The Hollywood Reporter a week or so ago, and here’s a piece from Variety‘s Scott Foundas that posted yesterday. Scott Feinberg‘s two-part, two-year-old video interview with Lloyd is after the jump, ditto my ’05 interview. If there’s any kind of gathering for Lloyd today or tomorrow I’d sure like to drop by and pay my respects. Wells to Kenny: Norman Lloyd is another guy you wouldn’t want to describe as “really nice.” He is that, of course — one of the most kindly and gracious men I’ve ever spoken with — but there’s so much more to him that calling him “really nice” would almost sound like a kind of banal dismissal.

I posted this two and a half years ago, and am re-posting today in honor of the 100th birthday of the legendary Norman Lloyd: “If right now wasn’t the best time of my life — financially, spiritually, emotionally, health-wise — I probably couldn’t write this, but there are four acts or phases in the life of a gifted or at least driven samurai-poet-artist, and two of them are hell. Well, one and a half.

The first is called “my life hasn’t quite kicked into gear yet but it hopefully will, and if it doesn’t I’ll be flirting with varying degrees of misery for the rest of my life.” (A LexG subcurrent reads the same but has this addendum: “And I so can’t stand not being there that I’m going to drink/compulsively chase girls/smoke pot/gamble/shoot heroin to narcotize the pain.”) I was in this phase until I was 25 or 26, and even after I started to climb out of it things weren’t so great. It didn’t really get good until the late ’80s (when I got married and had kids) and early ’90s.

The second is called “it’s happening and it’s great, but I know it could all slip away if I don’t stay on the stick and work hard and eat right and stay away from the bad habits…I know things’ll be hard anyway from time to time, but I can roll with a downturn or two.”

The third phase is called “yep, this is really working out pretty well…steady as she goes, good writing happening, business is somewhere between plugging-along and thriving, sons are doing great, nice comfy abode, travel year round, cats are healthy, terrific motorcycle-sized scooter to buzz around on, booze is history, good eating habits, enjoying great-by-U.S.-standards wifi (which is substandard by South Korean or Japanese standards), anger issues at their lowest levels ever, great-quality streaming on 60″ Samsung, relatively lean, no pot belly and most of my hair hasn’t fallen out,” etc.

How does J.C. Chandor‘s A Most Violent Year play for the second time, having initially seen it only 24 hours earlier? No diminishment. Enhanced even on a couple of levels. The surprise-and-discovery thing can’t be repeated, of course, but it felt just as strong and clean and well-ordered and so well acted. I was re-absorbing the discipline and clarity and the general downmarket, snow-blanketed New York-iness of the early ’80s, which Chandor and his team have recreated to a T. Save me, bathe me, take me away, send me over the falls, etc. Nice hangin’ after the screening with director-writer Chandor, Oscar Isaac (now portraying Yonkers mayor Nick Wasicsko in David Simon and Paul Haggis’s Show Me A Hero, an HBO miniseries) and producers Neal Dodson and Anna Gerb. Here’s to my third and fourth viewings.

Following last night’s WME screening of A Most Violent Year (l. to r.) producer Neal Dodson, director-writer J.C. Chandor, star Oscar Isaac, producer Anna Gerb.

Oscar Isaac, Jessica Chastain during Thursday night’s AFI Fest after-party at Hollywood Roosevelt.

Most Violent Year costars Ben Rosenfield (Boardwalk Empire, Affluenza), David Oyelowo (MLK in Selma) during Hollywood Roosevelt gathering.

Jennifer Kent‘s Monster, The Babadook‘s predecessor, was made eight years ago for roughly $30K (Australian). Here, again, is my 11.1 summary review after having seen The Babadook in Savannah. And congrats to Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone for having watched Babadook and joined the caravan. I’ve posted an interview with Kent by a Matt’s Movie Reviews contributor after the jump.

Awareness of the Interstellar sound-mix issues have been kicking around since before the Paramount release opened two days ago. (I first complained about it on 10.24, or the day after the first elite-media screening on 10.23.) You’d have to be deaf and blind not to have heard about them by now, but reporters for the trades and the major print outlets have so far been asleep at the wheel. It’s obviously a huge story — a major filmmaker mixes a film in such a soupy and muddy way that people across the nation and in parts of Europe can’t hear certain portions of the dialogue and are tweeting complaints left and right — but for whatever reason the pros at Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, TheWrap, N.Y. Times, L.A. Times, Wall Street Journal and other print publications aren’t touching it.

From HE’s “Actionman,” received today: “You’re not lying. Either the sound mix was terrible or the people at IMAX said turn it up and keep it up because at the Cinemark in Manchester, CT, in their Imax-lite, you could barely hear dialogue that should’ve been heard. I don’t understand how something like this could happen.”

This mildly amusing mock trailer is Fox Searchlight-generated and that’s cool, but I don’t think it’s good enough. Birdman Returns is a sequel, mind, so what’s with the generic “in a world of darkness…in a time of chaos” set-up? That’s the kind of broad-stroke, set-up narration you would use for a teaser for the first Birdman flick…no? And why not some dialogue snips of the 1992 Michael Keaton playing Birdman’s debonair alter ego?

During last night’s A Most Violent Year after-party a friend was telling one of the producers that director J.C. Chandor is “so nice!” Right away I rolled my eyes. I understand the need to flatter and gladhand, but people have to come up with something besides “nice” when they want to show obeisance before power. I guess what my friend meant is that J.C. is extra nice as opposed to run-of-the-mill, no-big-deal nice. Except there isn’t a person in this town who doesn’t wear a pleasant, easy-vibe “nice” face in a professional or social situation. Saying that a person is nice is like saying it’s good that they have both feet or that they have ears on both sides of their head. This town could die of people with “nice” personalities. Regular nice. Effusive nice. Elbow-nudge nice. Extra double-strength gushy nice. Nicey-nice. Quietly nice. Triple somersault nice. Smooth nice. Nice with a double shot of espresso. “So” nice. Inherent nice. Silly playful nice. Perfunctory nice. Sincerely nice. I agree about Mr. Chandor. He’s a good-natured, real-deal alpha guy with a kindly core. And he’s fairly modest to boot. But whenever I hear anyone is “so nice!” it’s almost like chalk on a blackboard.

Earlier today AFI Fest announced that a secret screening will happen on Tuesday, 11.11 at 9 pm at the Egyptian. The film that everyone wants to see, of course, is Clint Eastwood‘s American Sniper (Warner Bros., 12.25), but I’m guessing this won’t happen. (WB, a big-shot corporation, likes to show its own films its own way…harumph.) What I suspect is that AFI Fest will show some moderate interest mid-range title, and most likely a December release. Liv Ullman‘s Miss Julie, I’m thinking. Or Jean-Marc Vallee‘s Wild (Fox Searchlight, 12.5), which of course had its big debut at Telluride over two months ago. Or Ridley Scott‘s Exodus: Gods and Kings. Or Tim Burton‘s Big Eyes. It won’t be Angelina Jolie‘s Unbroken because that’s set for its big screenings on 11.30 and 12.1. Hey, what about Annie?

J.C. Chandor‘s A Most Violent Year (A24, 12.31), which screened last night at the Dolby on Hollywood Boulevard, is a smartly written, super-gripping, edge-of-your-seat New York melodrama about a driven but principled businessman (Oscar Isaac), married to the tough daughter of a jailed crime boss (Jessica Chastain), who’s struggling to keep his heating-oil business afloat as he deals with truckjacking, an unstable loan situation and possible prosecution for financial impropriety. It’s not some ultra-violent, blood-smeared thing about relentless shoot-outs and punch-outs and squealing tires. The title definitely misleads. But it’ll grab you and then some, especially if you’re over 15 or 16. If you’re semi-educated and over 25 or 30, pig heaven! Especially if you’ve been watching films all your life or…you know, if you’re an HE regular.

Every performance delivers although I wish more scenes and a grander, darker arc had been given to Chastain, who has three or four times the role here that she does in Interstellar, as well as to Albert Brooks, who scores as Isaac’s droll, even-tempered, slightly corrupt attorney. And every scene has been pruned to the bone, and almost every line is note-perfect. A Most Violent Year is not flawless but it’s damn close to that, at least for my money.

Those looking for visceral thrills (and let’s face it — a lot of apes out there are going to see this thing expecting an adrenaline-fueled ride with a lot of blood on the pavement) should know that A Most Violent Year has one of the best car, running-on-foot and subway chase sequences in a dog’s age or maybe decades. It doesn’t quite match the subway-car chase sequence in The French Connection but it definitely belongs in the same ballpark, and that means it’s been shot and cut so that you can actually follow the action. This sequence alone is worth the price, but there’s a lot more to savor and sink into.

And the sound mix! I realized last night that I’ve been more traumatized by Interstellar‘s soupy sound than I knew because as the lights went down I muttered to myself, “Please, God…don’t make this as murky and bassy and hard to fucking understand as Interstellar. I just want to hear the dialogue…please.” And I did! Every word, phrase and sentence was clear and crisp. I didn’t miss a damn thing.