Five weeks ago I did a short little riff on six Sundance ’14 standouts. But the more I sift through the programs, the less excited I am. I’m not down on anything — just even-toned. The usual 25 or so films will be seen and the usual five or six (at most) will emerge as genuine standouts. The first order of business is always to decide which films look dicey, and in that effort my heartfelt thanks to the team at Total Film — experience has taught me that almost everything these guys are excited about and hoping to like, I’m probably going to find irksome or dislikable or worse. Here, in any event, are a few pre-festival spitballs — instinct, off the top, “what do I know?”

Damien Chazelle‘s Whiplash appears to have heat, granted, but Miles Teller irritates me for what I freely admit are unfair and unwarranted reasons. (That “driving and not looking” scene in The Spectacular Now is one of them.) Steve James‘ Life Itself, the Roger Ebert doc, will be poignant and moving and very well crafted, I’m sure, but I wonder how nakedly honest — the more reverent the portrayal, the less interesting the subject becomes. Gareth Evans‘ The Raid 2: Bernandal is an instant must-to-avoid because (a) I hated The Raid (thanks once again to James Rocchi for recommending it two or three Torontos ago) and (b) I am, as always, fiercely committed to avoiding all Asian-based or Asian-produced action films for the rest of my life. The deadly obnoxious conceit of Michael Fassbender wearing a ceramic mask over his head throughout the entire length of Frank (according to plot descriptions) is obviously a potential catastrophe. The One I Love with Mark Duplass and Elizabeth Moss has to be at least decent. And the generic description of William H. Macy‘s Rudderless — “a musical drama about the power of a parent’s love” — has me scared shitless.

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Four good things came out of Sunday night’s Golden Globes Awards. 12 Years A Slave winning for Best Motion Picture, Drama inserted a helpful nudge factor in the deliberations of Academy voters who might otherwise be looking to blow it off because, as several award-season pulsetakers have noted, they feel it’s a morally urgent, award-worthy effort but too much of a grueling sit. Leonardo DiCaprio‘s win for Best Actor, Comedy/Musical was a significant score for The Wolf of Wall Street and an indication that he may land a well-deserved Best Actor Oscar nomination. (This plus an expected Best Picture nom plus one for Best Adapted Screenplay and, if there’s a God of Fairness, a Best Supporting Actor nomination for Jonah Hill.) Ditto the Best Actress, Comedy/Musical win by American Hustle‘s Amy Adams…probably. And the Movie Godz completely agreed with Her‘s Spike Jonze winning for Best Screenplay.

The surprised but elated Slave gang after Sunday night’s win.

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During last night’s Golden Globes monologue, Amy Poehler said the following: “After 12 years A Slave, I will never look at slavery the same way again.” At first I was confused, and then I deciphered her meaning. What she was saying (I think) is that Steve McQueen‘s movie is redundant — that we all know that slavery is and was evil, and so who needs to sit through an artful, brutally frank recreation of what Solomon Northup went through 160 years ago? That’s what I was thinking before I saw it at Telluride. Who needs it? And then it began and I was reminded what knockout movie art can sometimes feel like. Watching 12 Years A Slave awoke me to a reality that I’ve been aware of all my life, but which I hadn’t really felt. I never let it in. And now I have. But Amy Poehler didn’t. Okay, she might have but the joke definitely sucked.

My first reaction when I read this tweet last night was “thank God we have men of backbone like Ronan Farrow to speak truth to power when the rest of the world is averting its gaze.” Seriously — what a terrible thing that Woody Allen hasn’t been sufficiently villified and condemned for behavior that might have happened…what, 21 or 22 years ago? Lament not — the son of Frank Sinatra is on the case and he doesn’t back down. There’s more than a little touch of Hoboken in Farrow. He might be right, but he also might be a bit of an asshole. Never trust the artist — trust the tale. I trust the morality and the humanity of the movies Allen has made over the last 40-plus years.

Five days ago /FilmCast interviewer David Chen posted an audio interview with City Arts critic Armond White about the New York Film Critics heckling incident that ultimately resulted in White’s ouster today from that organization. Here’s the mp3. It lasts two minutes and 58 seconds. Make your own judgment.

Curtis Reeves, a 71-year-old former Tampa police officer, shot and killed a man this afternoon inside a Tampa movie theatre, reportedly over a texting argument. It happened during a showing of Lone Survivor at the Cobb Cine Bistro in a Tampa suburb called Wesley Chapel. The victim has been identified as Chad Oulson, a husband and father who reportedly had explained to Reeves that he was texting his three-year-old daughter. Oulson’s wife Nicole was also shot but only in the hand — i.e., not fatally.

A local news report includes the following (and this is the key thing): “A witness recalled seeing [Reeves] get up and leave in an apparent attempt to find a manager. When he came back alone, the argument escalated.” In other words, if a theatre manager had calmly but firmly intervened and insisted that Oulson stop texting (or that he needed to text from the lobby), it’s entirely possible that Reeves would have felt placated and wouldn’t have shot Oulson.

I blame Reeves, of course — this was obviously the act of an unstable personality. But the errant manager of the Cobb Cine Bistro, I feel, bears a portion of the responsibility.

Management never gets involved in these matters. Talkers, texters, bellowing apes…managers are always unavailable. They always chicken out, hiding in their offices, “busy,” etc. Movie theatres have become chaotic, emotionally dangerous environments to some extent. Handguns, cell phones, hair-trigger rage…it’s Dodge City out there. I know — last month I dealt with an asshole who wouldn’t shut up during a screening of The Wolf of Wall Street, and all I did was stare at the guy and he was thisclose to starting something with me.

This was a problem from the get-go because it was a generational dispute — Reeves is retired (probably in his late 60s or early 70s) and Oulson, the father of a three-year-old, was presumably fairly young — a member of the texting generation who probably had a comme ci comme ca attitude. And then along came Dirty Harry — a conservative man who undoubtedly felt that that Oulson was being unconscionably selfish and violating his rights as a moviegoer, and who couldn’t hold it together. And who was packing.

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In a just-posted N.Y. Times piece called “The Flood Next Time,” Justin Gillis reports the following: “The evidence suggests that the sea-level rise has probably accelerated, to about a foot a century, and scientists think it will accelerate still more. The official stance of the world’s climate scientists is that the global sea level could rise as much as three feet by the end of this century, if emissions continue at a rapid pace. Some scientific evidence supports even higher numbers, five feet and beyond in the worst case. Scientists say the East Coast will be hit harder for many reasons, but among the most important is that even as the seawater rises, the land in this part of the world is sinking.”

What are the responses, for the most part? (1) “Talk to China and India — not us”; (2) “Yes, sea levels are rising and the East Coast will definitely be in trouble down the road. But these conditions won’t affect us or our kids — they will affect our grandkids and great-grandkids”; (3) “Yes, we should all be riding bicycles and driving hybrids and generally reducing our carbon footprint, but a lot of people — politicians, movie stars and their ‘people,’ women and especially mothers — feel safe when they ride around in SUVs, especially during the Sundance Film Festival, so what are ya gonna do?”

I know this: never before in the history of our species have educated people of power and influence blithely shrugged en masse and admitted that advanced cultures are slowly drowning the earth — i.e., that the earth’s ecosystem is gradually being overwhelmed by industry, and that this will lead to sea water gradually engulfing the low-lying areas of the United States and causing all kinds of havoc, probably less than 100 years from now. No other culture has ever been confronted with this situation before, and the main reason this catastrophe is more or less assured is that people are determined to enrich themselves as much as possible before dealing with the climate. Money and comfort above all! This basically means adopting a myopic attitude and delaying decisions ad infinitum.

Armond White, the contrarian City Arts critic who reportedly heckled 12 Years A Slave director Steve McQueen during last week’s New York Film Critics Circle award ceremony by calling him “an embarassing doorman” and “a garbageman,” was officially and permanently expelled from the NYFCC this morning by an executive committee, according to a N.Y. Times report posted a little after 2 pm today, and a post by Entertainment Weekly critic Owen Gleiberman.

City Arts critic Armond White

White brought this on himself, of course. Loud heckling is, of course, a vile, low-rent way to make a point. White didn’t just assault McQueen but the propriety and dignity of the NYFCCC. He deliberately asked for this. I recently wrote that if (I said “if“) alcohol was a factor, the only way White could save his skin would be to plead alcoholism and pledge to enter rehab. If White wasn’t drinking and he heckled McQueen sober, he had no excuse. He was a dead man as far as the NYFCC was concerned.

Then again White’s heckling was the source of at least two Golden Globe awards jokes last night. Co-host Amy Poehler addressed Matt Damon at one point and said, tongue obviously in cheek, “Sorry but you’re a just a garbageman” (or words to that effect). When he took the stage 20 or 30 minutes later, Damon said, “It’s me, the garbageman.”

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Richard Linklater‘s Boyhood, a kind of Michael Apted-ish docudrama about the real-life journey of a boy from age 6 through 18, has been added to the 2014 Sundance Film Festival slate. Pic will screen at the Eccles on Sunday, 1.19. The film, which has been shooting in Austin at semi-regular intervals since ’02, follows the young lead, Ellar Simon, from age 6 or 7 to 18, or from kindergarten to leaving home for college. Ethan Hawke and Patricia Arquette play his divorced parents. The film is obviously inspired by Apted’s Up films — a series of docs that have portrayed the lives of several British kids since 1964.

Boyhood star Ellar Simon.

Hawke told Indiewire that “[after] about 20 minutes, your eyes just start tearing up and you don’t even know why. It’s about the nature of time and how it’s crashing into us all.” In another interview with Flixist, Hawke elaborated: “In just the period of a two-hour movie, you watch a human being grow up. It’s almost like watching a flower bloom in time-elapsed photography. For one minute you’re watching a six-year-old boy, and it’s so beautiful what Richard does with time: you don’t ever see him go from six to seven, to seven to eight, to eight to nine. I think it’s the greatest thing that Linklater’s ever done. It’s mind-blowing.”

Apology: When I first posted this I somehow confused Boyhood with “Youth,” the Joseph Conrad short story.

7:57 pm: WHAT? I spoke too soon! 12 Years A Slave takes the Best Motion Picure, Drama award? Yes! This wasn’t in the cards, or certainly didn’t seem to be. You can plainly see that director Steve McQueen is dumbfounded — “I wasn’t expecting this!,” he just said. An amazing finale….totally unexpected. And totally justified. Wow! Obviously a very close vote with Alfonso Cuaron having won Best Director.

7:51 pm: Jessica Chastain presents the Best Actor, Drama Golden Globe to Matthew McConaughey for Dallas Buyer’s Club. Good speech that he tried out last week in Palm Springs. 12 Years A Slave is most likely a total shut-out. We need to hear from Vulture‘s Kyle Buchanan, who declared last September that Slave was a total lockdown for Best Picture. McConaughey: “This film has always been about livin’…it was never about dyin’.”

7:46 pm: The great Cate Blanchett wins Best Actress, Drama for Blue Jasmine. Not too much of a surprise. Great speech! Admittedly augmented by “several vodkas.”

7:44 pm: “And now, like a supermodel’s vagina, let’s all give a warm welcome to Leonardo DiCaprio!” — Tina Fey.

7:39 pm: Here comes the Best Motion Picture, Comedy/Musical ward, presented by a pregnant Drew Barrymore (who looks as big as a house). American Hustle wins, of course. “Which movie will take the big award of the night?” the announcer asks. I think we have that figured out, right? Nothing to do with slavery! An FX-driven space suspense movie (“Sandra Bullock lost in a haunted house but the house is space” — Alexander Payne) is cooler!

7:27 pm: Jennifer Lawrence presenting the Best Actor, Comedy/Musical, and the Golden Globe goes to Leonardo DiCaprio!!! “I never would have guessed I would have won for Best Actor in a Comedy,” etc. In a general career sense, he means, but also because Leo regards Wolf, however hilarious it is throughout, as a deadly serious portrait of a malignant culture. Leo gives an elegant, eloquent acceptance speech. Being waved off by the orchestra. Yay, Leo!!!!

7:21 pm: Brooklyn Nine-Nine wins for Best TV Series, Comedy/Musical. “Winning this award is way better — way better! — than saving a human life!” the top guy says. What an asshole! The runners-up were The Big Bang Theory, Girls, Modern Family and Parks & Recreation.

7:17 pm: Gravity‘s Alfonso Cuaron takes the Best Director Golden Globe. Good technical job, Alfonso! Every “aaah!” from Sandra Bullock rocked my soul. So Gravity is going to win for Best Motion Picture, Drama? Nice one, HFPA! Well, we knew 12 Years A Slave was in trouble with this group. Cuaron’s “herpes”/”earpiece” joke was pretty funny.

6:57 pm: During her Woody Allen tribute acceptance speech, Diane Keaton contemplates death, or rather Woody’s famous remark about it: “I don’t want to live eternally through my work — I want to live eternally by not dying.” (Or words to that effect.) She mentions that while Francois Truffaut‘s films will be savored for a long time to come, “that’s not much help to Francois Truffaut.” (Whose grave, by the way, I visited back in ’87 — it lies in the Cimitiere du Montmartre.) Why did the sound cut out on Keaton’s speech? Two or three seconds were blipped out. Did she say something profane?

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Friday morning I began coughing a bit. By noon I felt some form of the flu coming on. So a few hours later I went to Erewhon Natural Foods Market and bought a buncha stuff to take. Oxylent, Emergen-C, Wellness Formula tablets, Gaia Oil of Oregano tablets, Mucinex cough syrup, Planetary Cherry Bark Syrup. I took an antibiotic last night and it seemed to dry things up in my lungs; going to pick a few more today. Maybe I’ll also buy a packet of antihistamines.

One way or the other I can’t be under the weather when I leave for Sundance on Wednesday so maybe I should blow off the Golden Globes viewing party and the three after-parties? I have to decide quickly. I have to be in Century City to catch the Fox shuttle by 4 or 4:15 pm. My responsible self is saying “be sensible, give yourself a rest, save your energy for Sundance.” My less-responsible side is saying “eff it…you’ll be okay…you don’t want to miss this!”

On 12.8.12 I attended a truly sublime Silver Linings Playbook party at the Chateau Marmont. A glorious, almost giddy atmosphere. Many big or legendary names all over the place. Festive in the very best sense of that term. You know one reason why it worked so well? There were no goons protecting the stars from the riff-raff. The attitude was like “whatever, man…we’re all riff-raff.” I regret to say that attitude was absent during last night’s pre-Golden Globes Paramount party at the Chateau, although it was a generally pleasant event. There were goons blocking access to the inner gazebo space where Leonardo DiCaprio and Paramount honcho Brad Grey and Nebraska‘s Alexander Payne and June Squibb and Will Forte were sitting. Goons are unwelcome. Goons kill the vibe. But it wasn’t too bad. All party conversations last about two to three minutes, if that. Last night I made it through about 20 or 25 three-minute conversations, and then my spirit collapsed. But I gave it the old college try.

I blew off yesterday afternoon’s Spirit Award thing at the BOA Steakhouse (had to write), and I wasn’t invited to the BAFTA Tea Party or the thing at the Soho House either. Big deal.

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