Paul Greengrass‘s Captain Phillips is a riveting, bucks-up, first-rate verite thriller about a real-world hijacking/hostage drama that happened four years ago. It’s unquestionably well made and an obvious uptick compared to the usual brand of high-seas action flick (i.e., some generic, dumb-ass Bruce Willis or Jason Statham or 1980s Steven Seagal concoction, say). And it does an interesting thing by inserting a slight vein of sympathy or measured compassion (or at the very least avoids a simplistic reading of what happened) by depicting the Somali hijackers as desperate, dirt-poor losers who are entirely outflanked and out of their league when they attempt a takeover of this scale. It’s basically about a team of well-funded, corporate-backed cargo-ship guys supported by the might of the U.S. military vs. four jerkoffs in a motorboat carrying guns.

Read more

If you’re even slightly intrigued about the late J.D. Salinger, Shane Salerno‘s Salinger, which I saw this evening, will hold your interest and then some. I didn’t know zip about his World War II experiences (i.e., D-Day to Dachau). Or his early 1940s romance with Oona O’Neil. Or what his Cornish, New Hampshire home looked like. It supplies dozens of assertions and anecdotes that added to my understanding of the legendary author. And it feels good knowing a bit more. But the tone of this two-hour film is tawdry and tabloidy. It feels reaching and intemperate, like some Sci-Fi Channel doc about the Sasquatch or Loch Ness monster. It lacks the courage and the character to be modest and plain. It’s over-cranked and certainly over-scored. It sells rather than tells. Salinger himself would hate it — it embodies everything about coarse, phony America that he tried to stay away from by living in rural New Hampshire. If Salerno had toned it down and attempted a more thoughtful or literary air…but he hasn’t. Salinger is what it is. I was interested and attentive, but I was exhaling loudly and rolling my eyes almost from the get-go.

Read more

I’ll tell you right now that I’ve got a feeling that Joel Kinnaman might be the weak link in Jose Padilha‘s Robocop (MGM, 2.7.14). I can just sense it on some level — he’s not quite delivering that cyborg schwing. And I’m not sure if that Robocop outfit is sufficiently clompy and clanky and metallic and rock-studly enough. But the rest of it looks okay. Good cast — Gary Oldman, Michael Keaton, Samuel L. Jackson, Abbie Cornish, Jay Baruchel, Jackie Earle Haley, Miguel Ferrer, Jennifer Ehle.

This is the first year that there’s been an iTunes app for the Toronto Film Festival, and it’s really great. (I’ve been challenged on this but I’m under the impression that a TIFF app was only available to Blackberry users in years past.) There’s even a press and industry screening section that you can access with a user name and password. No more relying on dead-tree materials. During previous festivals I’ve always managed to lose the p & i screening schedule so this is a load off.

Hollywood Elsewhere’s first Toronto Film Festival day includes an 11:30 am p & i screening of Bill Condon‘s The Fifth Estate…wait, cancelled! Okay, Child’s Pose instead. A possible revisiting of the great Blue Is The Warmest Color at 3 pm, Ragnar Bragason‘s Metalhead at 6 pm and, finally, an 8 pm screening of Shane Salerno‘s Salinger.

Like 99.7% of the world’s population I’m repulsed by the history and the metaphor of Adolf Hitler, but today — this morning — I feel a kinship. The subtitled rage about incorrect aspect ratios is right out of my own mouth. I’m assuming that the editor (i.e., Mirekhenry) was thinking of my innumerable 1.66 aspect ratio rants…thank you. (There’s even a brief mention of a grain “problem.”) It concerns the 8.26 Bluray of The Brides of Dracula, which, being a British 1960 release, was naturally released at 1.66 and not 2-point-fucking-oh. (Thanks to Joe Dante for the heads-up. Tip of the hat to Mirekhenry.)

Despite the obvious implications of this trailer, I need to catch David Frankel‘s One Chance when it screens at the Toronto Film Festival early next week. It’s one of those “I finally got my big break and everything was glorious after that” films, but people go for this kind of thing. James Corden as real-life opera singer Paul Potts, a seemingly average bloke who became “an overnight singing sensation,” etc. Billy Elliott re-jiggered with saga of a hapless, chubby opera singer. Costarring Julie Walters, Colm Meaney, Alexandra Roach, Mackenzie Crook. Pic opens in UK on 10.25, but when will The Weinstein Co. open it stateside?

In his 9.3 assessment of the growing influence of Telluride Film Festival and the gradual concurrent diminishment of the Toronto and Venice gatherings, Peter Debruge states that coverage of Telluride by Oscar-focused columnists like myself has been a game-changer. The obvious implication is that impassioned jottings by Hollywood Elsewhere, Deadline‘s Pete Hammond, The Hollywood Reporter‘s Scott Feinberg, Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone, Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson, Rope of Silicon‘s Brad Brevet, Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil and Vulture‘s Kyle Buchanan have become a highly significant factor in the awards race. Thank you. Noted.

Read more

Since Cannes my attitude toward Alexander Payne‘s Nebraska has been one of…uhm, muted respect. And that’s not a putdown. It’s certainly worth seeing (especially for Bruce Dern‘s performance, which he and his Paramount backers are doggedly calling a lead, and Phedon Papamichael‘s black-and-white photography). I figured Nebraska might get a Best Picture nomination (what the hell) but it’s not among the creme de la creme of Payne flicks so maybe not. But during Telluride I kept hearing how much people like it (along with Jason Reitman‘s Labor Day). And I began to imperceptibly slump and resign myself to the fact that we’re all stuck with it. Nebraska is going to snag a Best Picture nomination and go all the way to March.

In a two-day-old Variety piece called “Can Telluride Continue to Steal Venice and Toronto’s Thunder?,” Peter Debruge suggests that Nebraska is actually faring better than Labor Day as we speak. “Benefiting from a new score and some tiny nips and tucks since Cannes, where it met with mixed reviews, Nebraska hit the sweet spot with Telluride crowds,” he writes. “Three months ago, I wouldn’t have factored it into the Oscar race; now, it’s clearly a contender.”

Read more

At a party tonight for Toronto-based film journalists Canadian director-actress Sarah Polley urged me to wear a “Free Tarek and John” button. I put it right on, and then did my research when I got home. On 8.16 Dr. Tarek Loubani and filmmaker John Greyson were arrested by the Cairo police for some bullshit reason. Nobody’s had any direct contact but they’re apparently (or at least might be) “okay.” Polley is seriously committed to getting them out of custody. At my suggestion Polley, Toronto Sun film writer Bruce Kirkland (r.) and a nice 20something guy whose name I’ll eventually learn (l.) posed with the buttons.

A “Free Tarek and John” guy whose name escapes, Sarah Polley, Bruce Kirkland.

Randall Miller‘s CBGB will be viewable starting tomorrow on DirecTV Video on Demand. “There were two kinds of people who caught shows at CBGB,” I wrote on 4.29. “The first kind looked at the ‘CBGB and OMFUG’ sign and said, ‘Yeah, sure…stands for Country Bluegrass Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers.’ Which is what Kristal had in mind when he created the acronym. The second kind just went with the sound of CBGB and presumed that OMFUG was a uniquely New York mantra that combined the meditative ‘ohhhhm’ with FUG, which naturally associates with The Fugs (Tuli Kupferberg, Ed Sanders, “I couldn’t get high, oh no no!”).

If that Radar story is true about Jack Nicholson having quietly retired from acting because his ability to memorize lines has gone south, there’s a simple solution. Idiot cards. The entire second half of Marlon Brando‘s career was helped along by them. Brando didn’t have memory issues — he just couldn’t be bothered to memorize lines so he scrawled his dialogue on cards and taped them here and there on the walls of the set and just read his lines. This didn’t seem to damage his career all that much so why can’t Nicholson do the same? Plus he could use digital earbud prompters. Jack can’t retire. Retirement is death. It’s a way of saying to yourself and your community and God, “I’m done, the joy is over…now I’m just waiting for it.”