Sometime last night Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone riffed on Brad Brevet’s 2012 Best Picture spitball review on Rope of Silicon, which I also responded to yesterday. She threw out some agrees and disagrees, but mainly she lamented the tendency of “bloggers” (i.e., referring to me) to dumb down the list of possible Best Picture contenders.

I didn’t dumb anything down in yesterday’s article. I simply manned up and looked at the world we live in by (a) listing the ten most likely Best Picture defaults and (b) removing 14 or 15 possibilities from Brevet’s list because they all have insurmountable negatives as far as your generic 62 year-old white-guy Academy member is concerned.

Are we talking “best” here? Not necessarily. Are we talking quality or cult clamor or box-office? Maybe, maybe not. We’re talking about the 2012 films that seem to adhere to the rigidly codified standards of Best Picture-dom as defined by neck-waddle boomers.

What is an insurmountable negative as far as the 62 year-olds are concerned? The kind of flavorful, tangy, grindhouse-wank movie that Quentin Tarantino likes to make, for one. Movies that are always tasty and self-amused and always limited in scope because they’re relentlessly shallow without the slightest trace or echo of any natural fermentation in God’s universe that hasn’t been precisely pre-imagined and pre-digested by Tarantino in his living room, or, more accurately, by some ’70s or ’80s movie that he saw when he was younger.

Tarantino’s movies have always been and always will be a spiritual dead end. They’re always entirely about Tarantino — exclusively, totally, absolutely — and the sealed-vacuum, heroin-hit bubble of his yokel memories and references and private hard-on amusements. He makes movies for people who belong to his club and that’s all. Which, yes, is arguably the same thing that Jacques Tati, Samuel Fuller, Jean Luc Godard and John Ford did, fine. The difference is that Tarantino doesn’t live by an open window. He doesn’t know what an open window is. I know from Godhead consciousness, and it is impossible for him to see, know or touch the eternal. Especially within the confines of a western. He is spiritually incapable of doing anything but riffing on other movies.

“The bloggers and the critics will do all of the leg work for the Academy and the industry by testing the films to reduce them down to a manageable size,” Stone writes. “The bloggers will look at what they think is Oscar bait, and/or films they’re looking for to. We wait for those films to be seen by either said bloggers or film critics, who then write the reviews that (mostly) do the deciding for the Academy. They take maybe one hundred possible contenders and reduce them down to about ten or so viable contenders. Makes it a lot easier for them folks to sift through the screener pile, eh?

The problem, Stone concludes, is that “the bloggers and critics sometimes dumb it too far down so that what becomes a viable ‘Oscar contender’ is really, more or less, the least offensive of the bunch. Popular taste dictates this anyway, doesn’t it? The most vanilla usually woos the most folks.”

There is nobody in the online-film column universe who’s more receptive to clear light nirvana revelation than yours truly. I have experiencned LSD in solemn, semi-spiritual environments and I know about all about the concept of satori. I’ve not only “been there” but am openly seeking spiritual deliverance at all times. If there is one thing my life has been about so far, it is “where is the light? where is the window that looks at the open blue sky?” I therefore often instinctually reject the default Academy member definition of what constitutes an exceptional, award-worthy film.

But we’re all swimming in the same lake, and it can’t hurt for conversation’s sake to hold our nose and…okay, cynically identify those films that are likely to become Best Picture nominees. What are we supposed to do ? Close our eyes and clasp our hands over our ears and go “blah, blah, blah…we don’t want to know…blah, blah, blah…there is no Lincoln, no Les Miserables, no Anna Karenina?”

“Can we all try a little harder not to dumb the vetting process down to what we think the Academy will like and instead focus on great films no matter where they hail from?,” Stone asks. Absolutely damn straight. I do that every weekday, 7:30 to 12 midnight, and doubly on weekends.

Stone’s kicker: “Raise your hand if you think Attack the Block should have gotten more attention?” It’s raised, it’s raised!

I have a date with John Carter tonight. I will ease myself into an Arclight seat (as opposed to flopping down like a six-year-old, like so many people do) and sit through it, and what will be, will be. But right now I know one thing. The only reviews you can trust are those written by half-grumpy, “I’m from Missouri” critics like myself. Anyone who’s even slightly invested in geekdom (and that means just about anyone who’s ever enjoyed a comic book) is utterly disqualified.

Who’s dispassionate enough to assess John Carter without any geek agenda sentiments? Not JoBlo‘s Chris Bumbray, for one. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’m not talking about. He says in his review that he “had a terrific time” with John Carter and that “I truly think the majority of you will too…ignore the buzz, and make up your own minds.”

Bumbray’s review is like an op-ed piece written by a member of of the Iranian government about the nuclear reactor face-off issue. John Carter has a Rotten Tomatoes rating of 65%. “Earth to Edgar Rice Burroughs buffs: John Carter is a dog,” writes Variety‘s Peter Debruge.

No, what we need is more of a Marshall Fine type of guy. In fact, Fine himself will do.

“The bones of a workable story are here but the way they’ve been fleshed out leaves something to be desired,” Fine writes. “Despite the millions of bytes of information at work in the visuals, Mars ends up looking alternately like the American southwest and sketches from H.R. Giger‘s discard pile.

“Tayor Kitsch is not just flat; he’s practically flat-lining as Carter, so uninvolved does he seem. Lynn Collins exerts effort but, opposite Kitsch, it’s like acting next to a black hole that absorbs but does not reflect her energy. Ciaran Hinds, Dominic West and the rest of the humanoids act as though they’d wandered in from an old ‘Flash Gordon’ serial; the voice actors who speak for the computer-generated Tharks (including Willem Dafoe, Thomas Haden Church and Samantha Morton) should be thankful no one will associate them with this film.

“Burroughs’ original was no great shakes as literature, but it did manage to gin up the tension on a regular basis. The only tension in John Carter comes from the headache caused by the 3D glasses.”

If it’s a Joss Whedon thing (and this definitely is that, Whedon having produced and co-written), it has to be problematic on some level. I’m aware that Badass Digest‘s Devin Faraci is calling it “the best horror movie in years.” That doesn’t negate the fact that Whedon– Whedon! — has his DNA woven into this thing, so effing entwined.

What tells me it’s probably shit? The old snarly unshaven coot who greets the four young visitors with veiled hostility, etc. That guy plus the line about the baah-ing lambs on the killing floor tells me almost everything.

Brian Savelson‘s In Our Nature will screen three times at South by Southwest — on Saturday, 3.10, Sunday, 3.11 and Monday, 3.12. An awkward vacation-home-sharing situation between an estranged father and son (John Slattery, Zach Gilford) and their girlfriends (Gabrielle Union, Jena Malone), etc.

The trailer tells you almost everything. You just know. Imagine you’re in Austin this weekend and standing in a long line to see this. This is exactly and precisely why I respectfully chose not to attend this year, no offense.

Dustin Lance Black‘s 8, a mostly court-transcript-based play, was performed the night before last (i.e., Saturday, 3.3) at the Wilshire Ebell theatre. It was live-streamed. The reading begins at the 30-minute mark. George Clooney, Martin Sheen. Brad Pitt, Jane Lynch, John C. Reilly, Jamie Lee Curtis, Christina Lahti and others costarred.

On January 1st I presented a list of the likeliest leading Best Picture contenders for 2012. Today Rope of Silicon‘s Brad Brevet came up with a list of 25 potential Best Picture contenders. I’m using his list to refine mine and to separate the highly favored or half-likelies from the outright kills.

Art created by Rope of Silicon‘s Brad Brevet.

Given the highly clubby, conservative and aesthetically myopic leanings of your typical Academy member, my suspicions are as follows. Kills listed first followed by HE’s Best Picture finalists (for now):

KILL LIST #1 FROM BREVET: 1. Ben Affleck‘s Argo, a “based on a true story” saga about the late ’70s Iran hostage crisis. Reason: If Affleck is the new Sydney Pollack (i.e., commercially-inclined but thorough and thoughtful, delivering good performances), he’ll need to grow older and refine his chops before he graduates into his Out of Africa phase. 2. Benh Zeitli‘s Beasts of the Southern Wild. Reason: Strictly Sundance, strictly Spirit Awards. Luscious, vibrant & imaginative as hell, but too much in the way of waist-deep mud, ooze, booze, flies, house fires, dead steers and slimy alligators. 3. Mark Andrews and Brenda Chapman‘s Brave. Reason: Animation needs to stay on its own side of the Rio Grande….forget it. 4. The Wachowski Bros. and Tom Tykwer‘s Cloud Atlas. Reason: Probably fated to be too convoluted, too complex and too much of a “what-the-fuck?” for your typical 62 year-old, neck-waddly, liver-spotted Academy fart.

KILL LIST #2 FROM BREVET: 1. Ang Lee‘s Life of Pi. Reason: 3D family adventure genre belongs in its own box. Too commercial-looking, too many voice-cast members with funny-sounding Indian names, Tobey Maguire and Gerard Depardieu excepted. 2. Christopher Nolan‘s The Dark Knight Rises. Reason: Might be nominated as a payback gesture for the Dark Knight Best Picture snub, but I doubt it. Will be seen as too much of a genre exercise-slash-corporate cash-grab. Too Gothamesque, too Nolanesque, too Bane-y. 3. Quentin Tarantino‘s Django Unchained. Reason: As stated on 2.28, Django Unchained will “just be another bullshit grindhouse B-movie wink-wanker — a neo-Italian spaghetti western (being shot in Lone Pine by way of Almeira, Spain) with everyone duded up in Sergio Leone ponchos and smoking smelly stogies and scratching matches on their six-shooters and wearing rotting-teeth dental implants and chicken-grease makeup,” etc. 4. Ruben Fleischer‘s The Gangster Squad. Reason: The director of Zombieland and 30 Minutes or Less hasn’t the depth or the chops to even begin to deliver an Oscar-calibre film…pure genre, pure gunblast, purely commercial…might be entertaining but forget the Academy.

KILL LIST #3 FROM BREVET: 1. Peter Jackson‘s The Hobbitt: An Unexpected Journey. Reason: As stated on 2.28, “Jackson has already snagged a Best Picture Oscar for his Lord of the Rings finale and that, trust me, is the very last Oscar Jackson is going to get for any film having anything to do with Tolkien or Middle Earth or dwarves with huge ugly feet. Okay, The Hobbit may land a nomination, but it cannot, must not and will not win.” 2. Rian Johnson‘s Looper. Reason: Get outta here. 3. Woody Allen‘s Nero Fiddled. Reason: I haven’t read the script, of course, but this is some kind of socially satiric anthology film, as I understand it. And these things never seem to work all that well. Radio Days in Rome? 4. David Chase‘s Not Fade Away. Reason: I’ve heard it doesn’t really work. One reaction hardly closes the book but it does suggest that the response might not be universally or 90% ectstatic. 5. Oliver Stone‘s Savages. Reason: This might be a really gripping drug-dealing and Mexican gangster kidnapping flick, but this kind of thing almost never results in Best of the Year hosannahs. 6. Robert Lorenz‘s Trouble With The Curve. Reason: Clint Eastwood is starring but not directing. 7. Taylor Hackford‘s Parker. Reason: Hackford doing a Donald Westlake piece with Jason Statham? Might be cool on its own terms but forget any Best Picture action.

Keira Knightley in Joe Wright’s Anna Karenina.

HOLLYWOOD ELSEWHERE 2012 BEST PICTURE FINALISTS (for now):

1. Lincoln (mid to late December), d: Steven Spielberg, cast: Daniel Day Lewis, Sally Field, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Tommy Lee Jones. Why: The usual Spielberg-kowtow instinct (i.e., to show obeisance before power) plus the impact of Daniel Day Lewis’s lead performance plus the instinct to show respect and allegiance for the legend of Abraham Lincoln. Classic historical chops. Will Spielberg try to hold back on his usual instincts? He may, I think, because of the Lewis influence.

2. The Master, d: Paul Thomas Anderson; cast: Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams, Laura Dern. Why: This project has felt chilly from the get-go, but if it’s halfway focused and well-shaped it’ll offer a chance for Hollywood to deliver a big “eff you” to Scientology, which, we’ve all been told, The Master is absolutely not about. Plus it’s hard to imagine Hoffman’s L. Ron…sorry, charismatic leader performance not emerging as a Best Actor standout.

3. The Great Gatsby (12.25), d: Baz Luhrman, cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, Joel Edgerton, Carey Mulligan, Isla Fisher. Why: The usual instinct to honor an adaptation of a classic novel. As long as Luhrman doesn’t screw it up, that is, by going all crazy and wackjobby like he did on Australia.

4. This is Forty (12.21), d: Judd Apatow. Why: Apatow has been getting better and better. One of these years he;s going to hit a long triple or a homer. Cast: Paul Rudd, Leslie Mann, Megan Fox, Melissa McCarthy, Albert Brooks, Ryan Lee, John Lithgow and Charlyne Yi.

5. The Silver Linings Playbook (11.21), d: David O. Russell, cast: Jennifer Lawrence, Bradley Cooper, Robert De Niro, Jacki Weaver, Chris Tucker, Julia Stiles. Why: No clue, but Russell always delivers so I’m guessing/presuming here.

Jusitn Timerblake in Joel and Ethan Coen’s Inside Llewyn Davis.

6. Gravity (11.21), d: Alfonso Cuaron; cast: Sandra Bullock, George Clooney. Why: The technical audacity of this film alone, described by Clooney as sort of 2001-ish, will surely attract respect and huzzahs.

7. Les Miserables (12.7), d: Tom Hooper, cast: Russell Crowe, Hugh Jackman, Anne Hathaway. Why: Classic musical in grand sweeping historical tradition plus direction by Hooper (The King’s Speech) plus Crowe, Jackman, etc. And Hathaway finally sings.

8. Anna Karenina (November/early December), d: Joe Wright., w: Tom Stoppard. Cast: Keira Knightley.

9. Zero Dark Thirty (12.14), d: Kathryn Bigelow. Why: This may just be a good, solid action film without any Oscar play, but respect will initially be paid to the director of the Oscar-winning The Hurt Locker. To some pic may provide or represent a form of 9/11 closure.

10. Hyde Park on Hudson, d: Roger Michell, cast: Bill Murray, Laura Linney, Olivia Williams. Why: Michell is a classy, proficient director of midsize dramas and light comedies, and the plot — centered around the weekend in 1939 when the King and Queen of the United Kingdom visited upstate New York, and focusing in particular on love affair between FDR and his distant cousin Margaret Stuckley — suggests a King Speech-y vibe. But how will Murray fare with FDR?

Wild Card: Joel and Ethan Coen‘s Inside Llewyn Davis. Will this Greenwich Village-in-the-early-’60s drama, which just began shooting, even be done in time for release by year’s end? If it makes the deadline it’s almost a sentimental lock with the 62 year olds because it recalls the glory days of the folk music movement, which is near and dear to boomers who got A’s in high school and college. Cast: Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, John Goodman, Garrett Hedlund, Justin Timberlake.

Bill Murray as FDR in Roger Michell’s Hyde Park on Hudson.

Sasha Stone, Phil Contrino and I kicked a few topics around yesterday morning as we recorded Oscar Poker #71. One of the subjects is a reported lack of interest by a guy who allegedly works as a documentarian in seeing any of 2011’s Best Picture contenders. Some come by shallowness naturally and effortlessly — others work hard at it. Here’s a stand-alone mp3 link.

Picking up where Cineuropa.org’s Fabien Lemercier left off on 2.16, several Indiewire contributors (Austin Dale, Peter Kneght, Eric Kohn, Bryce J. Renninger, Nigel Smith) have assembled a Cannes 2012 wish-list of 30 titles.

Terrence Malick, Ben Affleck during film of Oklahoma-based love story once known as The Burial.

If nothing else the piece reminded that Andrew Dominik‘s Cogan’s Trade, which Lemercier mentioned also, is now being called Killing Them Softly. I somehow missed the initial announcement about this.

Mercier didn’t speculate about David Siegel & Scott McGehee‘s What Maisie Knew, so that’s a newbie.

For a reason that makes no logistical sense to me whatsoever, the Indiewire guys are fantasizing about Terrence Malick‘s Oklahoma-shot love story with Ben Affleck, Rachel McAdams, Javier Bardem and Rachel Weisz making a possible appearance in Cannes.

Malick wrapped this film in late 2010, and if you know anything about Malick’s legendary editing-room dilly-dallying you know that the strongest likelihood is an appearance by the end of this year, but more likely sometime in 2013. The man apparently needs something close to two years in post to complete a film. 13 or 14 months ago I wrote that the drama, once titled The Burial, “is expected sometime in 2013. Okay, I’m kidding but anyone who expects to see this puppy before fall 2012 is probably dreaming.” I was slightly exaggerating at the time, but right now 2013 no longer feel like a joke. Especially with Malick currently occupied with shooting Lawless and Knight of Cups.

The dull horror of a $200 million dollar 3D sequel (Sony, 5.25) using a 1969 time travel plot. Rote cartoon CG in the service of cheap, lowest-common-denominator laughs. The creative imaginings of Will Smith, director Barry Sonnenfeld and producer Walter Parkes funnelled through screenwriter Etan Cohen and two or three others. Kim Masters‘ 3.9.11 production story. And the likelihood of great financial success.

Consolation: All-media screenings will happen in mid-to-late May, at which point I’ll be in France and far, far away from the MIB effect in all senses of the term.

Last night Walter Hill‘s Streets of Fire had its most recent midnight showing at the New Beverly. It’s been 28 years since I’ve seen it. The only thing I remember apart from the ’50s/’80s dichotomy and how Diane Lane and Willem Dafoe looked is the slogan. Not because it’s catchy, but because of how producer Joel Silver spun it when Streets bombed on opening weekend: “Tonight is what it means to be dead.”

That is arguably one of the greatest lines ever spoken by a Hollywood producer about anything, ever. When they write Silver’s obit it will definitely be included within the first five or six graphs.

Streets of Fire‘s budget of $14,500,000 was fairly sizable back then. The rule of tripling your opening weekend gross to break even meant it had to make at least $5 million over its first three days. It made about half that ($2,426,000), and ended up with a grand domestic total of just over $8 million. Obviously a failure but not exactly a staggering or historic one. Nonetheless, Silver’s line (which was reported by John Richardson in a Premiere profile called “The Selznick of Schlock” that ran in the early ’90s) stuck.

This color short of the Three Stooges, uploaded on 2.24.12, was shot by vaudevillian and photographer George Mann at Atlantic City’s Steel Pier in the summer of 1938. The routine instantly dies, of course, when the hot girl (Mann’s wife Barbara) fails to slap Moe and Larry with any real pizazz. The Stooges were the original “no laugh funny” guys if you were older than ten.

It always helps to be reminded that life actually manifested in color in the 1930s. It’s easy to let yourself believe that everybody and everything existed in black and white back then.

Why isn’t there 16mm color film of Howard Hawks directing Cary Grant and Jean Arthur during the making of Only Angels Have Wings (which was underway right around this time)? Or any other big-studio filmmakers working on any noteworthy films? Why do we have to settle for the Stooges?