Toward the end of this Hugo promotion video (i.e., Jim CameronMartin Scorsese), Scorsese mentions the idea of a 3D version of Citizen Kane …and then says, “I’m not saying do that.” Well, I am. If that 1941 classic could be 3D-converted with the same demanding exactitude that Cameron has reportedly applied to creating Titanic 3D, I’d be fine with it. Really. It would be exciting if someone could really do it right. Any classic film, for that matter. Monochrome 3D is mesmerizing.
The problem, of course, is that most 3D conversions have been unexceptional. The people in charge are not of Cameron’s calibre and they take shortcuts, and the end product winds up looking underwhelming or even like hell.
Roughly three hours ago New York Film Critics Circle honcho John Anderson informed the membership that Warner Bros.will not be screening Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by this coming Sunday, 11.27, and will therefore not be meeting the org’s deadline to allow it to vote yea or nay on Steohen Daldry’s 9/11 drama by Tuesday, 11.29.
Anderson wrote that he’s been told that the film won’t be shown any time before December 2nd. “This despite my having received assurances before that they would [work within our deadline],” Anderson wrote. “Draw your own conclusions.”
National Board of Review members have also been told of this decision, which obviously means that Extremely Loud is out of the running as far as their voting is concerned, which will happen on Thursday, December 1st.
A Warner Bros. source declined to be quoted but explained the following on a background basis: (a) Extremely Loud was never promised for a screening within the NYFCC or NBR deadlines, (b) This early deadline was not made by us but by somebody else, (c) It won’t be completely done until after the deadline, (d) The film will begin to be screened in early December, (e) Filmmakers need to fulfill their process and finish their films to their satisfaction, and (f) We want to show it to everyone but filmmakers need to fulfill their process…that is the moral of this story.
A publicist from the same side of the fence who also didn’t want to be quoted said there was a theoretical contingency plan of showing the film on Sunday, 11.27, but that this date eventually fell out due to post-production requirements which couldn’t be met in time. “We love critics groups. but nobody wants to compromise a director’s vision,” she said. “We never promised that the 11.27 screening was a done deal…we said ‘maybe, could you see it on Sunday?’…and then we had to alter that. I don’t know why John Anderson has reamed us, but it’s a witch hunt…I wish we could have had it ready earlier.”
I’m told that N.Y. Post critic Lou Lumenick said in a message this morning to NYFCC members that WB’s decision “would invite speculation that WB doesn’t think [Extremely Loud] stands a chance.”
Sometimes old songs that you haven’t listened to in a long while suddenly come into your head while you’re driving or showering or writing, and they hang around for a day or two and sometimes longer. Every now and then they’ll stay with you for four or five days or a week even, and that’s too long. It can drive you nuts. The cure is not to sing it to yourself but to download it to iTunes and just listen to it over and over until you can’t stand it any more.
This happened to me last Friday with David Bowie‘s “Five Years“. I love this song (and it’s freaking me out that it’s almost 40 years old) but it won’t leave, and I don’t want to end up hating it.
Last night I tried flushing out Bowie by listening to the other “Five Years” song, the one by Jonah and the Whale, but this made things worse because they’re one of those oodly-doodly bands, a group of oh-so-dry-and-clever musicians wrapped in a fey musical head-space attitude who create songs that are kind of precious and tweedly-deedly…songs that fiddle around with melody without really feeling it or lifting it off the ground.
You know what I mean. Bands that seem to be going “eewww, this is cool”…bands who always seem to perform with a kind of dorky, dispassionate irony…bands who seem to be saying “are we kinda kidding or do we mean it or should we turn it up or down or…? Ohh, whatever…let’s not choose.”
I’ve also described this kind of music as the product of “flutter” bands. In an 8.13.10 piece I described their music as “ethereal, dreamily feminine and generally unpunctuated…music that seems dead set against any kind of thump-crunchin’ sound or attitude [and] that seems to summon the candy-assed spirit and attitude of Michael Cera, and which the almost seems to exists in order to counteract and nullify the spirit of Lou Reed, Liz Phair, Patti Smith, Television, the Kills, the Beta Band, Nirvana…basically any band with any kind of brass musical balls.”
Some fresh Chris Nolan commentary about The Dark Knight Rises has appeared in a currently-print-only issue of Empire. Details have been provided by Heisenberg, thej0ker, Zorak (what is that, a law firm?). Nolan’s big reveal is that the DKR story picks up eight years after The Dark Knight — i.e., Christian Bale‘s Bruce Wayne in his early 40s?
“It’s really all about finishing Batman and Bruce Wayne’s story,” Nolan comments. “We left him in a very precarious place. Perhaps surprisingly for some people, our story picks up quite a bit later, eight years after The Dark Knight. So he’s an older Bruce Wayne [and] he’s not in a great state. With Bane, we’re looking to give Batman a challenge he hasn’t had before. With our choice of villain and with our choice of story we’re testing Batman both physically as well as mentally.”
The unnamed Empire interviewer also speaks to Tom Hardy, who surprisingly if not shockingly describes Bane as “brutal…a big dude who’s incredibly clinical, in the fact that he has a result-based and result-oriented fighting style.” As opposed to other brute beasts who regard fighting as an existential “whatever” exercise in ennui?
“It’s not about fighting — it’s about carnage,” Hardy explains. “The style is heavy-handed, heavy-footed…it’s nasty. Anything from small-joint manipulation to crushing skulls, crushing rib cages, stamping on shins and knees and necks and collarbones and snapping heads off and tearing his fists through chests, ripping out spinal columns. He’s a terrorist in mentality as well as brutal action.”
Costume designer Lindy Hemming also talks about Bane’s mask…oooh, the mask! Bane is “injured early in his story,” she says. “He’s suffering from pain and needs gas to survive. He can’t survive the pain without the mask. The pipes from the mask go back along his jawline and feed into the thing at his back, where there are two cannisters.”
Nolan explains that the DKR prologue that will be shown with Mission: Impossible — Ghost Protocol in IMAX “is basically the first six, seven minutes of the film. It’s an introduction to Bane, and a taste of the rest of the film.”
Yesterday morning Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone, Boxoffice.com’s Phil Contrino and I talked about Breaking Dawn, vampire sex, green-blooded erections, bleeding virgins and all that Stephanie Meyer stuff. And The Descendants, The Artist, Hugo, etc. Here’s a non-iTunes, stand-alone link.
In his New Yorker review of The Descendants, Anthony Lane describes the third-act encounter between George Clooney‘s Matt King and Matthew Lillard‘s Brian Speer. The latter’s “little-boy grin, though ideal for selling real estate, tells of panic rather than cheekiness,” Lane writes, “and Brian’s encounter with Matt is not a clash of rutting males but a semi-polite standoff between two fleshy, faltering souls, striving to live up to the brazenness of their shirts.
“We have seen such leisurewear before, on Frank Sinatra and Montgomery Clift, as they toured the local bars, in From Here to Eternity. Both films are infused with the atmosphere of their Hawaiian setting, and its strange compound of chillout and treachery. Everyone remembers Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr rolling in the surf, but stay with that scene and you soon find it foaming with accusation and shame. Something similar happens to The Descendants, with damp squalls and difficult mists nagging at the edge of people’s amicable warmth.
“Both films conclude, too, with floral garlands cast into the ocean, though [director Alexander] Payne provides an aftermath — a delicious downtime, in which Matt and his children sit on the couch with ice cream and watch TV. Death, which has loomed ahead throughout, begins to drift away behind them, and the film completes its journey: from eternity to here.”
There are only five Woody Allen films I’ve had a truly difficult time with, and they were all made within the last 12 years (Scoop, The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, Hollywood Ending, Small-Time Crooks, You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger). But during the same period he also made Match Point, Midnight in Paris, Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Sweet and Lowdown so what’s there to complain about really?
The early aughts just weren’t Allen’s time. My personal solution is to put those five stinkers in a compartment in my head and say to myself, “Okay, there they are in case I want to watch them again.”
But even if Allen had made ten stinkers, he’d still be batting over .750 since he’s directed 41 or 42 films since 1969. And I’ll always worship him (and I’m talking deep, deeper-than-deep sympatico) for his morose, darkly confessional sense of humor. To me his line in the above clip about getting into trouble during a movie shoot and saying “I’ll prostitute myself any way I have to to survive this catastrophe”…that’s hilarious.
And I love the story told in Robert Weide‘s Woody Allen: A Documentary (PBS, American Masters, tonight and tomorrow night) about how Allen was so unhappy with Manhattan before it opened that he told United Artists and his producers that he would make another movie for free if they would shelve Manhattan and thereby spare him the embarassment.
I was afraid that Weide’s documentary would be too kind, too flattering. It’s not that. I wouldn’t call it a lacerating, no-holds-barred portrait, but it looks at Allen’s history, output and issues in a reasonably fair and probing way.
Weide’s doc runs over three hours. The first half (roughly 111 minutes, airing tonight) is a more or less sequential and chronological history of his coming-up-through-the-ranks and then finding-his-moviemaking-soul period. It ends on the artistic precipice of the early ’80s. The second half (running 83 minutes, airing tomorrow) abandons the linear and sort of hopscotches around, looking at this and that film or artistic challenge or issue.
I loved the stories about his childhood and early youth in Brooklyn and writing jokes for the New York columnists and his first major gig as one of Sid Ceasar‘s comedy writers for Ceasar’s Hour and suffering through his early stand-up days in the clubs, which he almost stopped doing because he hated it so much.
Weide chats with former flames/partners Diane Keaton and Louise Lasser, former writing partners Marshall Brickman and Doug McGrath, Allen’s sister/producer Letty Aronson, Allen players Owen Wilson, Sean Penn, John Cusack, Larry David, Scarlett Johansson, Tony Roberts and Diane Wiest, former line producer Robert Greenhut and producing partners Jack Rollins and Charles Joffe.
The doc contains nary a word about former producing partner Jean Doumanian, and there are no off-the-cuff “Woody said” lines like the one I heard years ago from Woody’s longtime unit photographer Brian Hamill about Harvey Weinstein, i.e. “he’s not my kind of Jew.”
I didn’t want to hear or know any more about the Mia Farrow–Soon-Yi Previn-child custody battle, and I was relieved that Weide doesn’t give it much attention.
Here are two mp3 chats I recorded a few days ago. The first is with film scholar and critic F.X. Feeney, who for my money delivers the wisest and most knowing talking-head commentary in the film, and also with Ms. Aronson, whom I recently sat down with at Shutters in Santa Monica.
The first time I laid eyes on Allen was sometime around ’76 or ’77. I was walking East on 57th Street and he was coming the other way with a lady friend. I know it was someone famous because he was wearing one of those khaki fishing hats with the brim pulled down. I looked at him, he looked at me and he knew I’d “made” him, and he seemed fairly terrified by this realization. The idea that I might run over and ask for an autograph (which I’ve never done and will never do) or whatever seemed to really disturb him. He looked so upset, in fact, that I flirted with imitating that goombah routine in Annie Hall….you know, the Hoboken meatball guy who comes over and says, “Heyyyy! Alvy Singah!” But the moment passed.
Allen’s sister-producer Letty Aronson during out chat a few days ago at Shutters.
Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone said something this morning about Moneyball‘s gas tank being on empty, at least as far as “the conversation” is concerned. And it shouldn’t be. Attention spans and media heat cycles are shorter than they used to be, and one result is that Bennett Miller‘s masterwork seems to be sputtering despite the Movie Godz being foursquare against this.
Moneyball is ranked higher on Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic than the current Best Picture favorite, The Descendants, with a grade of 87 to 84 on Metacritic and 95 to 90 on RT. And it’s made a solid $72.6 million domestic and $88 million worldwide.
The Sony guys need to do something to re-energize the situation. If Warner Bros. can do it for Contagion, they sure as hell can.
“Maybe I didn’t explain the nest egg to you. If you had understood…you know it’s a very sacred thing, the nest egg, and if you had understood the Nest Egg Principle, as we will now call it in the first of many lectures that you will get, because if we are ever to acquire another nest egg, we both have to understand what it means.
“The nest egg is a protector, like a god, and we sit under the nest egg and we are protected by it. Without it, no protection. Want me to go on? It pours rain. Hey! The rain hits the egg and pours off the side. Without the egg? Wet…it’s over. But you didn’t understand it and that’s why we’re where we are.”
The worst hurt is about sensing what might have been, and the most penetrating love scenes are those in which both parties feel this acutely but don’t (can’t, won’t) put it into words. The finales of The Way We Were and Bridges of Madison County had this current (as repellent as this observation may be to the HE hipper-than-thous), and the finale from Elia Kazan‘s Splendor In The Grass had it in spades.
The less you say with dialogue and the more you leave it up to the audience, the better.
Screenings of The Artist and Miss Bala are competing in the near future. (I shouldn’t say any more.) It’s not a matter of seeing either film for the first time, of course, but which screening environment (and especially which post-screening environment) will be the cooler, richer one to bask in…to savor, to wear, to sniff and sip and taste and shoot shit about. Not to mention a shot at taking pictures of the filmmakers and guests. Watching and absorbing an award-calibre film is only a part of it.
A lot of year-end awards stuff will come into focus over the next nine days. Tomorrow afternoon the journos who weren’t invited to see The Iron Lady at last Thursday’s super-exclusive screening will get their own looksee. By next weekend the Warner Bros. guys will almost certainly be screening Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close for the New York Film Critics Circle and National Board of Review in preparation for the following week’s voting. And then comes the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo screening on Monday, 11.28, for the same two groups.
All the frontline stragglers who haven’t yet seen War Horse will get their shot on 11.28 in Los Angeles, and (I’m told) on 11.29 in NYC. And wouldn’t it make sense, by the way, for Film District to screen Angelina Jolie‘s In The Land of Blood and Honey (which mubi.com‘s David Ehrenstein has called “as serious as a heart attack“) for the NYFCC and NBR also? The big finale comes when the NYFCC votes on Tuesday, 11.29, and the NBR the next day, and for two or three weeks after that we’ll hear from a cavalcade of critics groups (with the exception of the slowboat National Society of Film Critics, which announces in early January).
It may well be that War Horse will sweep everyone away, myself included. I’m saying that with sincerity. “I’m just average common too, I’m just like him and the same as you” and if a movie really works, it works. But before the deluge and the Zelig impulse kicks in I’m asking each and every critic out there to please think twice before voting. If your sensibilities and judgment permit it, don’t sap out and go “whee!” and just jump on the easy bandwagon. Please. Please.