Yesterday morning Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone, Boxoffice.com’s Phil Contrino and I kicked it all around — Tintin, Oscar-Ratner debacle, Descendants, etc.. Here’s a non-iTunes, stand-alone link.

The new Entertainment Weekly says there are 56 significant films yet to be released this year. By my count there are 37, and if you further whittle the list down by the likelihood of a film (or a creative contributor to that film) being award-worthy, you’re left with 25. Here’s my list with the letters AW signifying award-worthy:

November 16 (1): The Descendants (AW).

November 18 (4): Another Happy Day (AW); The Lie (limited); The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn — Part 1; Tyrannosaur (AW).

November 23 (6): A Dangerous Method (AW); The Artist (AW); Hugo (AW); The Muppets; My Week with Marilyn (AW); Rampart (AW).

December 2 (6): Coriolanus (NY, LA one- week Oscar run; wider on 1.20.12) (AW); Knuckle; The Lady; Outrage; Shame (AW); Sleeping Beauty.

December 9 (4): Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (AW); W.E. (NY, LA: one-week Oscar run — Feb. 3rd wide); We Need to Talk About Kevin (AW); Young Adult (AW).

December 16 (4): Carnage (AW); Corman’s World: Exploits of a Hollywood Rebel; Mission: Impossible — Ghost Protocol (IMAX; wide on 12.21); Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows.

December 21 (4): The Adventures of Tintin; Albert Nobbs (AW), The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (AW); Pina (AW).

December 23 (2): In the Land of Blood & Honey (AW); We Bought a Zoo (AW…maybe…that Disney-family vibe is worrisome).

December 25 (2): Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (wide on 1.20) (AW); War Horse (AW).

December 28 (1): Pariah (AW).

December 30 (2): A Separation (AW); The Iron Lady (AW).

December TBA (1): The Flowers of War (possibly AW).

Comic-book illustrator and noir-style film director Frank Miller has dug himself a grave and is now lying flat in the mud and waiting for the dirt. I always thought Miller was an aesthetic lightweight and a sleazy masturbatory noir fetishist, but now that he’s shown himself to be a Merle Haggard-style reactionary in terms of his views on the Occupy movement, he’s a dead man.

Frank Miller

The statement that has finished Miller off is contained in a week-old (11.7) posting on his personal blog. (Thanks to TheWrap‘s Lew Harris for passing it along.] He states that “al-Qaeda and Islamicism must be getting a dark chuckle, if not an outright horselaugh, out of [the] vain, childish, self-destructive spectacle” that is, in Miller’s view, the Occupy movement. Is everyone clear on that? The Occupy-ers are giving aid and comfort to Islamic terrorists.

And I love the intellectual eruditon contained in Miller’s statement that the Occupy protests can’t be called a movement “unless the word ‘bowel’ is attached.”

The man is an idiot. A snarling, bearded, fedora-wearing, front-porch primitive. Case closed.

“Everybody’s been too damn polite about this nonsense,” Miller’s 11.7 post began.

“The Occupy movement, whether displaying itself on Wall Street or in the streets of Oakland (which has, with unspeakable cowardice, embraced it) is anything but an exercise of our blessed First Amendment. Occupy is nothing but a pack of louts, thieves, and rapists, an unruly mob, fed by Woodstock-era nostalgia and putrid false righteousness. These clowns can do nothing but harm America.

“Occupy is nothing short of a clumsy, poorly-expressed attempt at anarchy, to the extent that the ‘movement’ — HAH! Some movement, except if the word ‘bowel’ is attached — is anything more than an ugly fashion statement by a bunch of iPhone and iPad-wielding spoiled brats who should stop getting in the way of working people and find jobs for themselves.

“This is no popular uprising. This is garbage. And goodness knows they’re spewing their garbage – both politically and physically – every which way they can find.

“Wake up, pond scum. America is at war against a ruthless enemy.

“Maybe, between bouts of self-pity and all the other tasty tidbits of narcissism you’ve been served up in your sheltered, comfy little worlds, you’ve heard terms like al-Qaeda and Islamicism.

“And this enemy of mine — not of yours, apparently — must be getting a dark chuckle, if not an outright horselaugh — out of your vain, childish, self-destructive spectacle.

“In the name of decency, go home to your parents, you losers. Go back to your mommas’ basements and play with your Lords Of Warcraft. Or better yet, enlist for the real thing. Maybe our military could whip some of you into shape.

“They might not let you babies keep your iPhones, though. Try to soldier on.

“Schmucks.

“FM”

I was too lazy (i.e., way too lazy) over the weekend to post David Ehrenstein‘s mubi.com praising of Angelina Jolie‘s In The Land of Blood and Honey (Film District, 12.23). But here it is with edits:

“Beyond Gobsmacked by In the Land of Blood and Honey, which I saw at a sneak preview yesterday [i.e., presumably Friday] afternoon. It’s a stark and truly shocking drama of the Bosnian Civil War of the 1990’s. This was genocide on a massive scale that was rigorously ignored by the west. At one point we hear Clinton’s Secretary of State Madeline Albright saying the U.S. ‘didn’t have a dog in this fight.’ Ugh!

“What we see here is the story of what happened ot a particular woman, played by an actress I’ve never seen or heard of before — Zana Marjanovic, who is absolutely world-class. So is her leading man Goran Kostic.

“Kostic plays a Bosnian soldier who is romancing Marjanovic at a dance in the opening scene. Then a bomb goes off. Months pass and a convoy arrives at our heroine’s apartment block. Everyone is ordered out. All the men are executed. The belongings of all the women are confiscated. Anyone who balks is shot in the head. Several of the women are chosen to be raped (anally, of course) in front of their friends. This is all about degradation and humiliation.

“The soldier our heroine knew is now a commander. He discovers she’s been rounded up and takes her aside to use her as his own personal servant. He renews their relationship on a romantic level — which she seems to accept. But what she feels is in this situation beside the point as she’s a prisoner.

“Kostic’s father, played by Rade Serbedzija (the only name actor in the cast, best recalled as the costume chop owner in Eyes Wide Shut) insists she’s nothing more than a ‘Muslim whore’ and that his son ‘should finish with this.’

“Needless to say it ends badly for all. But that’s not the point of the film. The point is to expose MASS GENOCIDE that was DELIBERATELY IGNORED. Kind of like the way Penn State ignored child rape.

“And now the Big News. This film was written and directed by Angelina Jolie.

“I always knew she had a lot on the ball, especially from what Don Bachardy has told me about her. But never to this extent. The most glamorous woman in the world is As Serious As A Heart Attack. She is a Major Filmmaker at the very start of what I expect will be a long career.

“Not to be missed under any circumstances.”

The early word on Phyllida Lloyd‘s The Iron Lady (Weinstein Co., 12.30), fortified to some extent by that late-summer teaser, was that it had a “light” tone, or that the film itself skirted serious drama. I’m not getting that from the trailer. I’m getting a story about a somewhat older woman who defied and defeated sexist attitudes about her potential.

“That’s all fine,” The Guardian‘s Stuart Jeffries wrote many months ago, “but that narrative trajectory risks skewing the story. This was not just a time of one woman’s assault on a male bastion, but an era of rage about what Thatcher, economy destroyer and warmonger, was doing to Britain.

“This rage was captured in two songs by Elvis Costello from that time — ‘Shipbuilding’ (‘Within weeks they’ll be reopening the shipyards/And notifying the next of kin’) and his pre-obit for Thatcher, ‘Tramp the Dirt Down’ (‘When they finally put you in the ground/I’ll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down”).

“It will be a shame if The Iron Lady overlooks that deep anger in favor of exclusive focus on Thatcher as a woman triumphing against the odds.

“Lloyd’s film will deal with the 17 days before the Falklands war at a time when Thatcher was deeply unpopular. In 1982, Britain was beset by racially inflected inner-city riots and soaring unemployment, and Labor looked like an electoral dead cert. But war changed Thatcher’s fortunes decisively.

“Did she really need to send a taskforce to the other end of the world to defend British sovereignty? Were 1,000 war dead sacrificed to make her electable? We don’t know yet if the film will tackle these questions.

“Doubtless, though, The Iron Lady will meditate on what Joseph Conrad wrote: ‘Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men.'”

Most appealing aspect: The voice of Donald Sutherland (as President Snow) solemnly announcing the basic Hunger Games rules. Most troublesome aspect: Wes Bentley‘s hair and beard stylings. Unseen (at least by me): Woody Harrelson as Haymitch Abernathy, the former Hunger Games champ with a drinking problem.

“Gay roles can win Oscars,” explains Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil, “but only if portrayed by straight people who die hideous deaths.” Do they really have to go hideously? I think that simple dying (as Christopher Plummer‘s gay character does in Beginners) is sufficient. O’Neil has included a photo gallery.

Every now and then I have to explain the rules about saving seats. There are thousands upon thousands who still don’t understand the one absolute rule that applies in theatres and food courts, which is that you have to mark something to save something. It doesn’t matter how or what you mark it with as long as you mark it. A napkin, a jacket, a scarf, a newspaper…anything.

Once that’s done, the seat is absolutely effing saved and no one questions it…least of all myself. But you can’t just point to a couple of seats (or three or four or six) and say, “Oh, those are saved.” Doesn’t work that way. Ask any animal in any jungle. If you want to mark your territory, you have to urinate upon it. Every animal in the world gets this. No argument, it’s law.

The incident happened two nights ago in the Century City food court adjacent to the AMC movie plex. I had some Chinese on the tray and was looking for a seat at a table. It was very crowded — no separate, unoccupied tables. So I chose one next to a table that a woman and her young son were sitting down at. As I was about to sit down the woman looked at me and said, “Uhhm, that table’s saved…two others are coming.” No markings on either seat but I let it go.

So I went over to another table that was kissing a table that a young couple were sitting at. “Sorry,” the guy said, shrugging and smiling sweetly, placing his hand on one of the white plastic seats. “We’re holding this for friends.”

So I went over to another unmarked table that was next to one that a 40ish woman was sitting at with a son or daughter…I forget which. “Uhhm, this is for the rest of our family,” she said. “Actually, no…I don’t think it is,” I said, sitting down with my tray. “As far as I can tell every empty table in this food court is being held for someone else, and as this one isn’t marked, I’m sitting in it. No offense.”

“But my husband is sitting there,” she said.

“No, actually…I am,” I said. “You have to mark the seat, you see. If you don’t mark it, it’s fair game. Sorry.”

“Why don’t you sit somewhere else?,” she said.

“I’d be delighted to,” I answered, “but every last seat in this food court is being saved for someone.”

The husband came over with his tray. His face was pained, anguished. “You’re going to break up a family?,” he said. I repeated the basic rule: “Look, man…you can’t legitimately save a seat unless you mark it. It’s very simple. Mark it and you’re fine. This seat wasn’t marked so that’s that. I have the same rights as you.”

“I can’t believe you, you’re such an asshole!,” the woman said. “This is why you’re sitting alone!”

I agreed with her. “Yes, you’re right. I’m absolutely an asshole and that’s why I’m alone. No argument with that. But you didn’t mark the seat and that’s a fact.”

“God…asshole!,” the woman repeated. Her child was not enjoying this.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said again. “I am that. Definitely, no argument. Just try marking the seat next time.”

So they went somewhere else and sat down and ate their food, and I ate mine and then I left. Will they think about marking their seats next time? Of course not. Assholes don’t change their spots.

It hit me as I was watching the M.A.S.H. Bluray the other night that a nice plotless comedy would be agreeable right about now. “Plotless” is crucial — a film that forgoes the usual story mechanics and just ambles along on flip irreverence and attitude, and then ends about 105 minutes later when one or two of the original trio get new jobs or whatever.

I don’t know what this plotless comedy would be about, but a lot of people have forgotten that the original M.A.S.H. guys (Elliot Gould, Donald Sutherland, Tom Skerritt) were a tiny bit smug and even arrogant, and that they threw their weight around when they could, and that they didn’t tolerate officious fools or kneejerk authority-worshippers or goodie-goodies of any kind. They enjoyed humiliating people they didn’t like. And they certainly weren’t smooth sweethearts like the TV M.A.S.H. crew (Alan Alda, Wayne Rogers, etc.).

There’s no telling what Yogi Berra really thinks of Moneyball, to go by Jason Gay‘s 11.7 Wall Street Journal article. Berra is a national treasure, but aging’s definitely a bitch. Your ears and nose get larger, your eyes turn pink and bloodshotty, and your teeth either turn yellow or get smaller, or both.