Yesterday’s rug-peeing incident involving Gerard Depardieu whizzing on the floor of a Paris-to-Dublin CityJet was completely avoidable. And almost predictable. Flight attendants, security guards and other uniformed functionaries who try and tell movie stars what to do and what not to do will always lose. The same lesson has been taught a million times and they won’t listen. Don’t fuck with the Godz because the Godz have been taught that they can always sidestep rules if they need or want to. That’s the way the world works…hello? If a swaggering, big-bellied, larger-than-life French actor and winemaker needs to slip into the can for a quick one, let him! So stupid.

Last night I watched Jane Fonda‘s appearance on Charlie Rose. It was about plugging her just-released book “Prime Time“, which is about living and aging well in what she calls “the third act of your life.” It was an open, honest interview. But what got me is her face. She’s had “work” done, of course, and she looks great for someone born in 1937, no question. But there’s something a bit strident in her face now. It hasn’t been “stretched,” thank the Lord, but she does look super-sculpted.

(l.) Jane Fonda on last night’s Charlie Rose Show; (r.) during the 2009 run of 33 Variations.

I saw Fonda on-stage two and a half years ago in 33 Variations and I thought she looked perfectly fine. But she wanted more. The general rule of thumb, I suppose, is “as long as you don’t look like a freak, have at it.” We all make decisions to make about how we look, etc. It’s become the norm for older women with money. Their hair used to go gray and their neck sagged and their eyes got baggy, etc. Now they get robo-cized. That’s the way it is now.

The final 49th New York Film Festival choices have been announced, and the big news is the selection of Alexander Payne‘s The Descendants (which boasts a very well-written script) for the closing night gala. So that’s it for poor Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy despite Gary Oldman‘s willingness to attend the gala. Whatever, water under the bridge. I’m also glad that several major Toronto Film Festival entries have been included as it’ll take the strain off. Several Cannes and Berlin entries also buck up the slate.

George Clooney in Alexander Payne’s The Descendants.

Also to be shown at NYFF: (a) Abel Ferrara‘s Mel…sorry, 4:44: Last Day on Earth, a sex-and-art “apocalyptic trance” movie; (b) George Harrison: Living in the Material World, Martin Scorsese‘s 208-minute doc on the late Beatle, singer-songwriter, filmmaker, etc.; (c) Michel Hazanavicius‘s The Artist, the black-and-white silent about Hollywood moviemaking in the late 1920s; (d) Joseph Cedar‘s Footnote; (e) Mia Hansen-Love‘s Goodbye First Love; (f) Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne‘s decidedly minor The Kid With A Bike; (g) Aki Kaurismaki‘s Le Havre (which I missed in Cannes due to over-sleeping and then being shut out of a Salle du Soixentieme screening); (h) Lars von Trier‘s 4:44…I’m sorry, Melancholia; (i) Gerardo Naranjo‘s Miss Bala; (j) Nuri Bilge Ceylan‘s Once Upon a Time in Anatolia; (k) Wim Wenders‘ 3D Pina; (l) Ruben Ostlund‘s Play; (m) Nadav Lapid‘s Policeman; (n) Steve McQueen‘s Shame; (o) Asghar Farhadi‘s A Separation; Jafar Panahi‘s This is Not A Film; and Bela Tarr and Agnes Hranitzky‘s The Turin Horse.

This in addition to the already announced Carnage, A Dangerous Method, My Week With Marilyn and the resored 2.76 to 1 Ben-Hur. This is going to be an exceptionally strong festival. Excellent job and a tip of the hat to Scott Foundas, Richard Pena, Todd McCarthy and the gang.

The main problem with Fright Night (Touchstone, 8.19) is the title. They might as well have called it Generic ’80s Horror Film That They Remade in 3D. But it has two selling points: (a) an above-average script, as indicated by the trailer, and (b) Anton Yelchin and Colin Farrell costarring. The HE downside is that Touchstone p.r. hasn’t invited me to squat. This morning I wrote Fright Night producer Mike DeLuca and said, “Hey, Mike, can you help me out?”

This looks good — The Others, The Innocents, The Nightcomers, etc. You might think that with the Harry Potter franchise over and that carte blanche effect at an end, Daniel Radcliffe ‘s markedly short stature may be an issue from time to time. But he’s about the same height as Al Pacino, and he’s got Mickey Rooney beat by a good three inches.

Friend-of-HE Nick Clement — a.k.a. “Action Man” — just got out of a Connnecticut screening of Jonathan Levine‘s 50/50 (Summit, 9.30) “and wow, I was not prepared for how accomplished it was,” he says. “Holy shit, what a great movie! Powerful. Sad but oddly uplifting. And funny. Genuinely funny.

“Joseph Gordon Levitt kills it — very understated, never going too hard for the emotions, always feeling 100% natural. And say what you will about Seth Rogen, but he’s perfect in this movie — and for the film to work at all, it needed a lot of humor, as there’s nothing funny about the situation that JGL’s character is facing. Rogen is basically capable of doing one thing — playing the rude, crude stoner who always has something funny to say — and that’s fine with me. He’s the best at this particular kind of comedy, and for me he never disappoints.

“My wife just got over a cancer-related illness where chemo was required (six months of it), and while she was never at risk with losing her life during her ordeal, I really related to a lot of what I was looking at tonight on the big screen. There’s a moment in the film where JGL makes a confession to his therapist (the fucking awesome Anna Kendrick, who just exudes confidence and smarts and warmth) that he just wants people to stop bullshitting him and tell him straight-up that he’s going to die. It’s a brilliant moment of acting and direction, and it was then that the movie grabbed me by the heart.

“Who the hell is Jonathan Levine? The Wackness? That still-unreleased Mandy Lane horror thing? There was a seriously talented hand guiding this movie, and it’s all the more impressive to learn that Levine was a replacement at the last minute for another filmmaker who apparently left the project over creative differences. Terry Stacey‘s intimate and measured cinematography is stylish but never show-offy, and the editing is sharp as a tack.

“And the soundtrack — I don’t remember a collection of semi-older-pop songs as good as this one. Michael Giacchino‘s score is subtle yet highly effective, and that right there is why 50/50 works as well as it does. It never hammers you over the head with how inherently sad the entire scenario is, and because Levine doesn’t wallow in anything for too long, nothing ever becomes maudlin in the way that lesser movies dealing with this subject have been.

“And still, the best strength of the entire piece is Will Reiser‘s screenplay. While predictable in some respects, he gets so much right in the little details (as this apparently happened to him in some fashion), and for the first time in a long time, I felt that the voices of the thirtysomethings in this film were honest and real depictions of actual people living in the here-and-now. All the lines sounded organic and the frequently colorful (and often times laugh-out-loud-funny) vulgarity was just what friends would say to each other.

“Confusing and stressful interactions with doctors were spot on and tearful and painful discussions with parents are examined (Anjelica Houston nails a few scenes as JGL’s mom). Plus, there’s this great scene where JGL, Rogen, Philip Baker Hall (really good in an uncharacteristic role) and Matt Frewer all get high on medicinal marijuana, and I swear, the way it’s shot and cut — you feel like your getting a contact high. And I loved the bit with JGL walking out of his first chemo session…

“I don’t want to oversell this film but I’m afraid I already have. It’s going to be a tough sell with the general populace I think at the box-office, which is a shame, because it’s the sort of film that totally wins over its audience. I saw the film in a sold-out theater at a free screening sponsored by various websites and radio stations. Mixed demographics and people of all ages. You always worry with free movies as you never know what kind of winners are gonna show up, but with 50/50, nobody spoke, texted, or acted up — everyone was consumed with what they were watching. They laughed in all the right spots, choked up when the moment was right, and quiet during all of the big moments.

“It’s gonna become known as ‘that cancer movie’ but my hope is that the Rogen brand brings people in on opening weekend, because once word gets out, it will be a film that will be impossible not to reccommend to anyone you know. Without spoiling anything, the ending is fair and earned and completely believable. Expectations play a large part in how one reacts to any given film, and I never expected to be as moved as I was by 50/50. I hope that somehow it gains some awards traction because its one of those little movies that deserves everything thrown at it.”

Update: “The screening happened at Rave Cinemas in Manchester, CT — best multiplex in the state. No focus group. They didn’t even give out cards. They had some marketing people from Summit in the lobby asking people what they thought and they were writing things down in journals, I got the pass from www.gofobo.com — very cool, free movies.

I saw friends with benefits this way

“I’m still crying from this film. Everyone was. Very effective filmmaking.”

“In 1873, the first electromechanical vibrator was used at an asylum in France for the treatment of female hysteria. While physicians of the period acknowledged that the disorder stemmed from sexual dissatisfaction, they seemed unaware of or unwilling to admit the sexual purposes of the devices used to treat it. In fact, the introduction of the speculum was far more controversial than that of the vibrator.” — from “Female hysteria” Wiki page.

The Relativity guys are taking Machine Gun Preacher on the road before the Toronto Film Festival, showing it to journos in various burghs & arranging interviews with talent. Me: “Can I see it early too? I’ll hold the review until the festival, of course. It would just help to be able to bag this one early.” Them: “But seeing it at the festival will be so much more exciting! With a big crowd and all!”

Me: “Yeah, but all the publicists say that, and it’s impossible to see all the films I want to see once the festival starts. The upshot is that I wind up missing 10 or 15 films, which is why seeing anything early is great.” Same tug-of-war conversation every year.

For some reason this photo of the River Bend Lodge in Chama, New Mexico, makes me feel soothed and peaceful-like. Maybe it’s the green lawn or the log-cabin vibe or the buffalo statue or all of it. I’m staying here on the night on Wednesday, 8.31, as part of the first leg of a five-hour drive up to the Telluride Film Festival from Albuquerque, New Mexico. They have cabins with loft beds, and a river outside with the smell of pine trees in the air. I love mom-and-pop places and I hate corporate-type hotels.

The well-connected Patricia Bosworth has always been a succinct, carefully phrased writer and a perceptive and trustworthy biographer. (I’ve read her 1978 book about Montgomery Clift twice.) I was reminded of her skills when I began reading a Vanity Fair excerpt from her latest biography, Jane Fonda: The Private Life of a Public Woman earlier today. It also hit me again that the story of Fonda’s life from the early ’60s to early ’70s is a stirring one, particularly in the arc of her relationship with French director Roger Vadim.

The bottom line is that Vadim was a much more interesting man than he was a director — his films were never very much more than shallow exploitation fare with provocative sex scenes. But he did guide Fonda’s life and soul into realms she’d never known or savored before they met and got going as a couple sometime in ’64. And Fonda did came of age and bloomed in all sorts of ways — sexually, politically, culturally — due to his influence. He orchestrated her metamorphosis from plucky young lass to seasoned European woman.

And then the string ran out in the early ’70s, both having travelled as far as they were able to within their particular realm, having married each other in late ’65. Fonda moved on to feminism and political militancy and Klute and “Hanoi Jane” and Tom Hayden and all that, and Vadim, among other things, went on to make the execrable Pretty Maids All In A Row. He was a flat, terrible filmmaker. (Barbarella is glossy dreck.) Vadim’s great gift was his ability to seduce, marry and exploit beautiful actresses. And to make his life into a great sensual symphony of sorts, I suppose.

It’s a fascinating growth-of-a-woman story (the excerpt, I mean) with a fair amount of frank reporting about the impulsive, swan-divey sexual intrigues of that era. What a time to be randy and alive and hungry! Although the sexual anecdote that I’ve most enjoyed about the young Fonda (however accurate or inaccurate it may be) is contained in Peter Biskind‘s Warren Beatty biography.

Jane Fonda, Roger Vadim on the set of Barbarella.

This won’t qualify as a substantial observation, but I’ve noticed over the past couple of days that Gov. Rick Perry has only half a neck. He’s got a fairly large head that seems to mostly just sit on his shoulders, and what little he has in the way of a neck is hidden by those high-and-wide elephant collars he loves to wear. I’m not saying he has no neck at all, which is how it was with Mickey Spillane. And it may be an optical illusion as much as anything else.