If the Best Actress Oscar race was more of a free-for-all (i.e., if it wasn’t a Meryl Streep vs. Viola Davis eyeball-to-eyeball), Michelle Williams would be surging right now in the minds of those Academy geezers that Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil is always talking about. O’Neil has posted stats indicating that younger, hotter actresses tend to win Oscars more than older actresses (unless we’re talking about exceptions-to-the-rule like Helen Mirren).

Williams’ publicist has obviously bought into O’Neil’s opinions on the subject, and so has Williams, I’m presuming. But this is a one-shot deal — magazine tokenism. On a regular day-to-day basis Williams is not appealing to aging Academy horndogs with that little pixie haircut of hers.

Williams herself recently said that her pixie cut is attractive only to “my girlfriends and gay men.” She told Elle UK that “I cut [my hair] for the one straight man who has ever liked short hair” — late husband Heath Ledger — “and I wear it in memorial of somebody who really loved it.’

Bottom line: It’s not unreasonable to consider the possibility that Williams Oscar chances might have been greater if she’d worn longer, more Marilyn Monroe-like hair over the last few months.

Arrow Academy is issuing a Bluray/DVD of Bernardo Bertolucci‘s The Conformist on 2.27. Obviously a slam-dunker, except that Arrow Films, The Associates and Amazon.uk all decline to specify on their websites if it’s all-region or just Region 2. Why do British Bluray distributors make this information so obscure? Why don’t they just say it plain and simple?

From the press release: “HD restoration supervised by director of photography Vittorio Storaro in the original 1.66:1 aspect ratio.” I’ll bet that a lot of the 1.85 fascists reading this experienced a very slight twitch in their cheeks when they read this. They understand the validity of 1.66 if it’s a European film from the ’50s, ’60s or ’70s, but in their heart of hearts they’d prefer to see all non-Scope films from these eras cropped down to 1.85. Because, in the words of Gen. Jack D. Ripper, “that’s how your hardcore 1.85 fascist thinks.”

I know that “TBC” doesn’t mean “to be continued” but…anyone?

I grew up in a suburban neighborhood in which cats used to roam around. Ever since I’ve had this idea that cats should be allowed outside if the immediate environment is at least somewhat safe — no fast cars, relative peace and quiet, nice homes with lawns, trees and bushes, squirrels scampering up trees, etc. Which is why I decided after moving back to West Hollywood last February that Mouse, my three-year-old Siamese, should be let out in the evenings. My other feline, a white munchkin named Aura, is afraid of the outdoors, but Mouse wants to feel the air and look up at the stars and sky. And I can’t abide the thought of keeping him inside.

I realize this means he might one day get hit by a car, God forbid, but Siamese cats are more intelligent than other breeds (or so I’ve always sensed) and I think there’s a 97% chance that he’ll be okay. No, I don’t like living with that 3%, but the alternative — i.e., in effect sentencing Mouse to a life of indoor imprisonment for the rest of his days — is something I just can’t do. Every now and then a neighbor will run into Mouse, read his name plate and call and ask “excuse me but do you know your cat is out?” They’re concerned. Cats are generally kept inside as a rule. Last summer a pretty lady called to say that Mouse had been hanging in her two-bedroom apartment across the street and did I want to come pick him up? Another time a woman called furious that I could be thoughtless enough to expose an animal to possible harm — i.e., “what is wrong with you?”

I obviously got what she was saying but she hadn’t considered the imprisonment thing, so we’re even.

Joe Carnahan‘s The Grey doesn’t open for another 12 days, but I’ll be up to my ears in Sundance starting on Wednesday…okay, it actually begins Thursday…and I’m figuring it can’t hurt to say a few things, at least, because it’s quite a surprise for a Carnahan film. I had him pegged as “over” after the one-two punch of Smokin’ Aces and The A-Team. But The Grey is a complete departure. It’s a good tough film that’s going to sell tickets, I’m guessing, but it’s almost too pure and unsparing to be a big hit.

The Grey is a Jack London survivalist thing. Liam Neeson, Dermot Mulroney, Frank Grillo and four other guys vs. hungry CG wolves. I was thinking about the hard terms of London’s “To Build A Fire“. It ends, in a way, like “To Build A Fire”. It doesn’t fool around. This makes it a very significant film for a January release, given that January films tend to be dumpers. Which this is not.

The CG wolves got in the way for me. All CG animals do. Especially one that looked to be the size of one of the Twilight werewolves — i.e., almost as big as a lion. That kind of stuff rips me out of a film. But otherwise it’s solid (well, fairly sold) and hard and honorable. I’m trying to think of a previous instance in which a director started out with a strong, admirable film (i.e., Narc) and then seemed to cash in (if not sell out) and wham…he does a total 180 with a hardcase men-against-the-elements film that no one could accuse of being overtly commercial. And yet it is commercial, if quality means anything to anyone.

That’s all I’m going to say for now. I can post another Grey piece next week sometime.

Deadline‘s Pete Hammond reminds that next Saturday’s Producers’s Guild Awards — the first 2011-2012 awards ceremony that isn’t press-and-media-driven (including the Golden Globes) — is the last chance to stop The Artist . “If someone — anyone — can stop The Artist we have a race,” he wrote this morning at 2:14 am. “But if the latter sails to a win among those all-important and predictive guild’s members, it could be all over even before Oscar nominations are announced January 24.”

I think it’s been over since early December. As sold as many of us are on The Descendants, it has generated more in the way of admiration and respect than heartfelt rocket-fuel passion — let’s face it. But let’s see.

The snaps I took on 2.5.09 of the Lorraine Motel, site of the April 4, 1968 murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, speak for themselves. “The strongest impression I got was that it’s quiet — dead quiet,” I wrote during my Memphis visit three years ago. “The Lorraine stopped being a working motel in ’82 and was soon after bought by the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Foundation and eventually became part of a small network of buildings called the National Civil Rights Museum.

“It’s a queer sensation to suddenly be eyeballing with great concentration a place as famous/infamous as this, and to just…I don’t know, just stroll around and take it all in. I was assessing the distance between the motel’s upper balcony (where King stood just before being shot) and the rear window of a former down-at-the-heels rooming-house from which James Earl Ray fired. Over and over I’ve watched black-and-white photos and newsreel film film (and lately, since the 40th anniversary last year, color video) of this sad place, and it’s just weird to see it live.”

I feel, in a sense, like a West Virginia coal miner trying to fend off black lung disease. For the last two or three years my left eye has been suffering from computer glare — redness, puffiness, watering, pink eye — due to prolonged computer-screen exposure. I’m in front of screens for a good 10 hours a day, and that’s a lot of eye-blasting — 70 hours a week, 280 to 300 hours each month.

My initial remedy was to (a) turn down the brightness levels to one-third and (b) wear sunglasses while working, but it’s hard to find ones that don’t make things look too dark. Then I started being extra-careful about keeping the screen as far away from my eyes as possible. Two days ago I ordered two screen-glare filters. Maybe that’ll work. My right eye, oddly, hasn’t had any difficulty.

I wholeheartedly agree that the best CG fakery is the modest, non-showy kind that you never notice until you see it pointed out in a piece like this. But c’mon…two minutes devoted to how CG bookshelves and other architectural archive elements were created? Plus some train tracks and a slit throat and one or two other bits? The work was done by Stockholm’s The Chimney Pot.

Yesterday’s Oscar Poker was a four-way between Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone, Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil, Coming Soon‘s Ed Douglas and myself. We recorded on an outdoor balcony on the third floor of Barnes and Noble at The Grove, with planes droning overhead and three or four kids chattering nearby. It happened about four hours before the Golden Globes began.

The energy never flagged, and a good scuffle between Ed and Sasha materialized about halfway through. Ed was predicting a Meryl Streep Best Actress win and Sasha was pooh-poohing this and saying it was Viola Davis‘s time. Douglas was on the money, it turned out.

Here’s a stand-alone mp3.

There was probably no way, I suppose, for Ricky Gervais to aggressively lambast and offend the way he did during his 2011 Golden Globes hosting gig. Last night’s opening monologue plays slightly better than the second time, for whatever that’s worth. It seemed to me that people laughed a bit more last night — in 2011 a lot of them scowled or looked a bit stunned. The only person Gervais seemed to really piss off was Elton John.

7:54: All hail The Descendants for winning the Golden Globe for Best Drama-yamma-mamma! The cheer inside the Fox Searchlight party was deafening. Good thing for FS, for HE and for all Hawaiians, honorary and otherwise. A counter-surge against The Artist or just a good night in and of itself? Hugged Judy Greer, who was of course delighted.

7:47 pm: The Descendants‘ George Clooney wins for Best Dramatic Actor. Good one! Gracious speech, kudos to Pitt, Fassbender, etc. Classy guy, as always.

7:37 pm: The Artist wins, naturally, for Best Comedy or Musical, but Meryl Streep‘s Best Actress win is a bit of a shocker, as most of the know-it-alls had Viola Davis pegged. I know that Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone was stunned by this.

7:26 pm : Jean Dujardin wins for Best Actor, Comedy or Musical. Charming fellow, good jawline, nice speech…piffle.

7:18 pm : I drove down to the Beverly Hilton on the scooter, got through security, and am now drinking champagne. No, champagne cocktails! With the jovial Fox Searchlight gang.

7:13 pm: Shocker! Good shocker! Hugo‘s Martin Scorsese wins the Golden Globe for Best Director! What if anything does this signify?

6:47 pm: The Best Supporting Actress Golden Globe goes to Octavia Spencer for her performance in The Help. Which means that Viola Davis is definitely, absolutely winning for Best Actress. Right? They’re both on a roll. Blah speech by Spencer though. She just read names, names, names…nothing from the heart.

6:41 pm: All right, I’m heading down to the Bev Hilton…leaving now. A part of me would rather stay here and just watch & tweet. Eff it.

6:32 pm: The Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language film goes to — yes! — Asghar Farhadi‘s A Separation. The film’s male lead, Peyman Moadi, accompanies Farhadi to the stage for acceptance, but nobody points him out. Farhadi thanks Sony Classics co-presidents Michael Barker and Tom Bernard, calls Iranian people “truly loving”…and lets it go at that.

6:21 pm: Woody Allen‘s Midnight in Paris beats Aaron Sorkin and Steve Zallian‘s Moneyball screenplay? Really? Okay, whatever. I’m not going to put down Allen’s clever screenplay, but it really doesn’t have the spirit or freshness or emotional current of the Moneyball screenplay. Yes, I’m talking about what was written down.

6:18 pm: N.Y. Times reporter Brian Stelter is tweeting that Jon Huntsman is bailing out and “poised to endorse Romney.” The second part is predictable but not very admirable, I must say.

6:14 pm: I agree — the Best Animated Feature Golden Globe going to Tintin is the HFPA saying “sorry, man, but this is the best we can do” to Steven Spielberg in lieu of their inability to raise high the War Horse roof beam,

Tim Robbins‘ silvery gray hair looks really nice with his lean, tanned face against the midnight tux.

6:01 pm: Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy has gone to Michelle Williams for “that hysterical comedy” My Week With Marilyn. (Seth Rogen provided the description.) A mother first, eh?

5:51 pm: Ricky Garvais‘ decision to wear a maroon-and-black tuxedo is, to my eyes, a huge miscalculation. A sartorial nightmare. Maroon jackets, sweaters, socks, scarves, capes…all bad.

5:48 pm: The Artist composer Ludovic Bource has won a Golden Globe for Best Score. And there’s your tipoff about general HFPA Artist sentiments.

5:37 pm: I realize it’s not nice to go where I’m about to go, but…actually, I can’t. I’ve wimped out. The thought concerned Melissa McCarthy. The thought is fairly evident. Sorry but c’mon.

5:22 pm: Nobody in my sphere cares very much about Golden Globe TV awards…sorry. Tens of thousands are paying attention, and that’s fine. No disrespect intended. Wait…Kate Winslet won for Todd Haynes‘ Mildred Pierce? I care about that. Excellent work.

5:09 pm: To no one’s surprise and everyone’s approval (except for the hardcore Drive geeks), Christopher Plummer has won the Best Supporting Actor award for his performance in Beginners. And incidentally, the NBC cameras have so far delivered two shots of the Sony Classics table, and I didn’t see Corey Stoll.

The day has so far included a little writing and researching, and then a four hour hang-out at West Hollywood’s The Grove with Awards Daily‘s Sasha Stone , Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neil and Coming Soon‘s Ed Douglas (including a recording of a one-hour Oscar Poker), and then back to the pad to bang out two articles before preparing to hit the Fox Searchlight Golden Globes viewing party at the Beverly Hilton.

Except now it’s 4:29 pm and the show starts at 5 pm so maybe I’ll hang here and watch Ricky Gervais‘s opening monologue and then head over to the party. Everything always takes more time than you figure it will…every time.