I understand that Eat Pray Love (Columbia, 8.13) is for over-30 women and gay guys, for the most part. But speaking as a yellow-sneaker-wearing metrosexual film buff, I’d like to find a place for it in my head. I’m down with any woman-friendly film that at least tries to deliver the basic goods. Give me some reasonably rounded characters, believable motivations, smartly sculpted dialogue and a reasonably satisfying story, and I won’t squawk. Really.

On top of which I’m a sucker for beautiful footage of Rome, Naples, India and Indonesia. That is, as long as the cinematography doesn’t make me feel that these locales have been, in a manner of speaking, re-constituted according to the requirements of sumptous big-studio imagery. Beautiful places always seem cooler when they haven’t been lighted too carefully.

So I don’t have an attitude about this Ryan Murphy-directed film. I do have a blockage, yes, about Julia Roberts. I look at her and see a raging me-aholic, but then I’m a me-aholic myself so I should be able to get around this. I was fine with her in Ocean’s 12, especially during the Rome hotel scene when she was playing a character who was pretending to be herself. As long as she doesn’t do that cackling laughter thing, I’m cool.

My other attitude is that any film with Richard Jenkins, Javier Bardem and James Franco can’t be all that bad.

I’ve called around this morning and haven’t found anyone yet who’s seen it. The Eat Pray Love premiere and the press showings are happening next week, and I know it was recently shown to the junket crowd in Napa, and to Stephen Farber‘s film class last night.

All this said, I couldn’t help but laugh when I read the following comment on the IMDB chat board” “Watching Eat Pray Love [will be] exactly the same as having a testicle removed.”

Jeffrey Ressner‘s Hollywood Reporter piece about Hollywood Republicans and their “Friends of Abe” organization was posted last night. It mentions an FoA soiree last June at “a sprawling horse ranch near the Ventura County line” that was attended by Republican Senate hopeful Carly Fiorina.

Ressner lists the usual roster of industry-linked righties — Kelsey Grammer, Gary Sinise, Dennis Miller, Jon Voight, Lee Greenwood, Andrew Breitbart, Desperate Housewives creator Marc Cherry. Whom we’ve all been hearing and reading about for years, right? What about the next generation of Hollywood Republicans? Are there any industry righties from among the under-35 set? A movement without young blood is no movement at all.

Ressner scours some political-donation sites and concludes that “it’s easier to figure out what side Angelina Jolie is on in Salt than to understand the political motivations of some studio chiefs.” Sony honcho Michael Lynton and DreamWorks animation chief Jeffrey Katzenberg are described in the piece as apparent political fence straddlers.

Big Hollywood‘s John Nolte tells Ressner than Friends of Abe members keep a low profile because they fear a “chilling effect” on showbiz careers. “There’s no blacklist in the classic sense…it’s more of a peer-pressure thing,” he explains.

It was announced yesterday that the longest-delayed documentary with the worst title in the history of motion pictures has found a distributor. John Scheinfeld‘s Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is He Saying Terrible Things About Me)?, which had its debut four and a half years ago at the Santa Barbara Film Festival, has been acquired by Kino Lorber.

The widely praised doc will get a 9.10 Cinema Village opening in Manhattan along with (one presumes) another in Los Angeles on or near the same date, followed by a DVD debut (complete with an extra 93 minutes of footage) on 10.26.

I’m sorry…I got the title wrong. It’s actually Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin’ About Him)?. The wording doesn’t matter, of course, because a title with 18 syllables doesn’t work any way you slice it. Scheinfeld’s film should have been called Everybody’s Talkin’ — the title of Nilsson’s most famous song, or at least among those who’ve seen and/or know anything about John Schlesinger‘s Oscar-winning Midnight Cowboy (’69), which Nilsson’s tune became a kind of theme song for.

Why did it take Scheinfeld four years to put a deal together? Music rights. The film uses 48 Nilsson tracks that are owned by Sony, and all along Scheinfeld had been trying to persuade the company to grant the rights gratis and then use the film as a promotional tool to market the Nilsson catalogue, The public has mostly forgotten about Nilsson (aside from mostly boomer-aged buffs), but a soundtrack CD released along with Scheinfeld’s doc might have re-ignited interest.

But a lack of visionary leadership at Sony BMG — initially under the stewardship of CEO Rolf Schmidt-Holtz from early ’06 to August ’08, and then for roughly a year at the Sony Music Entertainment after Sony BMG was dissolved — kept this from happening. Certain business affairs execs felt that gratis music rights would set a bad precedent. Scheinfeld describes the atmosphere at Sony from early ’06 through mid ’09 as a “chaotic landscape” and a “black hole…no one person seemed to be able to make a decision.”

Things finally loosened up last fall when SME honcho Adam Block came to the conclusion that the film could “be a great advertisement of Harry’s catalogue” if distributed.

Early last December I briefly discussed Who Is Harry Nilsson? with Jeff Bridges (a huge Nilsson fan) during a Crazy Heart press party. We agreed it was a shame that Scheinfeld’s doc, which Bridges had seen at the Santa Barbara Film Festival debut, was apparently doomed to obscurity. I went home and voiced this feeling in a piece called “Homeless Forever.”

Scheinfeld told me this morning that reading this article “kind of spurred us on” — i.e., acted as a kind of kick in the pants. Whatever the truth of this, I’m glad that he and his film are finally out of the woods.

37 months ago I wrote following in an article called “Nilsson Doc Stranded“:

“At the ’06 Santa Barbara Film festival — sixteen and a half months ago — I ran my first piece about John Scheinfeld‘s Who is Harry Nilsson (and Why Is Everybody Talkin’ About Him)?. I started out both liking it enormously and disliking it — I couldn’t get past the depressing aspects of a story about another ’60s-era rock musician self-destructing, but I was deeply moved by the music and the obvious love and care that Scheinfeld put into his film.

“For whatever reason a distribution deal never happened. A logical suspect, Sony Pictures Classics, never bit despite Sony BMG owning the Nilsson catalogue, which would allow for an obvious cross-promotion potential.

“I don’t know what the problematic particulars may be, but a film as good as this one deserves to be seen. It’s a profound insult to Nilsson, his legacy and his thousands of fans that the best this doc can hope for is some cruddy straight-to-video deal. The man was one of the greatest songwriter-singers of the ’60s and early ’70s — what’s the problem?

“Obviously Nilsson never attained Beatles-level fame, and obviously Scheinfeld’s doc has a limited commercial potential. But for the film to fail to get any kind of deal whatsoever is absurd. Sounds like somebody’s being obstinate or unrealistic or both, and that other parties are asleep at the wheel.”

Scheinfeld’s doc, which has been refined since I last saw it, will have a special screening in Manhattan on 8.13 at 92Y in Tribeca.

Six and a half years ago filmmaker Les Blank, best known for his legendary Burden of Dreams (1982), a doc about the making of Werner Herzog‘s Fitzcarraldo, took part in a Santa Barbara Film Festival panel discussion about documentary filmmaking. I don’t remember what Blank said (a video of the discussion sits below), but I do recall his decision to lay out DVDs of his films on a blanket outside the theatre and offer them for sale.

The fact that Burden of Dreams is now free on Hulu indicates that it’s not exactly a hot-selling Criterion Collection title. It is nonetheless one of the most stirring making-of-a movie docs ever made. It is arguably equal to Fitzcarraldo itself, as both films deal with a white man’s manic obsession and borderline lunacy in a remote South American jungle, and how it impacts a native culture. Klaus Kinski‘s Fitzcarraldo = Werner Herzog = Fitzcarraldo and back again.

In my book BOD is in the same realm as George Hickenlooper ‘s Hearts of Darkness, Laurent Bouzereau‘s two-hour-long “making of Jaws” doc (i.e., originally included on a Jaws special edition laser disc in the ’90s, re-appeared on a 30th anniversary Jaws DVD that came out in ’05) and Charles Lauzarika‘s Tricks of the Trade, an innovative 71-minute doc about the making of Ridley Scott‘s Matchstick Men.

If this is real, it reminds us that on top of all of her other problems, Lindsay Lohan suffers from appalling taste in projects. I was able to watch about 20 seconds of this trailer before blacking out. Director-writer-costar Vince Offer might have crafted a masterpiece and is deliberately concealing this fact for some crafty reason. But if not, he needs to be seized, taken outside and shot.

Sometime this morning The Pusuitist posted a link to an mp3 Inception ringtone.

I went straight from Penn Station early this afternoon to the Regency hotel (Park and 61st) for an Animal Kingdom sitdown with director-writer David Michod. Before my scheduled interview I ran into costar Ben Mendelsohn, who plays one of the most squeamishly creepy bad guys I’ve seen in quite a long while. We talked briefly and I snapped a couple of shots.

Animal Kingdom director-writer David Michod — Monday, 8.2, 4:10 pm.

Crime-movie aficionados are guaranteed a different kind of meal when they sit down with Animal Kingdom (Sony Classics, 8.13).

For one thing you never actually see any of the Cody brothers, a Melbourne-based crime family of four, commit any money-making (or money-stealing) crimes. Court testimony that has everyone on pins and needles for a good portion of the film is never heard. Bang-bang stuff happens, but infrequently and very quickly and is never milked for maximum cinematic impact a la schlockmeister Robert Rodriguez. It’s mostly about paranoia leading to poisoning, but it’s also about the things you’re expecting to see never quite happening as you might expect.

The Cody gang members are played by Mendelsohn (as Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody), Joel Edgerton (as Barry Brown…shit, I just realized his last name isn’t Cody), Luke Ford (as Darren Cody), Sullivan Stapleton (as Craig Cody) and the heavy-lidded, not-especially-bright-looking James Frecheville (as the kid of the family, Joshua Cody). But the scariest of the bunch is Jacki Weaver‘s Janine Cody, a Lady Macbeth with serpent claws and a lizard tongue flicking in and out of her mouth.

Animal Kingdom also features Guy Pearce in a steady, rock-solid performance as an investigating detective who tries to loosen Josh’s family ties.

Animal Kingdom costar Ben Mendelsohn — Monday, 8.2, 3:35 pm.

It’s almost irritating that such an unusually realistic film as Animal Kingdom is opening the same day as Mesrine: Killer Instinct, the summer’s other exceptional crime pic.

I would argue nonetheless that Animal Kingdom is a bit more original than Mesrine, which, despite its matter-of-fact grit and pared-to-the-bone narrative, is basically a variation on The Rise and Fall of Legs Diamond. I would go even further, actually, and suggest that of all the films opening on 8.13 (with the exception of the unseen Eat Pray Love), Animal Kingdom is the least likely to make you feel burned by an over-reliance on formula.

As I noted on 6.18 (and at least once before that), it’s roughly similar to Jamie Foley‘s At Close Range. But it delivers its own kind of creepy Australian chemistry. There’s never a moment when you don’t sense an uh-oh feeling outside the door or around the corner. The brewing and churning of sudden gunshots, suffocations, betrayals, etc.

Animal Kingdom is mainly a dialogue movie interwoven with short violent bursts rather than vice versa, but it feels anxious and unsettling every step of the way. As I said before, the Codys “don’t act or look the part but you can’t help but believe — trust — that they’re quite dangerous when push comes to shove, or when they slip into a foul mood.” And one of them wear mullets!

Donna Daniels handled today’s Animal Kingdom press junket for Sony Classics.

If you find this Sly Stallone/Shira Lazar spoof interview amusing, you may also find The Expendables a reasonably okay rock-out ride. The trailer doesn’t quite do it for me…sorry. Lazar is too conspicuously “reading” her awful lines, for one thing. But it works as a metaphor for the feelings that many celebrities have about junket-whore TV interviewers.

12 or 13 days ago Anton Corbijn‘s blog about the making of The American revealed that the film did some “late stage” extra shooting in Abruzzo, Italy (presumably within the last few weeks) and that this final phase introduced a new character played by veteran Belgian actor Johan Leysen. “It was a wonderful experience and Johan’s work in the film will be the icing on the cake,” Corbijn writes. Last-minute shooting with a brand new character? Hmmm.

My Providence-to-NYC Amtrak office this morning. No wifi (unless you take the Acela) but the AT&T Air Card works fine. Lots of table space, several wall outlets, and a relatively smooth ride if compared to a stagecoach journey across Kansas in the 1880s.

I spent the weekend with an old friend who lives in Little Compton, Rhode Island. An affluent hamlet, large trees and sprawling extra-large lawns, private beaches, flat Hamptons-style typography. Last night we visited her slightly older sister, who lives a full and ordered life but doesn’t “get out” much and rarely if ever goes to movies. But her eyes brightened when Eat Pray Love came up, which older sis definitely plans to see. Moments like this tell you more than any tracking report.

Nobody in my realm has seen Eat Pray Love…no screenings, no nothing. And yet it opens 11 days hence (8.13), or the same day as The Expendables, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, Mesrine: Killer Instinct, Animal Kingdom, etc., which have all been liberally screened. We’re obviously past the appropriate time to let people like me see it unless…you know, there’s a problem. I’m not implying anything; I’m just wondering.

Eat Pray Love is incidentally rated PG-13 for “brief strong language, some sexual references and male rear nudity.” Whose ass, I wonder? Richard Jenkins would naturally be out of the running so the most reasonable assumption would be either James Franco‘s or Javier Bardem‘s.

Myself, my friend’s older sister (not to be named without permission) and a guy she was seeing at the time. Pic taken way back when in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida.

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“In its willingness to simply show people having feelings without talking about them, Ruba Nadda‘s Cairo Time (IFC Films, 8.6) is reminiscent of Sofia Coppola‘s Lost in Translation,” writes Marshall Fine. “Yet, thanks to a marvelously nuanced performance by Patricia Clarkson and a smoothly engaging one by Alexander Siddig, we feel both the heat of the Egyptian desert and a warmth growing between these two people.

“The film lives and breathes through Clarkson. With her butterscotch hair, sleepy eyes and quietly husky voice, she’s [playing] a woman in full possession of herself — but one who longs to let herself go, even if just a little. It’s a stunning performance of many facets, in which Clarkson conveys as much in a look as many actresses struggle to reveal with overt histrionics.

“Cairo Time seduces the viewer with its beauty, with its wealth of emotion that doesn’t have to be discussed to be felt. It pulls you into another world so deeply that you are disappointed at having to leave it at the end.”

In other words, it’s an adult-romance chick flick that’s probably too subtle and intelligent to pull in the mainstream older-female audience that paid to see the last Sex and the City flick and can’t wait to see Eat Pray Love. What does the average over-30 female moviegoer think about heavy breathing with a good-looking Egyptian guy with a nicely trimmed beard? I wouldn’t know, but don’t you need to dispense giddy-giggly GTO humor and lush material fantasy to snag this group?