Last month the fetching one-sheet for Lone Scherfig‘s One Day (Focus Features, 7.8) spurred enthusiasm on top of Scherfig’s respected rep and the wide acclaim that greeted her last film, An Education. One Day, based on David Nicholls‘ 2010 novel and costarring Anne Hathaway and Jim Strugess, is one of those delayed-satisfaction relationship tales (i.e., spanning 20 years) in the vein of When Harry Met Sally.

After graduating from a university in ’88, Dexter (Sturgess) and Emma (Hathaway) “run circles around one another for the next 20 years,” according to one cliche-filled synopsis. That irks me right off the top. Why, I’m asking myself, does any potential couple wait 20 years to figure out that they’re the best match either one can find? Why not take 30 years to come to this conclusion? Or 40? Why not wait until they’re in their ’80s and one of them is on his/her death bed?

The main reason they don’t “happen” for so long, it turns out, is immaturity, booze and general asshole-ish tendencies on the part of Dex. I’m suspicious of any Amazon.com reviewer for the usual reasons, but Gregory Baird scared me with the following:

“Dex goes from being the person you like ‘in an ironic, tongue-in-cheek, love-to-hate kind of way’ (in the words of his agent) to someone you (or at least I) can’t abide somewhere around the hundred-page mark. Self-involved and pleasure-seeking, he’s the kind of guy who ‘isn’t sure sure that struggle suits him’ when pondering a career path. Indeed, the only reason he wants a career at all is so that he can have a line to impress women with. When his self-absorption leads him to angrily think to himself that ‘he has better things to do’ than be at his beloved mother’s deathbed, it goes too far.

“Emma is the only person with the capacity to affect real change in Dex, and is reduced to (eventually) acting as the vehicle for his recovery. So her story stagnates. We are meant to believe that Emma can’t fall in love because she has already fallen, irretrievably, for Dex. [Except her] total love for Dex is inexplicable. It doesn’t make sense.

Yet another reviewer calls the dialogue “is absolutely terrific — the couple have a teasing/kneedling way of talking to each other and the repartee between them remains funny and fresh throughout.”

I just feel a mite concerned — nothing more. I say this as an ardent admirer of Scherfig’s (she’s exceptionally smart and talented), and as someone who tumbled big-time for An Education and had a very good time with Italian for Beginners.

And again, I’m sorry to take this tone but I’ve never before seen actual live footage that looks like a Roland Emmerich disaster film. Horrific as it is, this clip qualifies.

Tsunami Japon from notifuente.com on Vimeo.

Searching Google Maps for Meavy, England, where Steven Spielberg was shooting War Horse a few weeks ago, led to me the ancient village of Wells, about 90 minutes to the northeast. There was a moment in a London office of British Airways 30 years ago when an agent said my last name, and that instant I realized that only the British can pronounce it properly. I had unknowingly mispronounced it all my life. I’ve tried to convey how it sounds with pheonetical mimicry, but it doesn’t quite work.

I’ve never visited Wells, but when I eventually do it’ll be like Kunta Kinte returning to the village of Juffure in The Gambia, West Africa.

Wells, incidentally, is not to be confused with Tunbridge Wells, which Claude Rains, in the role of Dryden, referred to at the end of Lawrence of Arabia. Prince Feisal (Alec Guiness) asks his opinion of the conflict between the Arab Council and the situation created by the Sykes-Picot, and Dryden/Rains replies, “Me, Your Highness? Well, on the whole, I wish I’d stayed in Tunbridge Wells.”

Update: The SXSW coupon credential software screwup has been solved, or at least overridden and put to bed. Thanks to all concerned.

Previously: “Wells to SXSW press office: I find it mildly idiotic that SXSW insists that credentialed SXSW journalists fill out a form in order to redeem a coupon that excludes them from having to pay $500 or whatever for the privelege of covering SXSW. I presume you know that no other film festival in the world requests this kind of thing.

“In any event I filled everything out and tried to do it as correctly as humanly possible, but after pasting in the code [that was supplied by your office an email] in the ‘redeem coupon’ slot the software told me “that coupon does not exist.”

“I guess I’m going to have to come down to the convention center and haggle this out with someone. Wonderful system you guys have here. I was so impressed I felt I just had to share.”

Videos of the Japanese earthquake-tsunami tragedy have a quality that disaster-fetishists like Roland Emmerich have never been interested in. Commenting on the visual aesthetics of a terrible devastation like it’s an entertainment of some kind may sound offensive, but this has always been my first reaction when videos of this sort appear. CG-infected Hollywood is more interested in amplifying and intensifying — in making the ComicCon culture go “kewwll!” –than recreating the truth of nature’s wrath.

The Pacman-style graphics are appropriate for the new Hobo With A Shotgun game/app. I don’t know why I’m paying attention as I didn’t even like Hobo With A Shotgun that much. Nobody did. But everyone still loves the title and the metaphor.

“From producer Steven Spielberg,” it says at the very beginning. At the 59 second mark it says, “And director JJ Abrams.” As if people needed to be told. Super 8 (Paramount, June 10) is Abrams’ heartfelt, highly assured homage to Classic Spielbergland as it used to exist in the late ’70s and early ’80s. It’s Close Encounters + E.T. plus scary threat. It’s Abrams saying to audiences, “Remember when Spielberg held mountains in the palm of his hand?”

Small-town America, misunderstood kid with dreams on his mind, dad doesn’t get the obsession with home movies and monster makeup, pretty would-be girlfriend, chubby friend, monster is discovered/escapes, arrival of troops, Noah Emmerich (hide in your homes and bolt your doors shut….it’s Noah Emmerich!) and a John Williams-like score by Michael Giacchino, who’s worked with Abrams before on Star Trek and Cloverfield.

Never in all my years of reading blogerati coverage about South by Southwest have I seen actual pictures and/or video of Austin places and happenings and pseudo-landmarks. Well, Hollywood Elsewhere is here with a Canon Elph SD1400, and that shit stops tonight. But what is Austin on Thursday, March 10, 2011 at 10:27 pm? I don’t know. I’m just at some bar on Sixth Street, nursing brewskis and uploading photos on my Toshiba. It’s dark and loud and noisy and packed with hee-hee 20somethings, like a thousand other bars in cities all over America and Europe and Southeast Asia.

For a New Jersey/New York guy like myself, Texas used to be an exotic place to visit. It used to be about shitkickers and Texas accents and honky tonks and country music and pick-up trucks. The vibe on Austin’s Sixth Street isn’t “Texas” — it’s overflowing with white 21st Century hip-hop homies dancing to the same tunes and rhythms that you’ll find in bars in San Francisco’s Union Street or in some Boston Back Bay bar or on Ninth Avenue in the 40s. The entire under-35 hip social world has become homogenized and corporatized. Nothing is different or dangerous. Or so it goes on Sixth Street, at least.

I’ve never been a major worshipper of director MIchael Winner, but I’ve enjoyed and will always respect three of his early ’70s films — The Nightcomers, Death Wish and Scorpio. They’re screening this weekend at Santa Monica’s Aero. Variety‘s Steven Gaydos is handling the q & a with Winner. South by Southwest prevents my attending.

What has Will Smith done since the failure of Seven Pounds? Nothing, which is another way of saying he hid for two years and then boldly reemerged last year by committing to Bad Boys and Men in Black sequels. The man is basically George Lucas, talking a diversionary game about wanting to make non-corporate, content-driven movies while doing nothing except going for the safe “brand” money. I’m saying this because he obviously needs to do something that isn’t about growing his bank account, and one good way to do this would be to play Senator Barack Obama in Jay Roach and Danny Strong‘s Game Change.

If I hadn’t been working yesterday on my usual rundown of stimulating articles (including two reviews) and running around trying to get one of those Medeco bolt-lock keys copied (forget it) and trying to return that Sony Bluray player before leaving for Austin, I might have posted a South by Southwest preview article similar to the one by Movieline‘s Jen Yamato.

Like everyone else I agree that Jodie Foster‘s The Beaver, Duncan Jones‘ Source Code (Groundhog Day with a bomb), Greg Mottola‘s repulsive-looking Paul and Billy Bob Thornton‘s Willie Nelson doc top the list. That’s not saying much, is it?

Here’s a good one from the N.Y. Observer’s Mike Taylor, a tech guy: “Abolish South by Southwest!”

http://www.observer.com/2011/tech/abolish-south-southwest?utm_medium=partial-text&utm_campaign=daily-transom&utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=DT