The more I read about Christy Hall‘s Daddio, the sorrier I am that I ducked it in Telluride. I was especially persuaded by Todd McCarthy’s Deadline review. I’m very much looking forward to the next viewing opportunity.
Pic is a two-hander about a grizzled New York City cab driver named Clark (Sean Penn) covering the verbal and cultural waterfront with his blonde 30something passenger (Dakota Johnson).
I should admit there was a specific reason why I didn’t see Daddio last week. It was because of the dopey Millennial spelling. If it had been spelled right I would have gone in a heartbeat.
Daddy-o is a beatnik anachronism. The root term (duhh) is “daddy” with a “y”. Daddio is for dingleberries.
I respect director Michael Sarnoski (Pig) but this is a paycheck whore job for the poor guy. London version, same old shite. Poor Lupita Nyong’o and Djimon Honsou. The first one was decent, but I’m sick to death of this effing franchise.
…when I was 12 or 13. Like Truman Capote I also was more into movies, reading books and drawing stuff than girls (the hound-dogging didn’t start until I was 23), sports or, God forbid, school studies.
When I was 16 or 17 I was putting much more time and energy into typing a socially satirical hand-out (circulated among my ruffian friends) than doing homework. I surely could have refined my writing skills by attending journalism school in my late teens or early 20s, but I’ve always been a do-it-yourself type.
However jarring or chilling Jonathan Glazer‘s The ZoneofInterest may seem to some, one thing it’s clearly not is thematically complex. Write “thebanalityofevil” a thousand times on a blackboard.
In Steven Soderbergh‘s The Limey (’99), the “King Midas” montage rules (:09 to 1:09). All hail The Hollies when Graham Nash was front and center.
Peter Fonda (1940-2019) was an easy guy to talk to…interviewed him a couple of times, talked to him at parties, etc. Terry Valentine was by far his most interesting and layered role, more so than Easy Rider‘s Wyatt or the guy who dropped LSD in The Trip…pick of the litter.
Film maven Edward Douglas is not a brutally frank critic, much less a harsh one. In the realms of fantasy and horror he has tended to be obliging, and sometimes even bend over backwards. So this outright dismissal of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody‘s Lisa Frankenstein (Focus, 2.9) means something, I think.
Ruben Ostlund‘s Force Majeure (’14) is a better film than Nat Faxon and Jim Rash‘s remake titled Downhill (1.20). But the latter isn’t half bad, and it’s a half-hour shorter, and it ends well. And so I’ve decided to re-watch Downhill this evening rather than Ostlund’s original.
Downhill, which opened almost exactly four years ago, struck me as better than decent — adult, well measured, emotionally frank, well acted and cunningly written. (Faxon and Rash shared screenplay credit with Jesse Armstrong.)
It’s not a burn, it’s not about a “black and white situation” (as one of the less perceptive characters puts it) and it provides ample food for thought and discussion.
Both films conclude that a father running from an impending disaster (i.e., a huge avalanche) without trying to save or protect his wife and kids is a bad look. Which of course it is. Obviously.
Both films condemn the dad in question (Will Ferrell in the American version, Johannes Bah Kuhnke in Ostlund’s version) and more or less agree with the furious wives (Julia Louis Dreyfus, Lisa Loven Kongsli) that dad should have (a) super-heroically yanked the wife and kids out of their seats and hauled them inside in a blink of an eye or (b) hugged them before the avalanche hit so they could all suffocate together.
Hollywood Elsewhere says “yes, it’s ignoble for a dad to run for cover without thinking of his wife or kids,” but I also believe that instinct takes over when death is suddenly hovering. I also feel that Dreyfus and the two kids acted like toadstools by just sitting there on the outdoor deck and hoping for the best.
Question for Dreyfus and sons: A huge terrifying avalanche is getting closer and closer and you just sit there? I mean, you do have legs and leg muscles at your disposal. A massive wall of death is about to terminate your future and your reaction is “oh, look at that…nothing to do except watch and wait and hope for the best”?
Both films film basically ask “who are we deep down?” They both suggest that some of the noble qualities we all try to project aren’t necessarily there. But Rash and Faxon’s film also says “hey, we’re all imperfect and yes, some of us will react instinctually when facing possible imminent death. So maybe take a breath and don’t be so viciously judgmental, and maybe consider the fact that tomorrow is promised to no one so just live and let live.”
I was especially taken by Downhill‘s spot-on philosophical ending (i.e., “all we have is today”). Seriously, it really works. I came to scoff at this film (due to the less-than-ecstatic Sundance buzz) but came away converted.
Has there ever been a real-life situation in which a famous person didn’t die in their home (and I mean a nice homey-home with a warm fire going in the fireplace and pets lying on their bed) and wasn’t surrounded by family members?
I’m asking because each and every time a celebrity death is announced we’re always told that the passage-into-infinity hasn’t happened in a hospital and that the deceased was absolutely surrounded by family and loved ones.
Don’t most people die in hospitals, and often in the wee hours when family members are home sleeping?
Not once has a celebrity passed while family and friends were out to dinner or otherwise and only a professional caregiver was there…right? Do I have that right?
“We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.” — Orson Welles.
Very few of us are going to die as pleasantly as we’d like to. Death usually happens under circumstances we can’t foresee, much less plan for, and sooner than we’d like. And the likelihood that you’re going to die while lying comfortably in bed between recently-washed sheets is almost nil. The odds are that your final throes are going to either be painful or traumatic or grotesque, and possibly a combination of all three.
By the way: There used to be a stand-alone site called Cinemorgue, which featured listings and descriptions of thousands of death scenes that are alphabetized by the names of actors and actresses.
Cataloguing endless death was apparently too much work for someone, and so Cinemorgue became Cinemorgue Wiki, which allowed readers to submit their additions and corrections directly.
I’d forgotten how many times Elke Sommer was gruesomely killed on-screen. Two skiiing accidents, shot three times (machine gunned in 1969’s The Wrecking Crew, the Dean Martin-Matt Helm movie), blown up, and bludgeoned to death.
Almost all movie deaths, it seems, are brutal, bloody, sudden, ghastly, traumatic and otherwise unpeaceful. Nod-off deaths — like Sir Cedric Hardwicke ‘s passing in The Ten Commandments — have been few and far between over the last 40 years. Is real-life death ever smooth and easy? Only if you do yourself in with pills.
I’ve learned that Woody Allen‘s Coup de Chance, which received enthusiastic reviews when it premiered at last September’s Venice Film Festival, will receive some kind of limited U.S. release in April, possibly a streaming-only deal or perhaps a brief theatrical exposure in major cities followed by streaming.
My understanding is that the distribution arrangement will be announced sometime this week. The distributor isn’t an indie major but an outfit like Vertical or Ketchup…someone in that vein.
This indicates a change in the political weather as Woody’s films have been unwelcome domestically for several years now, especially in the wake of woke terrorism, which kicked off in 2018 or thereabouts. I’m presuming it won’t play any theatres as exhibitors are generally terrified of wokesters and don’t want the hassle.
A couple of weeks ago I reported that “a certain U.S.-based distributor is looking to open (or at least stream) Coup de Chance a couple of months hence, give or take.”
I also noted that a 4K Italian Bluray of Coup de Chance will be released on 3.18.24.
Two months ago I riffed about Rialto’s re-release of Roman Polanski‘s The Pianist.
This seemed to indicate a possible lessening of wokester terror as it wasn’t that long ago when even streaming distributors were afraid of offering Polanski’s J’Accuse (aka An Officer and a Spy) to English-language consumers. They’re still afraid of doing this, of course, but if The Pianist can be re-released why not Polanski’s 2019 Cesar winner?
Poated by World of Reel‘s Jordan Ruimy last August:
