Three thoughts about the widely respected Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck (The Lives Of Others) being chosen to direct The Tourist, a Spyglass-produced espionage thriller starring Angelina Jolie, with filming expected to begin next February for a 2011 spring/summer release.

The first thought is “excellent news.” Florian, whom I personally know (and who’s been living in Los Angeles since, I think, sometime in early ’07), is a brilliant, gracious and good-natured fellow, and it’s a good thing (and frankly about time) that he’s landed the proverbial follow-up gig.

The second thought or question, really, is why did it take the director-writer of one of the finest adult dramas of the 21st Century (a political thriller plus a deeply emotional love story) between 30 and 36 months to firm up the right project?

If you’ve directed a great award-winning film (Lives took ’07’s Best Foreign Language Feature Oscar for 2007) and you’re in Los Angeles and haven’t been in Argentina writing a 2,000-page novel, you’re supposed to lock your next film down within six months to a year — certainly no more than 18 months hence. Two years is almost certainly pushing it, and if you’re still mulling things over as the three-year mark approaches…well, you know.

Florian told me last year that he was grappling with The 28th Amendment, a Tom Clancy-esque Washington, D.C. thriller written by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (and commonly referred to as “The Firm within the White House”). It was reported last March that Warner Bros. had finally given the green-light to the stalled/troubled project with von Donnersmarck set to direct. But nothing further’s been announced over the last six months. Is Amendment kaput again?

There’s a 28th Amendment/Phillip Noyce/Angelina Jolie fate factor within this latest Von Donnersmarck story.

Roughly 18 months ago Noyce was planning to direct The 28th Amendment with Tom Cruise starring as the U.S. President, but WB was feeling a bit skittish at the time about the couch-jumping factor. Then Noyce shifted over to Edwin A. Salt, a high-throttle spy thriller with Cruise as a supposed Soviet assassin, but Cruise left that project and Jolie stepped in as a female version of the same character. The Sony-produced film, which Noyce and Jolie wrapped a month or so ago, is now called Salt.

And now Von Donnersmack is joining Jolie on The Tourist, another spy thriller that Noyce, one imagines, could have easily directed. It’s about a female Interpol agent “who draws an unwitting American tourist (Sam Worthington) into her attempt to locate a criminal who was once her lover,” per a Variety synopsis.

Sam Worthington?

The first half of New York City’s late spring/summer season was mostly about rain. Then the rain broke and a sweltering Panamanian heat wave descended and would’t leave until late September. Then some nice fall weather blew in for two weeks and now it’s suddenly winter. Hell, it’s February out there — wet, cold, windy, miserable. A half hour ago a wind gust blew out my cheapie umbrella with two or three loose spokes flopping around in the chill. Weather like this builds character, I realize, but why does it have to be so damn miserable? I feel cheated, spat upon. I’m almost missing Los Angeles.

The name-brand critics not so high on Spike Jonze‘s Where The Wild Things Are include Variety‘s Todd McCarthy, Hollywood Reporter‘s Kirk Honeycutt, Village Voice‘s Jim Hoberman, New Yorker‘s David Denby, Charlotte Observer’s Lawrence Toppman, Miami Herald‘s Rene Rodriguez, Chicago Reader‘s J.R. Jones, Slate‘s Dana Stevens, S.F. Chronicle‘s Mick LaSalle, N.Y. Post‘s Lou Lumenick, Toronto Globe and Mail‘s Liam Lacey, L.A. Times‘ Kenny Turan, Salon.com‘s Stephanie Zacharek and Time Out‘s Keith Uhlich. So hold up on that positive emerging consensus I alluded to a day or so ago.

In a 10.18 piece about the BAM/NYFCC 1962 tribute, which starts on 10.23, N.Y. Times critic A.O. Scott writes that “one lesson of the great films of 1962 is that the old is always sending out a few flickers of glory even as the new is restlessly being born…the moment of change is always now.”

That’s a rich and exciting thought, but otherwise Scott’s article is an elegantly phrased hand job. The BAM/NYFCC ’62 tribute is far too modest — almost a token shell of a program. As I pointed out in a 10.6.09 HE article, Armond White’s selections — for the most part well chosen — represent only a fraction of the 1962 films that could still be called stirring and provocative. With at least 35 or 36 such films overlooked, the tribute won’t even screen half of the ’62 films that should have been shown. As I mentioned earlier, it’s like issuing an album of Rolling Stones greatest hits and ignoring everything they recorded after 1965.

The one-year anniversary of Barack Obama‘s election is fast approaching, and I’m almost ready to throw him under the bus and start working for Rep. Marcy Kaptur. I’m so frustrated with his unwillingness or inability to stand up and show some steel cojones that I’m starting to feel actual anger towards the man.

For me the tipping polnt came when he wimped out on pushing hard for public option health insurance. I can honestly confess now to hating Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner almost as much as Dick Cheney or any other loathed Bush adminstration figure. Obama wants to adopt a middle-ground approach to waging war in Afghanistan? That’s almost the exact same tune that Lyndon Johnson was singing in the mid to late ’60s about Vietnam.

“Those Obama fans who are disappointed keep looking for explanations,” N.Y. Times columnist Frank Rich said this morning. “Is he too impressed by the elite he met in Cambridge, too eager to split the difference between left and right, too willing to compromise? As he pursues legislation, why does he keep deferring to others — whether to his party’s Congressional leaders or the Congressional Budget Office or to this month’s acting president, Olympia Snowe? Why doesn’t he ever draw a line in the sand?

“‘We know Obama has good values,’ Jeff Madrick said to me last week, ‘but we don’t know if he has convictions.'”

WHV’s long-awaited, 8K-scanned North by Northwest Bluray arrives at my doorstep sometime tomorrow. It streets on November 3rd. I’m told that some kind of special theatrical screening will happen in Los Angeles within the next week or so. If anyone knows the particulars…

Six weeks ago I complained about Criterion’s choice of a jacket cover for the forthcoming Downhill Racer DVD (due 11.17). I said I preferred the original 1969 movie poster — a bedroom metaphor for the glamour of Olympic-level skiing — to designer Eric Skillman‘s concept of a droid skiier (Robocop negotiating a slope on the ice planet of Hoth) that came from a Downhill frame capture.

On 10.1 Skillman blogged about the various options he came up with for Criterion and why the robot-droid art was chosen, etc.

“The concept for Downhill Racer came pretty easily,” he wrote. “The film, about an arrogant but talented athlete, has some really dynamic skiing visuals, and a freeze-frame sequence during the opening credits that just begs to be made into a cover.

“There was also this pretty great-looking original poster…but frankly, the film is anything but a love story, and we all felt it was pretty misleading. Better, I thought, to focus on the great skiing cinematography — shot on skis in large part — that’s such a big part of the film.”

Skillman is a first-rate designer and far too perceptive, I’m presuming, to conclude that the original poster was selling “a love story.” It’s selling the sex, money and glamour element that Robert Redford‘s David Chappellet clearly desires — the thing that drives him to be an Olympic-level athlete. He wants to win medals and be famous, yes, but he’s basically a half-educated small-town bumpkin who craves a feeling of social upgrade and opportunity that would come, he feels, from schtupping a classy European hottie like Camilla Sparv. I think it’s clear that Skillman’s use of the term “we all felt” is a diplomatic way of saying that it was mainly his Criterion employers who saw a “love story” impression.

The ’69 poster is obviously aimed above and beyond a mainstream popcorn sensibility. I wrote last August that “this kind of poster would be totally unimaginable by today’s ad-art standards,” and the final Criterion decision on Downhill Racer does seem to bear this out. Movie art posters and DVD jackets generally demand an upfront visual directness that any eight year-old can would not only respond to but feel utterly unchallenged by.

My son Jett, a Syracuse senior, saw Paranormal Activity tonight and sent along the following as soon as he got home: “I’m not a horror fan, and certainly not by present-day standards with torture porn, decapitation and brutal rape repping the norm. Paranormal Activity, on the other hand, does so much less and scares you so much more.

“I saw it tonight with my buddy Ryan at the Carousel Mall in Syracuse, NY. The mall was packed with kids and a huge line was wrapped around the corner. It was obvious what movie everyone came to see. I was impressed because this film was strictly promoted off viral campaigning and word-of-mouth. You’d think people were lining up to see New Moon.

“It’s basically about a couple based in San Diego. The narrative is built around the girl, Katie, who has a long history of ghost encounters since she was a kid. The boyfriend decides to document the ensuing nights on tape. We’re led to believe because the boyfriend is such a douchebag by taunting Katie’s demon that the demon encounters get worse and worse.

“The film is a constant build-up that starts with creaking doors and pounding footsteps and ends with bite marks and broken mirrors. The structure is repetitive by rotating the day and night scenes. In daylight the couple just reflects on what happened the previous night and how they can get rid of the demon, but when night falls everyone in the audience curls up, expecting the encounters to only get worse.

“Each night the demon does something different and more brutal. Towards the end even the macho guys sitting behind us were moaning ike nancy boys. The fear is so intense, it’s suffocating. You’re left guessing what will happen in the end, and in the end, you’ll still be wrong. You’re left speechless and reluctant to go to sleep. Even as I write this, I’m not so sure I’ll get even three hours.

“As Ryan and I left the theatre, the mall was even more of a madhouse. Hundreds of teens and college kids were lining up for the next showing. They were asking us, ‘Was it scary?’ Yes, it was — the scariest movie I’ve ever seen.

Once costars Glenn Hansard and Marketa Irglova fell in love sometime in the summer of 2007, during a tour to promote the film. And now, roughly 15 or 16 months later, they’re toast. But they’re feigning a kind of serene acceptance of this melancholy fact (or so it seems to me) for the sake of promoting Strict Joy, which everyone is calling their “breakup album.”

Marketa Irglova, Glenn Hansard

And now N.Y. Times guy David Carr, in a very nicely but carefully written profile, has passed along their recent history (the success of Once and the Swell Season on top of the whole gettin’-over-it-and-movin’-on thing) and taken a measure of the album as a portrait of this.

Carr makes it clear which side he’s on when he describes Hansard as “a gifted, emotive frontman who sings as if he must, with a heart on his sleeve that is constantly throbbing” while calling Irglova “the embodiment of a harmonist, a supporting voice on the edge of the limelight whose feelings seem buried deep behind a smile of musical contentment.”

Are we following the drift? Guys almost never break things off unless they’ve fallen for someone else, and there’s no hint of that having happened with Hansard. To me, Irglova is almost certainly the one who snapped the branch. She’s the solo dancer, the decider, the disappointed party…or so I suspect.

I realize I’m just spewing hot air, of course, but with Irglova-Hansard declining to talk and Carr refusing to dig for the truth, what’s an interested party to do? Carr’s diplomatically deciding to let the ex-lovers slide is understandable from a certain perspective, but burying the blow-by-blow doesn’t feel right. What happened? Nobody detonates a two-year love affair and then smiles and says “everything’s cool” and “the show must go on” two or three months later like it’s so much spilt milk. Love is never that orderly or tame. There’s a serious love story here, and I for one would like to know what it is…or at least was.

My London adventure also diverted me from Pete Hammond‘s 10.14 “Notes on a Season” piece about Amelia, which asked whether Fox Searchlight has something to hide given the lack of screenings. The answer is that it doesn’t. Amelia isn’t just set in the 1930s but plays, apparently, like a film made with semi-schmaltzy 20th Century chops, which should be an allowable thing. And yet there’s a guarded feeling about it.

Hillary Swank in Mira Mair’s Amelia.

“There were two screenings on the Fox lot Oct. 7 that were projected digitally because film prints were not even ready yet,” ” Hammond reported. “It seems post-production came down to the wire on this one, with director Mira Nair putting the final touches on Gabriel Yared‘s (superb) music score in Paris just a week earlier.

“In reality the film has been a work in progress for some time. And in July a top studio exec very involved in the production told me somewhat ominously that they didn’t think the movie was ‘Academy,’ a statement that immediately put my expectations in check.

“That’s changed. Some added flashback sequences with the young Amelia give the story an emotional layer that apparently make a big difference for many who saw the earlier cuts. A studio source who finally saw the finished film for the first time told me his worst fears were not realized, saying, ‘I didn’t like it, I LOVED it.’ That newfound enthusiasm was shared by other staffers I ran into on the lot who had also just seen it.

“The fact is Amelia is a beautifully crafted and very traditional epic drama that’s aimed at an older, more discerning audience. That’s the kind of crowd that’s slow to show up at the multiplex, but if they do, they will be treated to the kind of fine adult biographical story movie studios generally just don’t seem to be making anymore.

“In some ways Amelia is reminiscent of Out Of Africa, which has the same combination of sweep, adventure and romance this film incorporates. Indeed, if this were 40, or even 20 years ago, Mira Nair‘s meticulously mounted effort would be deemed a front-runner for awards and a certain thing at the box office. But now we live in a post-Slumdog world, and the blueprint for a Best Picture is more likely to favor indie dramas like Precious than the old-style craft of an Amelia.

“So now, while its parent company is more concerned with the more obviously commercial Avatar and the Alvin and the Chipmunks Squeakquel, Searchlight must find a way to effectively sell the kind of faithful biopic that big Fox did so well in the, uh, 20th century.

“Searchlight is a studio used to nurturing quirky unexpected awards contenders like their Oscar babies, Slumdog Millionaire, Juno, The Wrestler and Little Miss Sunshine. With Amelia they suddenly find themselves with an old-fashioned, sweeping Hollywood biography that stars a two-time Academy Award-winning best actress, Hilary Swank (the first of those Oscars ironically came from another Searchlight underdog, “Boys Don’t Cry”).

“The strategy seems to be to let the picture open in about 700 screens and find its audience in the major markets before widening out. If it can hang in there, an Oscar campaign can follow where there would seem to be great potential in nominations at the very least for Stuart Dryburgh‘s stunning aerial cinematography, Yared’s gorgeous score and Swank’s right-on interpretation of Earhart. She definitely has the look and accent down pat (the real newsreel footage Nair incorporates prove that), but she’s even better in the quieter moments behind the controls of the plane — particularly in a suspenseful sequence toward the end where she and her navigator (expertly played by Christopher Eccleston) try to fly their way out of trouble.

“If ever there was a picture that should have great appeal to the older constituency that frequents these screenings, particularly the matinees, this will be the one.

“Whether Amelia even has a chance to fly into the expanded 10 Best Picture list based on box office, critical and Academy reaction is a question Oscar watchers will likely be answering before the end of the month.”

In a 10.16 N.Y. Times editorial observer piece called “Mad Men and the Thrill of Other People’s Misery in Sour Times,” Adam Cohen observes that AMC’s Mad Men is offering beleaguered Americans heaping helpings of other people’s misery…to a generation beaten down by skyrocketing unemployment, plunging retirement savings and mounting home foreclosures, Mad Men offers the schadenfreude-filled message that their predecessors were equally unhappy — and that the bleakness meter in American life has always been set on high.”

Producer Daniel Melnick died last Tuesday, which was right in the middle of my Fantastic London sojourn. And then I kind of kicked it around in my head after returning to New York two days ago (i.e., Thursday). And then I remembered two or three phone conversations I had with Melnick in 1994, when he was 62.

They were all about the then-unfolding Heidi Fleiss Hollywood hooker scandal, which involved suspicions that certain actors and producers and studio execs had enjoyed Heidi’s girls with money siphoned or skimmed off production budgets. None of this was ever proven, but it sure was fun to nose and dig around. (I was reporting/filing at the time for Entertainment Weekly and doing stories for L.A. Times Sunday Calendar.) Melnick was known to be something of a ladies’ man (and perhaps one of those who’d sampled a Heidi girl from time to time…who knew?), and he agreed to talk to me, I presumed, with the idea of steering me away from this aspect.

Which isn’t to imply that Melnick had done anything “wrong” or icky. He just didn’t want to be mentioned in any Heidi stories being written, that’s all. No collateral stink to mess with his well-deserved reputation as a classy and sophisticated bon vivant.

In any case at one point I must have sounded too nosey during one of our conversations because Melnick suddenly arched his back and told me in stern stentorian tones that he wouldn’t tolerate any implications in the press that he had hound-dogged on the Heidi side of the fence. I immediately responded that it was against my religious beliefs to identify or admonish anyone for catting around per se, and that I was only interested in finding out if studio or production-budget funds had ever been (unofficially) used to pay for prostitutes. Melnick eventually calmed down but it was touch-and-go for a while.

Melnick always spoke like a smoothie — he had a warm, deepish, silky-toned voice — and in so doing seemed to fortify his rep as a man of the world who knew a little about everyone and everything.

Here’s a recollection from screenwriter/journalist John Eskow, who worked with Melnick on Air America.

Melnick produced the original 1971 Straw Dogs, and so his passing naturally affected Rod Lurie, the director-writer of the remake that recently wrapped in Shreveport, Louisiana. The news hit just as Lurie and crew were…okay, no spoilers but it was the last day of filming. During the original Dogs shoot Melnick was thought of “the Peckinpah wrangler,” Lurie informs.