“Back in 1979, Marty Feldman was concerned about the increasing piety of the right wing, the blind susceptibility of their followers, the insatiable reach of American corporations and people like Anita Bryant invoking God’s name in regards to subjugating others,” a friend writes. “I know exactly what he’d make of Sarah Palin today.

Feldman’s In God We Trust, which he directed and co-wrote, bombed with the critics and didn’t sell many tickets. It was also torpedoed, sand-bagged and dis-owned by its own distributor, Universal Pictures.

It’s a religious satire about an innocent monk (Feldman) who leaves his monastery and is corrupted by a televangelist — Andy Kaufman‘s Armaggedon T. Thunderbird — who spoke directly to God. Commonly known as ATT, he lives in a residence that resembles the Oval Office, and makes his ultimate intentions known during a Christmas Eve broadcast.

The above YouTube clip is that Xmas Eve sequence which, I’m told, very few have seen unaltered.

“Marty, thanks to the success of his previous film, had secured the rights to final cut from Universal. But Uni honcho Lew Wasserman hit the roof when he saw these scenes, especially how parent company’s name MCA was used, and demanded it excised. Marty refused, despite Ned Tanen’s warnings there would be serious repercussions.

In God We Trust “was dumped without fanfare in October of 1980. Marty’s rich overall deal was cancelled three days later and he was booted off the Universal lot. He was labeled a pariah around town as a writer and director for the impertinence of biting the corporate hands that fed him. It was pretty much career suicide for him behind the camera.

“The companies and organizations referenced were livid at their inclusion. Universal used music rights as an excuse to alter the film for its few late night TV airings.

“Here is Marty’s prophetic vision of fundamentalist groups, the religious right, teabaggers and the analogous behavior they inspire. You’ll note the followers sharing the stage with Andy’s character are all suspiciously blonde and blue-eyed.”

My strongest impressions regarding last night’s Chopin Virtuosos tribute featuring An Education‘s Carey Mulligan, A Serious Man‘s Michael Stuhlbarg, The Lovely Bones‘ Saoirse Ronan, and Young Victoria‘s Emily Blunt, in this order: (a) the fact that Mulligan got the biggest laugh (see video below), (b) moderator Sean Smith‘s observation that Mulligan has “probably heard from scores of middle-aged men telling her that they loved An Education,” (c) Ronan’s Irish accent is endearing, and (d) a notion that Stuhlbarg is a man with great lakes of inner peace.

Carey Mulligan at last night’s Chopin Virtuosos tribute at SB’s Lobero theatre.

A scheduling conflict prevented nominated Precious star Gabby Sidibe from attending. Perhaps her friendship with Mo’Nique has begun to make an impression?

I may as well admit that I’m starting to vaguely zone out with the Santa Barbara Film Festival tribute ceremonies. I’m still good to go (Kathryn Bigelow has her big moment tonight) but I’m feeling the teeny-weeny beginnings of a mental Xanax sensation. This has nothing at all to do with the admirable chops and historical fabulousness of the artists being honored. It’s just that something inside begins to wither after the third or fourth one.

I’m sorry. I’m trying to suppress this. It’s just that I’ve now attended three in a row and there’s another one tonight and…fuck it, I’ll be fine. I know that if I went hiking in the mountains and made a fire at dusk and slept in a tent I’d be raring to go for another three or four tributes in a row when I returned. Maybe if I went for longer bike rides on the beach?

(l. to r.) Stuhlbarg, Ronan, Mulligan, Blunt.

Earlier today And The Winner Is columnist Scott Feinberg asked Kathryn Bigelow and James Cameron to comment on the similarities between Strange Days and Avatar, the plots of which were both hatched sometime between ’94 or ’95.

As mentioned earlier, Quentin Tarantino had the best story-telling riffs during today’s “Directors on Directing” panel discussion at Santa Barbara’s Lobero theatre. I’m posting three Tarantino excerpts here. I’m sorry I missed his boast about being the owner of the only repertory house in Los Angeles (i.e., the New Beverly) and how he’ll “burn the place down” before he shows anything there with digital projection.

The first [above] is a story that Brian DePalma told him about his feelings in 1980 regarding Blow Out vs. Raging Bull. The second is a story about how he had to prove himself during his first week of shooting Reservoir Dogs. The third is a thought about how Avatar‘s 3D photography might have affected Kill Bill.

For those who don’t own the Criterion DVD of Stanley Kubrick‘s Spartacus (or who’ve never watched the extras), this Peter Ustinov recollection contains a funny, must-see Charles Laughton impression plus two or three stories about Laughton during pre-production and principal.

We all know that Hurt Locker helmer Kathryn Bigelow has been uninterested in playing the gender card when asked about her potential to become the first woman to win the Best Director Oscar. And The Winner Is columnist Scott Feinberg is nonetheless running quotes from three female directors — Gina Prince-Blythewood (The Secret Life of Bees), Kimberly Pierce (Boys Don’t Cry, Stop-Loss) and Heidi Ewing (Jesus Camp, 12th and Delaware) — about Bigelow being on the precipice.

Listen to Alex North‘s “love theme from Spartacus” before playing this brief video clip.

I’ve just come from the “Directors on Directing” panel discussion at the Lobero theatre. A good one. Quentin Tarantino delivered the most entertaining riffs; Kathryn Bigelow and James Cameron, sitting beside each other, were a kind of tag team and ranked a close second. The other panelists were Lee Daniels (Precious), Pete Docter (Up) and Todd Phillips (The Hangover). It was moderated by Variety‘s Peter Bart.

As if by magic or cosmic intuition, yesterday’s suggestion that Santa Barbara Film Festival tribute ceremonies could use a little less discipline and perhaps unfold less smoothly and uniformly came true hours later during last night’s James Cameron tribute at the Arlington theatre. And everyone played their parts beautifully.

Except for the show starting almost 35 minutes late (i.e., around 8:35 pm), almost nothing happened as planned. Cameron began delivering his acceptance speech at the get-go as host Leonard Maltin stood on the opposite side of the stage, delivering one of the most elegant and controlled “what the fuck is going on?” emcee performances I’ve ever seen. (Somebody had mistakenly told Cameron to offer his profound thanks at the get-go.)

After four or five minutes Maltin called out to Cameron, “Sorry, but you’re stepping on my act! I’m supposed to be asking questions!” (Or words to that effect.)

The film clips (Aliens, The Terminator, T2, Titanic) were shown somewhat out of sequence, and again — it was like jazz. The feeling in the room was giddy, liberating. Half of the red punch had splashed out of the bowl and splattered on the floor, and the feet of Maltin and Cameron and some of the senior staff were damp with it. It wasn’t quite on the level of the Marx Bros. A Night at the Opera, but it was sneaking up on that. Sometimes life is not a West Point reville formation.

And then Cameron’s q & a with Maltin had to be interrupted to allow Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger to present Cameron’s Modern Master award hastily, before the Santa Barbara airport closed. Silhouetted figures scampered out from backstage to confer with Maltin while the clips were playing. If I had a special mike I would have probably heard festival p.r. chief Carol Marshall say, “Pssst! Leonard! Governor Schwarzenegger has to leave now…cut short your discussion of Sigourney Weaver‘s riveting performance as Ripley or whatever…I know we didn’t plan it this way…of course!…but he has to deliver his speech now!”).

Perhaps I’m slightly exaggerating the feeling of disorder, but it was certainly noticable and amusing — a feeling of “this isn’t in the script.”

We all think we need order and prudence in our lives, but what we really need is an occasional shot of uncertainty or even chaos to clean the blood out. Nights like last night make existence on this planet seem like the ribald and foolish farce it actually is deep down. They force everyone to think quickly on their feet, and transform fleeting anxiety into humor and sparkle and goobah-goobah-goobah. Please, give us more tribute sessions like this!

I was sent to the wrong after-party (i.e., a second-tier gathering on the Santa Barbara pier) but I eventually figured things out and made my way over to the correct one. I had a great chat with Cameron (which included a somewhat clumsily-spoken woman coming up to him and blurting out a complaint about Avatar) but I can’t share until later.

I have to drive a friend down to Point Dume and then turn around and be back by 10 or 10:15 am in order to get to the Directors panel at the Lobero theatre, which starts at 11 am. It’s now 7:03 am.

Clearly the little kid in the hat was (a) feeling under-appreciated and wanted some attention, or (b) was indicating to the audience and the producers that he thought little of Back to the Future III and that people who felt otherwise knew what they could do. Either way this is one of the most blatant “why did they leave this in?” shots since the young kid in the cafeteria who plugged his ears before Eva Marie Saint shot Cary Grant in North by Northwest.