Phillip Noyce‘s Salt began shooting today in Washington, D.C. I know what it is, having read the original Waldo…kidding!…having read the original Edwin A. Salt, which Tom Cruise had thought seriously about starring in. Nobody kicks big-studio thriller ass like Noyce, but I honestly believe they have to come up with a more engaging title. Salt is either abrasion and agitation (i.e., “salt in your wounds”) or something you sprinkle on chicken.
Angelina Jolie as she’ll alternately appear in Phillip Noyce’s Salt.
This USA Today story by Anthony Breznican describes Salt as a spy thriller about a rogue CIA operative who tries to clear her name after she is accused of being a Russian sleeper agent — perhaps falsely, perhaps not.” Is the reputation of the Medvedev Russian government as negative as the rep of the Russian KGB commies in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s? In a popcorn sense, I mean?
MCN’s David Poland has posted a list of the last film critics still working in America (and numbering 117 as we speak). But he wants to hear about anyone he might have missed from anyone who knows for sure. Poland is looking only for full-time death row film critics who do nothing else but go to movies and write reviews and sit at their desks waiting to be canned.
The vast majority of the threatened work for publications that are primarily print (or at least which began on paper way back when). Are there any online-only film critics facing the axe? It goes without saying that the print-based critics who also do interviews, essays and online bloggy-blogs are probably in much better shape than those who seem to be more or less “waiting for it.”
It seems to me that Poland is looking to more or less elbow aside the Salt Lake Tribune‘s Sean P, Means, who’s been keeping the definitive list of laid-off film critics for the last two or three years. Same difference except that the shorter the Poland list, the longer the Means will be. Either way Poland is saying, “Hey, who says Means owns this beat? Or at least, who says I can’t reverse the POV and get into it that way?”
“‘To live my my life like I want to,’ he said, ‘is the least I can do.’ And that had worked for him. And when it was over, he knew it was over and required no explanation. He had spent half a life blowing his brains out with booze, and the bullet was just a period at the end of no sentence in particular.” — the last line of dialogue in a 2006 draft of Bruce Robinson‘s The Rum Diary, an adaptation of Hunter S. Thompson‘s revised version of a novel by the same name which he originally wrote in 1959.
I received the Rum Diary script last weekend, and when I read that final page I said to myself, “Whoa.” I mean, is that Thompson talking about his own life or what? Talk about an epitaph.
The Rum Diary, which Robinson will begin directing in San Juan later this month, will star Johnny Depp as expat journalist Paul Kemp, Amber Heard as the temptressy Chenault, Richard Jenkins as the likable Lotterman and Aaron Eckhart as the adjective-defying Sanderson.
Both the book and the film tell Kemp’s story, a malcontent journo who moves from New York to work for a small newspaper, The Daily News, in San Juan, Puerto Rico. If you know Thompson’s stuff, you know what this will be — and that’s okay by me.
In a disconnect-from-reality interview that will live in the annals of psychedelia, French Connection director William Friedkin has waved off cinematographer Owen Roizman‘s very sharp disparaging of the recently-released French Connection Blu-ray, which Friedkin supervised. The result was an abomination that made this classic 1971 cop drama look (and this is me talking) bleachy, blotchy, ultra-grainy and, by any visual standard, degraded. And Friedkin, not unexpectedly, thinks it’s just peachy.
In an online audio interview last week with Back By Midnight‘s Aaron Aradillas , Roizman called the transfer “atrocious” and “horrifying.” Freidkin, talking with Aradillas last night, said that Roizman “happens to be wrong” and called the French Connection Blu-ray “by far the best print that’s ever been made for that picture. You’re hearing this from the director. Not a frame has been changed, but the process is deeper and richer than anything that’s come before….[it’s been made] as good as we could make it look using the new home technology.”
Whuh-whuh-whuh…what?
If your definition of “best” means the closest restoration of the original theatrical print that was approved in ’71 by Friedkin and Roizman and seen by first-run audiences, then Friedkin, no offense, is completely full of shit. If your definition of “best” means a sharper, cleaner, less scratchy, and more visually vivid DVD or Blu-ray of an older film, then Friedkin, no offense, is completely full of shit. If your definition of “best” means re-imagined, revised and altered in a nearly monochromed and sand-stormed way according to a whim in Friedkin’s head, then Friedkin is totally correct.
Aradillas, of course, let Friedkin get away with this. He took forever to raise the subject of the French Connection Blu-ray in their interview, and when the subject came up and Friedkin callled it “deeper and richer than anything that’s come before,” Aradillas didn’t challenge him a bit. He wussed out.
When Friedkin asked Aradillas what he thought of the French Connection Blu-ray, Aradillas manned-up and said it was “pretty impressive…pretty impressive.” What does that mean? I’ll tell you what it means. It means Aradillas wants Friedkin to come back on the show.
At one point Friedkin compared the French Connection Blu-ray scorn to the boos of the folky faithful who tore into Bob Dylan for going electric at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Nice try, Billy.
Some Came Running‘s Glenn Kennycame on the show after Friedkin and he, too, tap-danced around the elephant in the room, which is that the French Connection Blu-ray is an unmistakable desecration. That’s my view anyway, and the view of many Blu-ray fans out there. The vast majority, I suspect.
Ain’t It Cool‘s Mr. Beakswrote earlier this evening that he’s been “receiving emails from people who’ve ‘heard things’ about what Terrence Malick is up to in Austin, Texas, regarding work on The Tree of Life. One thing he’s heard is that legendary visual f/x legend Douglas Trumbull is working with Malick in some capacity.
“Is he assisting Mike Fink on the dinosaur footage?,” Beaks writes. “I don’t know just yet. But he has been seen knocking around Austin with Malick’s crew, and I can confirm that he has been shooting footage of some sort fairly recently. Personally, I hope he’s involved with the NASA-shot sequences that will allegedly be included in the IMAX movie.
“And when I say ‘IMAX movie’, I mean a whole second movie. That’s right — we’ll be getting two new Malick movies [over] the next year or so. The first is The Tree of Life (which one source tells me is ‘massive’); the other will be an ‘IMAX-only’ feature depicting the birth and death of the universe.
“It’s important to note that these films are not narratively connected, [but] are thematically complementary pieces.”
I’m slated to go on Bill O’Reilly‘s show on Wednesday to get slapped around again, this time about my dislike (or more precisely my lack of comfort with) the under-message delivered by Ross Katz‘s Taking Chance, which I wrote about yesterday.
Indiewire‘s Peter Knegt is reporting that Woody Allen‘s Whatever Works, the May-December relationship dramedy with Larry David, Evan Rachel Wood, Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley Jr., will open the Tribeca Film festival on Wednesday, 4.22. It opens theatrically on 6.19. Does this mean it won’t be Cannes?
Summit never got back to me last Friday when I asked about the 6.26 release date for The Hurt Locker, but Rentrak, the box-office tracking website used by the majors, has it opening as follows: June 26th (NY/LA); July 10th (limited) and July 24th (expansion).
“I’ve seen Watchmen twice now and enjoyed it as much the second time as the first,” writes the usually perceptive and tough-minded Marshall Fine. “I’m a fan of the comic, if not a devotee. But I think it will divide audiences right down the middle, inspiring either love or hate, with little middle ground. Love is a strong term but it was as satisfying a distraction as I can remember.
“And yet what is Watchmen but yet another distraction – a bit of apocalyptic storytelling meant to take our minds off the apocalypse now?
“That’s what I hate about this moment in time: There’s no such thing as simply seeing a movie like this and enjoying it on its merits. Watchmen comes with prefabricated momentum — it’s practically mandated. But I’ll admit I was happily surprised.
“This movie delivers as a splashy, bloody comic-book adventure that stays true to its roots without being slavish about it (despite numerous images taken directly from the comic’s pages). It’s both headlong and thought-provoking, attacking the notion of heroism and the role of the hero in society in ways that The Dark Knight only talked about.”
Field of Dreams “is only movie I’ve seen that makes me cry every time I see it,” writesArizona Star critic Phil Villarreal in the first of a series. “And instead of hardening over time I grow more pliable to its potent father-son sentiment.
“Each viewing, I sob not only when Kevin Costner asks his time-traveling ghost dad (Dwier Brown) for a game of catch, but also during James Earl Jones’ passionate, nostalgia-sopped ‘people will come’ speech about baseball and its relationship to fleeting childhood memories that haunt your soul, as well as when the young Moonlight Graham — energized that he gets the chance to fulfill a dream of youth and play with the big leaguers — bows to his fate by stepping off the diamond to become a doctor and save the choking girl.
“The first time I saw the movie it was with my family the Saturday after it opened, which almost never happened in the Villarreal household. Money and especially time were tight, with softball tournaments, YMCA basketball and the like always distracting us from sitting down together on the couch, let alone in the theater.
“Maybe once or twice a year the stars would align enough for us to get out of the house together, usually to see the all-consuming blockbuster of the day (Jurassic Park, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Dick Tracy or Speed) and almost always it was a vote between me and my two younger sisters that determined the film.
“But it wasn’t so April 22, 1989, when my dad, inspired by a trailer he’d seen while falling asleep to Letterman, demanded we’d see some weird baseball movie none of us had ever heard of. My sisters and I, as well as my mom, bitched his ears off all the way down Interstate 10, as we made our way to the Century Park 16 to indulge our patriarch’s rare flash of whimsy.
“And afterward we were silent, awash in tears just like the rest of the crowd. Well, all except for my dad, who is and always has been too tough to cry, at least in front of his son. On the way back home we all thanked him for making his crazy choice. To this day, when a family quorum happens to be assembled and one of us brings up the Field of Dreams story, my dad gets a wistful, knowing look in his eye.
“When I moved out of the dorms and got an apartment with three friends I bought the movie on VHS and watched in alone in my apartment, embarrassed to have tears dripping down my cheeks as my roommates walked in while the credits rolled. I remember blubbering through it when I penned my review for the Star in 2005, then again in 2007 I saw the movie while cradling my sleeping infant son, Luke. It was three months after he’d been born, and Jessica was finishing out the semester teaching middle school science. I’d adjusted my schedule to stay home with him Fridays, as well as several hours each morning, and most of the time he was either sleeping, sucking down bottles or screaming.
“He fell asleep during the movie, and rather than placing him in the bassinet as I usually did I kept him in my arms, looked down at him and wondered how long it would be until he’d play catch with me, and when he’d decide he was too old to play with me anymore. I wondered if I’d ever say anything dumb enough to convince him to stop talking to me, and what I’d say to get him to hear my apology. Luke woke up crying for a bottle, and I was sitting there crying as well. We were such a mess, and I realized then that I’d never forget that moment, and I had a movie to thank for it.”