I’ve seen Jonathan Parker‘s (Untitled), which shows tomorrow afternoon (1.9) and early Saturday evening (1.10) at the Palm Springs Int’l Film Festival. It’s an underplayed, bone-dry New York relationship comedy with a point to make about the art scene there. Parker and cowriter Catherine DiNapoli are basically saying it’s a kind of cesspool of pretension and phoniness, and that the people who regularly buy and/or support much of what passes for modern art are either deluded or phonies or both, or are simply being flim-flammed.

Marley Shelton, Adam Goldberg in (Untitled).

So it’s anything but a stupid slapstick comedy, and because of that I was more or less favorably disposed. It’s vaguely Woody Allen-esque but without the schtick. I didn’t laugh out loud all that much; I mostly smirked and occasionally chortled, but there’s nothing wrong with that. And I enjoyed staring at Marley Shelton (Grindhouse), whom I hadn’t paid very much attention to before. She believably plays a sharp Chelsea art-gallery dealer, which is to say I bought her projections of cunning, shrewdness and intelligence, however natural or manufactured. Call this a modest breakthrough performance.

The plot is about how Shelton comes to dump a boyfriend (Eion Bailey) whose mediocre paintings are very popular with her corporate clients, and instead begins to see his doleful and bearded brother (Adam Goldberg), a very pretentious anti-musical pianist whose performances are entirely about defying conventional taste, to put it very mildly. Goldberg’s performance is fine — subdued comedy is his forte — but his beard and hair are so bushy you can barely see his face. I know, I know…an anti-musical pianist who kicks buckets and whatnot is precisely the sort of guy who would have too-much head hair.

I don’t know what else to say except that (Untitled) could have used as few more jokes. And a better title. Svetlana Cvetko‘s widescreen cinematography is well-framed and, I’m sure, professionally lit and captured. (The print I happened to see a while back was projected with the wrong digital calibration and therefore looked like a murky VHS.) But it’s an intelligent sit, this film. I felt pleased and settled when the lights came up. That’s not a bad thing. Okay, a good thing.

Vinnie Jones plays a wackjob sculptor with his usual verve turned down a couple of notches.

“The fact that The Dark Knight is looking like a locked-in nominee — and has for a month now — is indicative of a weak field. It’s not a reflection of the film itself, but of the simple fact that a film like that just isn’t what the Academy tends to lean towards. People’s Choice Award? Absolutely. Oscar? Are you kidding?” — MCN’s David Poland in one of his undated Oscar columns posted, I think, a day or so ago.

International trailer for Kathryn Bigelow‘s The Hurt Locker, which Summit Entertainment still hasn’t announced a release date for. Sometime in the spring, they’ve been saying since last fall. Take your time, guys. No pressure.

IFC Films will begin to screen roadshow versions of Steven Soderbegh‘s Che in 9 additional markets — Boston, Chicago, Dallas, Houston, Minneapolis, Seattle, Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Washington, DC — starting on Friday, 1.16. The move came about due to boffo grosses from the roadshow bookings in New York and Los Angeles.

“A lot of people told me I was crazy to push for a roadshow presentation of Che,” Soderbergh said in a press release, “because, I was told, American moviegoers aren’t adventurous enough. Fortunately, the results in New York and Los Angeles prove otherwise. IFC Films has backed the roadshow idea from the beginning and I am totally psyched that they are taking this version out on the road, where it belongs.”

An open letter about the Fox-Warner Watchmen conflict from producer Lloyd Levin, passed along by Drew McWeeny.

Can anyone imagine being diseased and sadistic enough to name their just-born child Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa? Can anyone imagine the actual child who’s been given that name (i.e., a son born to Lisa Bonet) not devising revenge schemes all through elementary school and beyond? “How do you do? My name is Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa! Now you’re gonna die!”

I’m enormously relieved I wasn’t singled out for my writing style and/or judgments by Defamer‘s Stu Van Airsdale in his annual Listys Awards, which are basically about slapping around critics who, in VanAirsdale’s judgment, have written about ’08 movies in a “mystifying, patience-testing and all-around terrible” way.

Today’s Top Five starting at #1 are Fox 411’s Roger Friedman , Entertainment Weekly‘s Lisa Schwarzbaum, the Baltimore Sun‘s Michael Sragow, MTV News critic Joe DeShano, and In Contention‘s Kris Tapley . The only thing worse than being dissed is being altogether ignored so at least these guys aren’t suffering that fate.

Slumdog Millionaire‘s Danny Boyle, The Dark Knight‘s Christopher Nolan, Milk‘s Gus Van Sant, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button‘s David Fincher and Frost/Nixon‘s Ron Howard were announced this morning as Directors Guild nominees for top feature film of 2008.

I’m fixing myself a coffee in the morning and I’m thinking Boyle, Fincher, Howard, Nolan and Van Sant. I’m taking the bus into the city and I’m thinking Slumdog Millionaire, Frost/Nixon, The Dark Knight, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Milk. I’m walking down Varick St. in the windy frigid cold and I’m thinking Van Sant, Nolan, Boyle, Howard and Fincher. I’m ordering a Pinot Grigio at Balthazar and I’m thinking Milk, The Dark Knight, Slumdog Millionaire, Frost/Nixon and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I’m throwing up in a gutter in Little Italy and I’m thinking Fincher, Van Sant, Nolan, Howard and Boyle. I’m in a taxi heading down Ninth Avenue, etc., etc.

Oh, I’m sorry…did I forget to mention the Writers Guild nominees yesterday? I did, didn’t I? Well, you can read about them somewhere else.

For three years, from ’36 to ’38, Shirley Temple was the country’s top box-office star, and then Mickey Rooney had the title from ’39 to ’41. (And then it was Abbott & Costello.) Imagine. Temple and Rooney knew how to entertain, for sure, but the last thing you could call moviegoers back then, to judge by their six-year reign, was urbane or sophisticated.

Hollywood-s Top Ten Box-Office Stars — 1936 to 1945 — thanks to Bob Lascaro for providing the scan.

P.J.Hogan‘s Confessions of a Shopaholic (Disney, 2.13.09) may or may not turn out to be decent, good or even entertaining. It’s based on the three known ‘Shopaholic’ books by Sophie Kinsella, and Lord knows there are enough sufferers of this syndrome out there to command attention.

TImes Square billboard, corner of 45th and Broadway (or something close to that).

But talk about a movie that fairly screams “yesterday,” “Bush era” and “before the subprime mortgage meltdown.” What reasonable person in this economic climate is even thinking about being a shopaholic these days, outside of the fairly loaded? Even the well-off are probably telling themselves to curtail the impulse. I’m not saying that lots of people don’t still use shopping in the same way others use cigarettes, drugs, sex and work, but it’s an activity that has lost much of its relevance in the current configuration.

Unless, that is, you’re a quarter-inch-deep Sex and the City fan who refuses to let go of indulgence fantasies and your mantra is “mememememe!” In which case all bets are off.

I’m not going to want to miss the inaugural activities on Tuesday, 1.20, which will extend from the early morning to early afternoon. I can catch it all later online, of course, but there’s something about watching it live. I’m generally inclined to bypass any Sundance Film Festival screenings (press or otherwise) set for the first few hours of that day.

Obama Spider-Man issue discussed here.