Over the next six days I’m down for at least nine films at the Los Angeles Film Festival, including Michael Mann‘s Public Enemies (which showed to a crowd last night in Manhattan) next Tuesday evening, Cyrus Nowrasteh‘s Iran-set The Stoning of Soraya M., Davis Guggenheim‘s It Might Get Loud and Robert Siegel‘s Big Fan.

The day before Public Enemies there’s a Hurt Locker all-media, which I’ll be attending for reasons of pure enjoyment (jolt cola cinema gets me every time) and because I want a friend to see it.

Nobody I’ve spoken to has seen or heard much about Michele Mulroney and Kieran Mulroney‘s Paper Man, the opening-nighter that starts at 7:30 pm (i.e., twelve hours from now). Costarring Jeff Daniels, Ryan Reynolds, Emma Stone, Kieran Culkin, Hunter Parrish and Lisa Kudrow, and described as a coming-of-middle-age story concerning Daniel’s character, a married writer who nurtures a suoperhero fantasy. “Coming” of middle age? Daniels, no offense, is well into that.

I’ve missed opportunity after opportunity to catch screenings of the The Stoning of Soraya M. (Mpower, 6.26) in Manhattan. But it’ll be showing here on Saturday so I’ve caught a break.

I’m vaguely interested in catching the world premiere of Brent Meeske‘s Branson, a doc about aspiring country-music performers. The challenge, of course, will be to suppress my feelings about red-staters. I respect the social verite inspirations behind country music, but so much of it is about breakups and broken hearts, boredom and booze, ignorance and rodeos and so on. Robert Altman‘s Nashville didn’t present this problem because he made roundabout fun of the country music scene and the locals through it.

There’s also Michael Palmieri and Donal Mosher’s October Country, a doc about blue-collar angst in upper New York State’s Mohawk Valley.

Last night’s Santa Monica stopover, courtesy of a good friend. It’s one of the most immaculate and pristine all-white apartments I’ve ever walked into. Spartan to a fine point, handsome hardwood floors. It’s like sleeping inside a David Hockney painting. Perfect. Oh, and my first apartment in Santa Monica was at 948 14th Street.

I hate sitting in a plane for six hours without wifi or electric power (i.e., available AC plug-ins). A few airlines offer these options but way too few for me. United Airlines is operating out of the ’90s. But at least the torture is over. Arrived in L.A. at 3:10 pm. Slightly hazy light-blue sky, same old traffic congestion (i.e., 405 jammed bumper-to-bumper), warm desert-like air.

“In the wake of David Letterman‘s apology for his joke last week about Alaska Governor Sarah Palin‘s daughter, a number of protesters flocked around the Late Show studios in Midtown Manhattan late Tuesday afternoon (June 16) to show their support for Palin — albeit not in the numbers previously expected,” reports MTV News’ Jett Wells.

“Approximately three dozen protestors stood across the street from the studios, chanting “Dave Must Go! Fire Dave! Shame on CBS!,” and spoke about Letterman’s joke, for which he has twice apologized with Palin accepting his second mea culpa a day or so ago.

“Last week, Letterman joked in his monologue about an ‘awkward moment’ for Palin at a New York Yankees game, when “her daughter was knocked up by Alex Rodriguez.” Letterman did not refer to the daughter by name, though he later claimed he was referring to 18-year-old unwed mother Bristol, not 14-year-old Willow, who actually accompanied her mother to the game.

“‘It’s a disgrace what’s going on in our country today,’said a protestor named Ellen. ‘We wouldn’t do that to Obama’s daughters.’

“Before Palin accepted the apology, it was rumored that nearly 2,000 people would protest outside the em>Late Show studios Tuesday. Some of the Palin supporters who did show up, like Robert Gretczko, said they didn’t think Letterman’s apology was good enough.

“‘It doesn’t matter,’ Gretczko said. ‘Don Imus was still fired for his comments.'”

With Sean Penn‘s departure from the Farrelly Bros. Three Stooges film, the Farrelly’s naturally want to hold onto Jim Carrey and Benicio Del Toro as well as the locked-in release date for their potential tentpoler. Potential Larry replacements, I’m told, include Paul Giamatti, Adrien Brody, Simon Pegg, Zach Galifianakis and — believe it — Larry David.

The Playlist‘s Rodrigo Perez has read an Inglorious Basterds analysis piece by Patrick Z. McGavin, assessed various issues and assertions and come up with his own summary, which he calls “40-MinutesGate: The Bullshit Report Of The Inglourious Basterds Cut.”

McGavin writes that “according to the Cannes program, Inglourious Basterds is 160 minutes. [His] editor Mike Goodridge wrote in Screen International it was 160 minutes. Anne Thompson says 148 minutes, Variety‘s Todd McCarthy clocked it at 152. The Weinstein press book says 151 minutes.” And Perez says 148 minutes.

I’m not exactly pining for the return of jaded cruelty-and-snobbery dramas like Luchino Visconti‘s L’Innocente, but it’s a little sad that films of this sort have pretty much disappeared. The darkly perverse Italian kind, I mean, with that upper-class erotic element that Visconti used to explore from time to time. I don’t miss those dopey Italian sex comedies that Laura Antonelli used to make in the ’70s. But I do miss the special combustion that came from Visconti + Antonelli + class contempt. (I can say this, can’t I? Without getting ripped?)

DVD Beaver frame capture from Koch Lorber DVD of Luchino Visconti’sL’Innocente — Giancarlo Giannini (l.), Laura Antonelli (r.).

The Film Experience‘s Nathaniel Rogers has posted two text-message reviews of Bruno, from a friend he presumably trusts. The first one called it “predictably hilarious …even more shocking and envelope-pushing than Borat and just as funny. But at the same time it’s no longer new, so it feels somewhat ‘safer’ [in that] you know what to expect. Still awesome, though. Gay stuff will keep it from doing Borat $. And I have no idea how they got an R rating.”

The followup: “My crowd was largely filled with gay tastemakers and VIPs (Ivanka Trump and her loudly-talking douchebag date were sitting near me), so perhaps the cringing and revulsion weren’t as pronounced/discomfiting as they would have been in a multiplex, but I couldn’t believe the sort of things Cohen got away with. Lots of penis and explicit (comic, obviously) gay sexuality.

“There’s an extended sequence early on that is so wildly over-the-top (the capper for me involved a bottle of champagne), that I almost think Sacha Baron Cohen included it as a warning/button-pusher (i.e., if this part doesn’t make people walk out of the theater, they should be fine for the rest of the movie).

“Like Borat, I know there’s been a bunch of talk about whether the satire of homophobia/homosexuality could be misconstrued as mocking of gays (thus validating homophobes), but it’s difficult to imagine too many audience members proud to see themselves in Cohen’s targets. The one who you start to feel bad for is Ron Paul (he looks like a senile grandpa being taunted/seduced)…until he’s filmed angrily calling Bruno ‘a queer.’ Lots of funny/broad/silly set-pieces, with intermittent bits that resonate/provoke – a short encounter Bruno has with the ‘God Hates Fags’ folks was a highlight for me.”

The other day I mentioned the classic character arc known as the Three D’s — desire, deception, discovery. Comedies with moral underpinnings are mostly out the window these days, but The Proposal, which snuck last weekend, seems to adhere to the Three D structure. The main character resorting to elaborate subterfuge to obtain temporary satisfaction, grappling with a moral-ethical quandary as a result, and finally coming to a resolve that puts an end to the bullshit. Surely some HE readers saw it last weekend. Verdict?

The Sun‘s Gordon Smart has posted the first-anywhere (I think) review of Sacha Baron Cohen‘s Bruno (Universal, 7.10). There are any number of tumescent shock pull-quotes but let’s go with this one for starters: “To say Bruno makes uncomfortable viewing is an understatement of Battle of Britain proportions.

“When I wasn’t giggling like a 14-year-old, I was cowering behind my hands. And I wasn’t just hiding from the acres of kugelsack, Bruno’s word for the lunchbox, shown during the 90 minutes.The term will become the new ‘Booyakasha’ or ‘Jagshemash.’

“Bruno has only been in love twice. Once for just seven minutes with ’80s pop act Milli Vanilli and the second time with his pygmy boyfriend who dumps him when he loses his TV show. And here lies a warning — the pygmy sex scene is one of the most horrific incidents ever committed to celluloid.

“I’m talking fire extinguishers, champagne bottles and mechanically adapted fitness equipment. Teenage boys should under no circumstances watch this with their parents.

“Just like with Ali G and Borat, Sacha-as-Bruno tricks famous faces into doing ridiculous interviews.” The duped include singers Paula Abdul and Latoya Jackson, “who both leave within minutes after being served sushi on a naked Mexican.

“Bruno decides to become heterosexual ‘like Tom Cruise, John Travolta and Kevin Sacey.’ And an interview with a pastor, who specializes in turning gay men straight, is priceless.

“A Jerry Springer-style talk show scene in Dallas, when Bruno has his ‘adopted’ African baby confiscated, will go down [as one of] Baron Cohen’s…three best scenes.

“The character does lose a bit of steam towards the end but the musical climax, with cameos from Chris Martin, Bono, Sir Elton John and Snoop Dogg is a fitting finale.”