Scifi.com’s Mike Szymanski is reporting that the Wachowski Brothers will deliver Ninja Assassin, a new martial-arts movie (Collin Chou and Rain being two of the costars) to be directed by James McTeague, the Wachowski toady who directed V for Vendetta. (Which, to be fair, I liked quite a lot.)
Producer Joel Silver recently told Collider the project is a completely original story, a “full on martial arts movie” about revenge.
Question #1: Can there be any such thing as an “original” martial-arts film, given the mind-numbing repetitiveness of the genre and the absolute guarantee that all martial-arts films will show guys whopping and flooring and foot-kicking each other with incredible moves over and over and over, and nobody ever getting hurt or even momentarily stunned? There can be, of course, martial arts films with new stuff, new tricks and new ways to be visually engaging. But “original”? With a title like Ninja Assassin?
Question #2: Who could have imaged at the beginning of the Wachowski’s career, in that glorious period between the releases of Bound and The Matrix, that they would making the 21st Century equivalent of grindhouse movies for the none-too-cerebrals?

The one-two punch of Eliot Spitzer and David Patterson, absorbed as a single act, is hilarious. It seems very wise of Patterson to have told all. He knows everyone is spent over the Spitzer scandal, and that most people in the press don’t have the energy to do anything but sigh, chuckle or shake their heads.

I’m a sucker for horror comedies, my favorites being Stuart Gordon‘s Re-Animator, the first Dawn of the Dead and, to a lesser extent, Shaun of the Dead. Obviously a guy thing, but funny is funny. I’m therefore susceptible to the remote possibility of Zombie Strippers (Triumph, 4.18) being an agreeable hoot. Remote because it’s almost certainly skanky.

One indication is that the poster has fold lines on it. Is this a Grindhouse imitation thing (i.e., trying to look like a ’70s exploitation film) or did somebody actually scan a poster that had been folded? Either way the art says “low rent.” Another indication is that an e-mailed invitation says it will screen in early April, once. Triumph is…what? Looking to save money?
Robert Englund and Jenna Jameson costar. Englund’s character, a strip-club proprietor, has the following line: “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. Our best stripper is a reanimated corpse, which feeds on the living flesh of the customers, who in turn, reanimate after death, even if they’re just a f***ing head! And you don’t see this as a problem?”

The trailer for Ben Stiller‘s Tropic Thunder is hilarious. It persuades that the film, which Stiller may even be brilliant. Trailers aren’t to be trusted, of course, but this may be an exception. Maybe. I’m now persuaded that two landmark comedies may open in August — this (opening 8.15) and David Gordon Green‘s The Pineapple Express (8.8).

Thunder will almost certainly be a box-office champ. HE reader Judy Barker reports she has friends in Long Beach who went to a sneak [of this film] and the people running things had to show it on two screens to accomodate the crowd. The line was around the block.”
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Robert Downey‘s performance alone is a take-it-the-banker. It feels like a good guess to put him into the Oscar Balloon for Best Supporting Actor. The ’08 Balloon is nothing but b.s. spitballing at this stage so why not? It could happen if the film is good enough. Possibly. Especially if you consider his being ignored off last year for his Zodiac performance as San Francisco Chronicle journalist Paul Avery.
The Tropic Thunder cast toplines Stiller, Jack Black, Downey, Brandon T. Jackson, Jay Baruchel, Danny McBride, Steve Coogan, Bill Hader and Nick Nolte.
I can’t find an embedded code for the trailer (yet). If anyone has a location, please send.

I’m too vested to be trusted, but Sen. Barack Obama didn’t just hit an oratorical home run a little while ago in Philadelphia. He hit the ball above the bleachers and into the electric scoreboard…wham. Sparks flew, people applauded, the news commentators were awed. It was a brilliant, historic, uncommonly frank speech about racial divides and attitudes, and what might be different. He said all the necessary things about the excessive hate steam of Rev. Jeremiah Wright, and particularly the choice between adhering to old habits and resentments and choosing to move beyond all the crap. It was personal, straight, profound and clear as a bell.

“The profound mistake of Reverend Wright’s sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society,” he said. “It’s that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country — a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old — is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know — what we have seen — is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation.”
Andrew Sullivan wrote a very moving reaction right after Obama finished.
The hate and suspicions and negative spinning will continue from the people with a need to live in those places and to disparage others in order to advance their agendas. This country seethes with fear and ignorance and stupidity, and there will never be a shortage of people eager to stir these ingredients in the big steel kettle and bring out their rancid aroma. All I know is that I heard a sermon this morning more than a speech, that was wise and concise and truthful and penetrating. It was on the level of Martin Luther King‘s “I Have a Dream” speech, no question. The refrain was “not this time.” Here’s a N.Y. Times link with a copy of the speech.
The best part of the speech: “For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle, as we did in the OJ trial. Or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina. Or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.
“We can do that. But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we’ll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.”
For those HE readers who can’t let it go, please write in and complain once again that you don’t like posts that aren’t about movies. Please do that. Show your colors.

The death of Anthony Minghella, who succumbed to a hemmorhage in London a little less than twelve hours ago, comes as a huge shock. He was only 54, and had decades to go. Sincere condolences to his family, friends (especially his partner Sydney Pollack), colleagues and fans.

Minghella’s spokesperson Leslee Dart called this morning to explain that Minghella didn’t die of a brain hemmorhage, which a spokesperson stated in London and was reported by Variety. She said she didn’t know any other specifics about the hemmorhage. Minghella “had been diagnosed with cancer of the tonsils, and had an operation to remove [cancerous elements]. The doctors were very optimistic, it had been caught it in plenty of time and he was recovering as expected. And then this happened.”
Minghella had perhaps the gentlest and most serene temperament of all the big-time directors I’ve known and dealt with. When I expressed reservations about Cold Mountain after catching an early screening, Minghella wanted to sit down and discuss them. We did that, and it was a completely agreeable, painless and at times even amusing conversation. I was amazed and delighted by this, and pretty much fell in love with him at that moment.
Minghella adopted the same attitude when I had problems with Breaking and Entering. He spoke to me at a Peggy Siegal party in New York, and asked me to watch it a second time. I told him I would, and I did. Minghella was always smiling, always a soft-spoken diplomat, eternally thoughtful and sensitive.
What a sad morning this is for me. I’m also dealing with my sister Laura having died last night in Connecticut from cancer, about a half hour before Minghella’s departure.
Minghella left the planet at 5 a.m. this morning (last night around 9 pm Pacific time) at Charing Cross Hospital in London, “where he had undergone a routine operation on his neck,” according to Variety‘s Adam Daltrey and Ali Jaafar.
Minghella “most recently directed the BBC/HBO telepic No 1 Ladies Detective Agency, based on Alexander McCall Smith‘s novel set in Botswana, which is due to premiere March 23 on BBC1,” Variety says.
Minghella’s films include the Oscar-winning The English Patient, Breaking and Entering, Cold Mountain, The Talented Mr Ripley and Truly Madly Deeply. He was the chairman of the British Film Institute until recently. Variety says he was “scheduled to shoot a segment” for the anthology New York, I Love You.

A presidential candidacy on the line, a major speech about prejudicial reservations and voter trust tied to a religious history. Obviously not a full parallel to Barack Obama‘s make-or-break speech this morning about Reverend Wright and racial matters (a divisive radical priest and credibility issues were not part of the 1960 situation), but close enough to mention.

Variety‘s Joe Leydon gives an affectionate pass to 21 and he dumps on Stop-Loss? At least by diminishing expectations he made it seem all the better. Tonight’s DGA screening made it clear that the Stop-Loss ins far outweigh the outs. It has its own voice, but it reminded me — skittishly, fragmentarily — of Coming Home, The Best Years of Our Lives and especially I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang.

Director-co-writer Kimberly Peirce (Boys Don’t Cry) does not, by my sights, “chart a bumpy road trip through familiar territory [and] delivers a persuasive verisimilitude too often overshadowed by contrivance.” Not perfect but a very respectable, at times quite penetrating film, Stop-Loss also contains Ryan Phillipe‘s strongest and steadiest performance
It’s much stronger and more consistent, and certainly much better acted, than what Leydon says. I was aware of the moments when this film was slightly off its game (somewhat), but when I trusted it I trusted it 115%. I realize I may be in the minority, but I knew one thing for sure as it played last night in the DGA theatre: “This is a much better film than the one described by Joe Leydon. Honest as far as it went, rooted in real-life drama, well-crafted.” I might say more later today, depending on the usual determinations.

In a 3.17 USA Today/Gallup poll, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton has 51% vs. Sen. John McCain‘s 46%, and Sen. Barack Obama nudges McCain 49% to 47%. That’s Hillary’s discredit-and-bomb-Dresden strategy, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright and a nation of brilliant people. But how does this square with the CNN/Opinion Research Corporation survey putting Obama at 52% to Clinton’s 45% among nationwide Democrats? The usual mixed numbers, lack of trust in pollsters.
Not to mention the likelihood of Pennsyvania lunchbox Democrats favoring Clinton by a decent margin. All of which means…nothing. Except that Obama has to hit out of the park tomorrow, or else.

ESPN’s Bill Simon has written a pretty good lament about sports movies having shifted from “rewatchably good” to “predictably good.”

“Sports movies fill a void created by the real sports world. So many times we are disappointed by a game, a player, a team, a playoffs. But with rewatchably good sports movies, we’re always in control. Louden Swain is always going to pin Shute. The Good Nazi will always stand up after Pele nails that bicycle kick. Carl Spackler’s ‘Cinderella story’ will always be funny. Roy Hobbs‘ final homer will always shatter the lights. And Costner’s wimpy brother will always beat the Cannibal by one second as Costner cheers him on with a porn mustache.
“But the industry has dipped so far that I’ll let a movie slide if only a piece of it is worth watching. You need to pop two Dramamine to watch most of Any Given Sunday, but I’ll always stick it out long enough to see Steamin’ Willie Beamen and Pacino’s locker room speech. That’s how easy I am. You can reel me in with one quality character, a few football scenes and a single goose-bumps speech. Doesn’t take much. And say what you want about Sunday, but at least it takes chances.
“I blame Remember the Titans for this trend; after it earned a surprising $114 million, inspirational, semisappy, ‘based on a true story” copycats like Miracle, We Are Marshall, Pride, Coach Carter, Radio, Gridiron Gang, The Rookie and Invincible quickly followed. I enjoyed each of those flicks to varying degrees, but whenever they pop up on cable, I’ve already got the remote in hand.
“Same for slapstick farces (Dodgeball, The Benchwarmers, any Ferrell movie); inexplicable remakes like Bad News Bears, Rollerball and The Longest Yard; and any of the pseudo remakes — and that ‘based on true events’ thing doesn’t get them a pass in my book — in which a white cast is exchanged for a black cast (like in Glory Road and Hard Ball).”

Stu VanAirsdale‘s first big Defamer story is about three Newsday head-choppings, and all of them in the section devoted to projected entertainment. Movie editor Pat Wiedenkeller and veteran critics Jan Stuart and Gene Seymour are reportedly “accepting buyouts that would end their tenures at the Tribune-owned tabloid effective March 28,” per cost-cutting strategies mandated by Tribune Co. owner Sam Zell.

And “it’s no golden handshake, either, ” writes Stu, “with one source telling Defamer the buyout deals topped out around 33 weeks salary, a fraction of remaining vacation days and less than a year of benefits.
“The departures of Stuart and Seymour, the latter a recent chairman of the New York Film Critics Circle, mark the third such high-profile exit at a New York tabloid in the last month, following Jack Mathews retirement from the Daily News. Look for Newsday music writer Rafer Guzman and reliable freelancers like John Anderson and company to pick up film assignments along the way.”
If he’s being this rough on the Newsday guys, you’d think that Zell would be applying more guillotine moves on an even-steven basis. As in the L.A. Times entertainment section…no?

With George Clooney‘s Leatherheads opening on April 4th, I’m feeling a bit of an atmosphere going on. It’s like you’re at a game and the coach from the opposing team has called ‘time out’ and the whole team is huddling by the sidelines and you’re wondering “what, did somebody forget to study the plays?” I’ve been at this racket for nearly 30 years, and I know what a vibe of slight trepidation feels like. It’s as distinct as the smell of mustard as you walk by one of those hot-dog wagons in Manhattan.

So I talked to a reputable guy who saw it last weekend at a junket screening, and his sum-up tag was “pretty bland.” Aww, come on!, I said. Don’t! Ease up! But the guy wouldn’t listen. “A few moments that make you smile, some that make you grimace,” he said. Jesus, man…stick it in and break it off.
“Most of the latter come courtesy of Renee Zellweger, miscast as the kind of Barbara Stanwyck dame that gives as good as she gets,” he said. “No Stanwyck she. Zellweger also isn’t aging particularly well, and I would imagine that this will be her swan song as a romantic lead.
“That said, director-star Clooney makes this cutesy, old-timey enterprise watchable,” he concluded. “But for a movie that is supposed to be about a bunch of eye-gouging, manly men, the last of a breed playing a game that’s about to leap into the big-time, Leatherheads is awfully polite. Too much so to work as anything but a niiiice valentine to a bygone era.”
When Universal decided early last October to bump Leatherheads out of its 12.7.07 slot and give it a 4.8.08 opening instead, I said to myself, “This might mean something.” But I didn’t want it to have problems because I’m as much of a Clooney kiss-ass as the next guy (i.e., like him, love his interview patter, admire his taste in movies as an actor-producer-director) and I wanted it to work so I put it out of my mind.
I could see from the trailer later on that Clooney was trying for some kind of 1930s semi-screwball vibe out of the Howard Hawks manual — Ball of Fire meets Knute Rockne, All-American, something like that.