If somehow Arnold Schwarzenegger and Donald Trump could actually switch jobs, I for one would be delighted. Who wouldn’t? During his tenure as California governor Schwarzenegger showed himself to be a sensible, practical, non-crazy Republican. Was he as good for the state as Jerry Brown? No, but if I could install A.S. in the White House by clapping three times, I would definitely do that.
I’ve just seen Al Gore, Bonni Cohen and Jon Shenk‘s An Inconvenient Sequel, a sequel to the nearly eleven-year-old, Oscar-winning doc that he and director Davis Guggenheim created. And I’m afraid that the general opinion is “nice film but meh…we know the climate crisis is mostly worsening, the 2015 Paris climate accords aside, so what else is new?”
That’s what a critic friend was saying at least (“I’ve seen a lot of climate-change docs, and good as this was it’s basically more of the same”), and even though I liked Sequel I couldn’t argue all that strenuously. It’s a nicely done, intelligently assembled film but it is more or less a rehash of the original brief, which is that we’re all doomed unless climate criminals (primarily the leaders of India, China and other developing countries) wake up, man up and begin the process of switching to renewable energy sources.
The difference between An Inconvenient Truth and An Inconvenient Sequel is that the latter (a) takes a fresh look at what’s going on now (i.e., things are worse), (b) provides hope by focusing on the Paris Agreement, which Gore was very much a part of, and (c) acknowledges despair that a climate-change-denying beast is about to move into the White House.
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It’s immediately apparent that Martin Scorsese‘s Silence has a grand scheme in mind, and that the task of the viewer to drop to his or her knees and settle into it like a great novel or an extended church service. Immersive, enveloping. A kind of spiritual obstacle course, and transfixing for that. And yet you’re waiting for some shift in the wind, a turning of a page. But what? Will Silence hear thunder from the sky or be shaken by an earthquake or clapped with a bolt of lightning?
Silence costar Issey Ogata.
No, it turns out — somewhere around the 110-minute mark Silence will suddenly be lifted and cue-balled and spun around by a guy I’ve never heard of but whose energy is obvious and exceptional — Issey Ogata, a 64 year-old Japanese actor giving a “where did this come from?” supporting performance that makes you sit up in your seat and go “yes…he’s kicking it…give it to me!”
Ogata is playing a bad guy (i.e., Inoue Masashige, a real-life figure in the Japanese persecution of Christians) but with relish and pizazz. He gives Andrew Garfield‘s Sebastiao Rodrigues hell wth a forked tongue. His every line says “I love debating cowering Christians and explaining with supreme confidence how completely meaningless they are in 17th Century Japan…and I love swatting flies and twitching my eyebrows and flaunting my quirkiness.”
In short, Ogata is a kind of Hans Landa in Japanese garb.
The Academy loves scenery-chewers. Who doesn’t?
Having won three Best Supporting Actor awards (New York Film Critics Circle, Los Angeles Film Critics Association, Washington D.C. Area Film Critics Association) over the last week or so, Moonlight‘s Mahershala Ali clearly has the heat. Manchester By The Sea‘s Lucas Hedges and Hidden Figures‘ Kevin Costner are vying for the runner-up slot, but the real comer is Silence‘s Issey Ogata — the twitchy interrogator who all but steals Martin Scorsese‘s film from Andrew Garfield. (I’ve got Ogata in fifth place because he’s only just become a contender within the last couple of days — his candidacy needs time to build steam.) Hell or High Water‘s Jeff Bridges and Nocturnal Animals‘ Michael Shannon are also respectably contending.
It’s time to spitball what the Best Picture hotties will be twelve months hence.
Every January I begin to compile a list of likely or at least promising-sounding goodies. I thought I’d start a little earlier so that by New Year’s Day I’ll have a half-decent 2017 roster to build from. It’s always hard to cut through the smoke and try to figure out what might poke through. Right now I can’t see much out there. If you check the usual sites and sources (Wikipedia, Box-Office Mojo release schedule) it’s all the same old nauseating crap — the usual mind-melting, idiot-brand, animal-friendly superhero franchise CG Asian-market slop.
Theatrical films are slowly dying, certainly if you go by the product being cranked out by the five families these days, but never say die. Netflix, Amazon, Megan Ellison, A24, Scott Rudin, Sony Pictures Classics…anyone and anything that turns the key. Ambitious theatrical fare…what is that these days? Most believe the form can only go downhill, but the discipline of having to put it all together and cram it into 95 or 110 or 125 or 140 minutes (as opposed to the relative ease of sprawling Westworld-like longforms)…there’s something so vivid and extra-feeling when movies somehow manage to do that thing and deliver like it matters. I wouldn’t want to live in a realm in which people aren’t trying like hell to keep doing this, each and every year.
I’m looking to spitball a rundown of (a) the possible standouts at Sundance 2017, (b) at the Berlinale in February, (c) possible outliers from the winter, spring and even summer seasons that might go against the grain by being actually good, (c) potential Cannes headliners, (d) the Toronto, Venice, Telluride poppers, and (e) the Thanksgiving-Xmas films. No fucking franchises, no Marvels, no horror unless we’re talking Witch or Babadook-level, no monsters, no zombies, no end-of-the-world dystopia, no action-for-action’s-sake, no comic-book adaptations, no anime. And I don’t want to hear (much less think) about family-geared animation unless it’s some extra-level Pixar thing.
I’ve asked a few friends who usually hear about stuff, and now I’m asking the HE community. Any hints or clues of any kind would be appreciated. A couple of months hence I should have a list of 25 or 30 films that will at least start things off.
One of the most frightening wake-ups of my life happened during a cross-country road trip. Three of us in a large Oldsmobile of some kind. We were on a two-lane blacktop somewhere in western Oklahoma, and I’d been sleeping scrunched-up in the back seat. Maybe 6 or 7 am. Somewhere in the recesses of my dawning consciousness I heard the angry chant of 15 gorillas — “Ooo-kachaka! Ooga-ooga-ooo-kachaka! Ooga-ooga-ooo-kachaka!” — getting louder and louder. I was muttering to myself “fuck is that?” and then suddenly a switch was thrown and I felt terrified. Gorillas! I sat up and realized a second later where I was and what I was hearing — Blue Swede’s “Hooked On A Feeling.” I’ve never forgotten that moment, and I never will.
Variety‘s Brent Lang is reporting that Birth.Movies.Death editor-in-chief Devin Faraci has stepped down after being accused by Caroline Contillo, a sometime blogger and meditation teacher who self-identifies on Twitter as “spacecrone“, of a sexual assault incident that happened 12 years ago.
Over the weekend some in the Twitterverse called for Faraci’s head, and now they have it. The only question I have is one of proportionality.
Apart from the issue of whether or not Faraci is widely liked or has created enemies, does an intelligent if abrasive writer-columnist deserve career ruination because of an unmistakably odious incident? Is it fair to send a drunken driver who has hit a pedestrian and who may be suffering from alcoholism…is it fair to sentence this offender to a long, life-destroying stretch in San Quentin? Some out there feel that severe punishment is the way to go, but I don’t know.
Faraci has written the following: “This weekend allegations were made about my past behavior. Because I take these types of claims seriously I feel my only honorable course of action is to step down from my position as Editor-in-Chief of Birth.Movies.Death. I will use the coming weeks and months to work on becoming a better person who is, I hope, worthy of the trust and loyalty of my friends and readers.”
Summing up: Hillary was the adult, Trump was the bully, Holt was the wimp. She was calm, measured, factual. Trump blathered on, lied, blustered and lied some more. Chris Matthews believes it was A Few Good Men — Trump was Jack Nicholson, Hillary was Tom Cruise. I think by the measure of adult-level facts and seasoned judgment, Hillary out-pointed Trump. Will this matter to Trump voters? Not a bit. Possibly some Gary Johnson voters will be moved somewhat. The main thing is that Hillary stood up and said the right things. She wasn’t knocked off balance, and there were some moments in which she definitely ruled. The loser of the night? Lester Holt.
10:36 pm: Trump: “I saw the polls come in today and I’m either winning or tied.” Hillary: “I hope the people out there understand that this election is really about you. I sure hope that you will get out and vote.” Holt: “Will you accept the will of the people in this election?” Trump: “I will absolutely support her.”
10:30 pm: Hillary: “It is essential that America’s word be good. My answer to the world leaders who are concerned about this, is that our word is good. Donald never tells you what he would do. He has no plans to defeat ISIS. Are we going to lead the world with strength and in accord with our values? I wont to lead a country that our allies can count on.” Trump: “I don’t believe she has the stamina. ” He’s referring to the fainting episode. Holt, your deft and deferential manner is an embarassment.
Hillary: “Try testifying for 10, 11 hours…talk to me about stamina.” Trump: “She’s got experience but bad experience.” Hillary: “This is a man who has called women pigs, slobs and dogs. One of the worst things he said was call a woman in a beauty contest, he called her ‘Miss Piggy’ and ‘Ms. Housekeeper.’ And this woman is going to vote in this election.”
10:22 pm: Trump: “I have better judgment than she has. Of course I do. I also have a better temperament. That may be my biggest asset.” Hillary: “Whoo! Okay!” And then she doesn’t mention his blustery, lying bullshit — all the lies he’s been called on, all his intemperate statements, all his goading of his ugly followers at rallies. Hillary: “The worst part is his attitude about nuclear weapons. His cavalier attitude about nuclear weapons is so deeply troubling. A man who can be provoked by a tweet should not have his hands anywhere near the nuclear codes.”
Grow some balls, Holt! Properly mannered candy-ass. Trump is occupying this debate, hoarding 65%, 70% of the air time.
It took some doing but I’ve finally scored a draft of Taylor Allen and Andrew Logan‘s Chappaquiddick (dated 5.11.16, 131 pages), the Ted Kennedy implosion melodrama that will begin filming just after Labor Day. The script is blistering, damning. A nightmarish atmosphere prevails. I was shaking my head as I read it last night, going “Jesus” and “Jesus H. Christ” over and over.
In the somewhat similar manner of Oliver Stone‘s Nixon or W., the script doesn’t strictly adhere to 100% verified fact (certain behaviors may have been exaggerated or invented and surely some of the dialogue has been imagined to varying degrees) but it does seem to follow the generally understood history of this wretched affair.
Chappaquiddick pulls no punches and hits hard. Just about every page exudes the stench of an extremely odious situation being suppressed and re-narrated by professional fixers, some of whom are appalled at Ted’s behavior and character but who do what’s necessary all the same. Protect and maintain the family’s power and mythology at all costs, by any means.
Kennedy and Mary Jo Kopechne smooch (on-camera) and actually do the deed (off-camera). And I’m not exaggerating when I emphasize that the depiction of Kopechne’s slow, agonizing death from suffocation inside Kennedy’s submerged, upside-down 1967 Oldsmobile is agonizing to read. I don’t want to imagine what it’ll be like to watch.
The reputation of the late Massachusetts Senator (1932-2009) was sullied, to say the least, by this horrific 1969 episode, but he quickly recovered, of course, and the honor and the lustre were gradually restored. For nearly four decades after the tragedy Ted was a fully respected and renowned legislator, an ally of President Barack Obama and vice versa, a health care advocate, a godfather, a diplomat and an operator who knew how to play the game and get things done.
But after Chappaquiddick is seen a year from now (starting, I’m guessing, with the early fall festivals) his name will be sullied again, trust me.
I’ve been tapping out my mezzo-mezzo review of Jason Bourne, having finally seen it last night and being more or less in agreement with the “yes but it’s not enough” crowd. But Peter Debruge’s curiously affectionate review of David Lowery‘s Pete’s Dragon (Disney, 8.12) just landed in my inbox, and now I’m growling and seething. Bourne will have to wait.
I’m always ready to sink into an absurd, wildly illogical fantasy as long as the filmmakers are willing to supply some excuses and rationales. Just work with me, guys. Help me to half-believe in your children’s storybook scenario by answering some basic questions, and the effort alone will most likely win me over. Really. I’m not looking for trouble. Help me be a kid again. I’ll take the plunge.
Just keep in mind that when you make a movie you’re creating your own universe with your own laws, but this universe has to be whole and spherical and at least somewhat specific. Which also means that it has to adhere on some level to a semblance of natural law. Another part of the deal is that you, the creator, have to at least make an attempt to sell your fresh universe to a skeptical audience member (i.e., myself).
Did the Pete’s Dragon filmmakers understand these rules? Did they do the right, responsible thing when they put it together? Of course not.
Pete’s Dragon is basically an E.T.-like fable about a cute young kid with a profound attachment to an exotic, extremely vulnerable creature whom the authorities will want to capture, inspect and imprison for the purposes of scientific study or commercial exploitation. Ever heard this one before?
The loving family members who adopt the kid and help him protect the creature are played by Bryce Dallas Howard, Wes Bentley, Oona Laurence and Robert Redford — you all know the drill. The selfish, Trump-supporting bad guy (i.e., Bentley’s brother) who wants to capture the beast and sell worldwide rights is played by Karl Urban.
I didn’t mind Paul Feig‘s Ghostbusters at first. I actually didn’t mind it for the first 80 of its 116 minutes. Then Feig throws the corporate formula switch and Ghostbusters eats itself for the last 35. It does a major swan dive into the swamp of CG overkill, and the experience numbs your soul.
Jones, McCarthy, Wiig and HE’s own Kate McKinnon.
Going in I knew Ghostbusters would be a spirited, corporatized, digitally upgraded rehash of the ’84 original. Melissa McCarthy as Dan Aykroyd, Kristen Wiig as Bill Murray, Kate McKinnon as Harold Ramis, Leslie Jones as Ernie Hudson. And it is that. A “same but newer and splashier” approach — similar set-up, similar absurd story, same determination to de-fang and de-mystify the notion of actual ghosts by turning them into Disneyworld creations.
For what it’s worth, McCarthy, Wiig, McKinnon and Jones hold their own and keep the ball in the air. I liked their company. McKinnon is the most internalized of the four, but I’d love to see her as a lead in something. (A smart lesbo or hetero romcom? I’m good either way.) Jones is a lot of fun. McCarthy and Wiig deliver their usual usual. And hunky Chris Hemsworth, as their mentally-challenged assistant, is inoffensively okay.
Variety‘s Peter Debruge has complained that Feig is too averse to potential new realms, saying that “the fault lies in the fact that this new Ghostbusters doesn’t want us to forget them, crafting its new team in the earlier team’s shadow.”
Well…of course! Movies like this are never about throwing away the roadmap and revelling in creative invention — they’re about cashing in by delivering mostly the same thing only re-stirred and re-fried with some fresh cream on top.
This morning Hillary Clinton sat for a three-and-a-half-hour grilling with FBI investigators over her use of a private email server during her time as Secretary of State. Attorney General Loretta Lynch has said she’ll accept (i.e., won’t overrule or sidestep) the FBI’s recommendations in this matter, which are expected to be announced sometime before the Democratic convention in Philadelphia (7.25 thru 7.28) or within two or three weeks.
The FBI is not going to recommend a criminal indictment, of course, as director James Comey realizes this would significantly increase the chances of Donald Trump winning the general election, and who would want that on their head? Right now Comey holds the keys to the kingdom, but he didn’t get to where he is today by being indifferent to political reality.
And yet too much time and effort have been invested in this matter for the FBI to just say “okay, there’s nothing here.” They’re at least going to admonish Clinton for acting in a smug or cavalier fashion about the law and slap her wrist in some fashion.
When this happens the voters who long ago bought into Trump’s “Crooked Hillary” narrative will have more coal in that engine, and those who never thought the matter was worth this much time and attention will shake their heads and say “she can’t help herself…one way or another she’s always taking shots over the appearance of ethical failings and/or poor strategic thinking.”
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