Speaking a day or two ago at the Annecy Animation Festival, Guillermo del Toro said the following:
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Poor Treat Willams was killed earlier today in Dorset, Vermont. A motorcycle accident did him in, or more precisely a careless driver. He was 71.
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One year before the official beginning of the late ’60s to mid ’70s glory period…an era that some believe was ignited or sign-posted by Bonnie and Clyde in the summer of ’67…1966 happened, and that was no chump change.
To hear it from The Limey‘s Terry Valentine (i.e., Peter Fonda), 1966 was the only year in which “the ’60s” were fully in flower. There were countless manifestations — spiritual, creative — and hints of coming disturbances. April ’66 saw the famous Time magazine cover that asked “Is God dead?”, which was used by Roman Polanski during the filming of Rosemary’s Baby a year later. The following month saw the release of Bob Dylan‘s Blonde On Blonde (and the coughing heat pipes in “Visions of Johanna”) and Brian Wilson‘s Pet Sounds, and three months later Revolver, the Beatles’ “acid album” which turned out to be their nerviest and most leap-forwardy, was released.
All kinds of mildly trippy, tingly, unnerving things were popping all over.
But you’d never guess what was happening to go by the mood, tone and between-the-lines repartee during the 39th Oscar Awards, which honored the best films of 1966 but aired in April ’67, or roughly seven weeks before the release of Sgt. Pepper. Bob Hope‘s opening monologue is punishing, almost physically painful to endure. And look…there’s Ginger Rogers!
Fred Zinneman‘s A Man For All Seasons won six Oscars that night — Picture, Director (Fred Zinneman), Actor (Paul Scofield), Adapted Screenplay, Cinematography, Art Direction — and there’s no question that it still “plays”. Well acted, beautifully written by Robert Bolt. But it also feels a bit smug by today’s standards, a little too starchy and theatrical.
What 1966 films play best by today’s aesthetic standards? Certainly Michelangelo Antonioni‘s Blowup, a London-based film that completely absorbed and reflected what was happening there in late ’65 and ’66, and that wasn’t hay — the entire avant garde world was rotating around London’s musical intrigues and atmospheres back then.
The second best, I feel, was The Sand Pebbles, which contained Steve McQueen‘s most open-hearted, career-best performance.
The third finest was Richard Brooks‘ The Professionals, a crafty, ace-level western actioner that plays beautifully by today’s measure and which contains Lee Marvin‘s second-best performance (after “Walker” in ’67’s Point Blank).
And let’s not belittle The Battle of Algiers, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, Persona, Au hasard Balthazar, Masculin Féminin and Polanski’s Cul-De-Sac…what is that, six?
Other ’66 hotties: Mike Nichols‘ Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Lewis Gilbert‘s Alfie, John Frankenheimer‘s Seconds and Grand Prix, Milos Forman‘s Loves of a Blonde, Billy Wilder‘s The Fortune Cookie, Norman Jewison‘s The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming, Claude Lelouch‘s A Man and a Woman, Richard Lester‘s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Woody Allen’s What’s Up, Tiger Lily?, Pier Paolo Pasolini‘s The Gospel According to St. Matthew, Karel Reisz‘s Morgan!, or a Suitable Case for Derangement. (12)
Friendo of friendo with HE edits and add-ons: “Worst-ever year for movies produces worst-ever Oscar results, although it’s not as if they didn’t have better options to vote for.
“After years of spreading their awards around, the Academy has showered a piece of multiverse Marvel mulch with seven (7) Oscars…the membership changes of recent years are also now showing a different motivation among the members. Fraser, Yeoh, Curtis and even Ke Huy Quan are all the beneficiaries of DEI sentimentality and general emotional cappuccino froth over real coffee and perceptive judgment.”
HE hat-tip for “conkirk” epitaph (with minor edits): “The more I think about it, the more I laugh. Top Gun: Maverick was really normie heaven, and represented everything that made most people feel good about movies. The oldsters loved the genteel (except for the bloody finger stubs) and traditional Banshees. The younger generation loves Elvis. (Rght?) Cineastes are obsessed with Tar, and plebs anxious about World War 3 are gripped by All Quiet on Western Front.
“So the rubes tune in and watch their favorite films lose as they listen to some director extolling the virtues of drag shows for children, and all of their suspicions about Hollywood and the Oscars were confirmed. This was the last straw for normies and mainstream audiences, I suspect. They will completely give up.
As someone said, this is not an event with any relationship to us, or even worthy of attention anymore. It exists in its own realm, for an insular, shrinking group. The ratings in future years will stay in the cellar region, as award shows get smaller and smaller.”
11:43 pm: It’s been suggested that instead of reporting the truth (i.e., internet outage) that I say I turned off the Oscars 20 minutes before they ended in a state of anger and disgust. Which I didn’t do, although it kinda sounds good. All is lost. Nothing but pain, lethargy, despair and all of that good downer stuff. Academy voters are the Bubble People — the actual reality of things, the real state of cinema and how real-world people regard it, is a whole ‘nother thing.
11:26 pm: Strange as this may seem, the cable has blanked out and I have nothing but Twitter and the trades to rely upon for news of the final Oscar outcome. But a filmmaker friend has just written me: “The death of cinema.” The EEAAO baddies have stormed the Bastille. “Because I used to love her, but it’s all over now.” Identity, narrative, sentiment. Except for All Quiet on the Western Front, true quality took a back seat.
10:55 pm: M. M. Keeravani, RRR‘s music composer (otherwise known to rubes as the bald, fat, bearded, happy guy) singing the Carpenters’ “Top of the World” as part of his acceptance speech for the Best Song Oscar…a very special moment. I mean this. I felt glad for him, for everyone.
10:46 pm: “Anyone who wants Robert Blake to be included in the ‘In Memoriam’ segment, text your assent.” Or words to that effect.
10:38 pm: The Daniels (Kwan, Scheinert) have won Best Original Screenplay for EEAAO. Bad sign, dark omen, clouds forming. And Women Talking wins for Best Adapted Screenplay — predicted and presumed by nearly everyone. Friendo: “With EEAAO winning Best Original Screenplay, I’m afraid it’s over, Jeff. FUCK FUCK FUCK…Martin McDonaugh should’ve won for Best Original.”
10:25 pm: The Cocaine Bear promotion (two appearances) is very strange considering that the film is utterly silly….a low-grade exploitation film if I ever saw one. And it gets a big friendly push from the Oscars, allegedly a celebration of movie excellence?
10:14 pm: Friendo: “All Quiet winning yet another tech Oscar is a good sign. If it wins Best Adapted Screenplay, it could win Best Picture.”
10:08 pm: All Quiet wins the Best Production Design Oscar.
9:59 pm: Lady Gaga (zero makeup, torn jeans) singing the nominated Top Gun: Maverick song was the second best moment of the telecast.
9:54 pm: The show is now two hours old, and here’s the one thing I haven’t yet posted: “The makeup / Best Actor Oscars often go together, so Brendan Fraser takes the Best Actor Oscar.”
9:41 pm: As expected, Edward Berger‘s All Quiet on the Western Front takes Best Int’l Feature Oscar. Fine, deserved…but I would’ve voted for Lukas Dhont‘s Close.
9:34 pm: Hands down, the RRR musical dance number (“Naatu Naatu”) was the single best moment of the show so far.
9:27 pm: Best Costume Oscar goes to Black Panther: Wakanda Forever? Really? Why?
9:18 pm: Brendan Fraser‘s fat suit wins the Best Makeup Oscar. First-rate work, deeply unpleasant to contemplate.
9:05 pm: All Quiet on the Western Front wins Best Cinematography Oscar. Good call. No issues. Well deserved.
8:35 pm: EEAAO‘s Jamie Lee Curtis wins for Best Supporting Actress? Congrats, I guess, but this, for me, is the worst possible outcome in this category. JLC was overbearing and over-everything in EEAAO, and for me no fun at all. Loud, broad, bold caps. I get it, I get it…this is a career tribute award, but she hasn’t been in a decent film in decades…not since True Lies. This award has nothing to do with quality of performance. Nothing to do wit “standards,” as most people understand and respect them.
8:30 pm: EEAAO‘s Ke Huy Quan wins Best Supporting Actor…huge non-surprise. Congrats but calm down, dude…stop crying…you knew this was locked for several weeks. Everyone did.
8:10 pm: Excellent Nicole Kidman held hostage by AMC joke, Jimmy. James Cameron, “the Avatar guy who hasn’t been mominated for a Best Director Oscar” or words to that effect….what do they think he is, a woman?” Great Will Smith vs. crisis team joke!
8:48 pm: Another Brad Pitt DeLonghi commercial…nice paycheck, I’m sure:
5:15 Pacific: Said it earlier; repeating for emphasis — Hollywood Elsewhere wants (a) the Everything Everywhere All At Once wins kept to a minimum and (b) at least one HE fave (Kerry Condon, say) to win in their category.
Otherwise this is going to be a bit of a misery slog for me, and for people burdened with classic taste in movies. (We are legion!) The show hasn’t even begun and I’m already drowning in weltschmerz. For me the happiest Oscar show was 20 years ago when Roman Polanski‘s The Pianist starting whipping Chicago‘s ass. Tonight is going to be mostly awful for me…just awful. What do you want me to do, lie?
I'm pretty sure I posted this Gore Vidal quote before in hopes of sparking a discussion, but I can't find the article.
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Within the last couple of days Steven Spielberg's The Fabelmans suffered two savage bird pecks, the combination of which may prove fatal. First, Variety's Clayton Davis printed a reaction to The Fabelmans from "a prominent member of the [Academy's] producers’ branch", to wit: “I really didn’t like it.” And secondly, the five BAFTA nominations for Best Film didn't include The Fabelmans.
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We're now officially a half-century beyond one of the greatest film years in Hollywood history -- 1973.
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The HFPA has done everything possible to atone for past sins and it’s still not good enough — the twitter wokesters (Tomris Laffly, Clayton Davis, et. al.) want them suppressed and blacklisted to death.
I’m in a skin clinic undergoing a basel-cell cancer removal procedure**, but the woke Stalinists are trying to suffocate the Golden Globe awards by telling everyone (publicists in particular) not to mention this morning’s GG nominations.
Here’s what Sasha Stone posted a little while ago:
One of the reasons the wokesters are trying to suppress the Golden Globes is because the HFPA didn’t adhere to the feminist quota system — i.e., no women directors were nominated. For this and other reasons the GGs must be punished!
Here’s a complaint from Variety’s #1 wokester Clayton Davis:
Chris Smith and Robert Downey's Sr. (Netflix, 12.2) is currently enjoying a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and a 77% rating on Metacritc.
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Andrew Prine, a respected character actor who drew from the water of episodic television and B movies for many decades, died a few days ago at age 86.
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Posted on 3.1.19: Earlier this month I posted two thumbnail assessments of the careers of Tony Curtis and William Holden. They both enjoyed relatively brief hot-streak periods. Holden’s lasted six or seven years, or between Stalag ’17 (’53) and The Horse Soldiers (’59). Curtis’s fortunate-son period ran 11 or 12 years, or between Sweet Smell of Success (’57) and The Boston Strangler (’68).
As noted, Holden kept plugging until his death in ’81, but from The Horse Soldiers on (or over the next 22 years) Holden only made six genuinely good films — The Wild Bunch, Wild Rovers, Breezy, Network, Fedora and S.O.B. Curtis had no luck at all after The Boston Strangler.
Burt Lancaster‘s career was different in that he was always a long player. His commercial hot streak of the late ’40s to mid ’50s (westerns or action-swashbuckler films mixed with two or three dramas) happened between his late 30s and mid 40s, but except for his 1950s peak achievement of From Here To Eternity (i.e., Sgt. Milt Warden) along with The Rose Tattoo and The Rainmaker, he was more into commercial bounties.
Then came a prestige-drama-mixed-with-action period — 12 or so years, 1957 to 1969, between his mid 40s and mid 50s — that turned into Lancaster’s greatest run. Oh, the glories of Sweet Smell of Success, Run Silent, Run Deep, Separate Tables, The Devil’s Disciple, The Unforgiven, Elmer Gantry, The Young Savages, Judgment at Nuremberg, Birdman of Alcatraz, A Child Is Waiting, The Leopard, Seven Days in May, The Train, The Hallelujah Trail, The Professionals, The Swimmer, Castle Keep and The Gypsy Moths.
In the ’70s Lancaster, entering his 60s, downshifted into mostly genre-level, mezzo-mezzo films — seemingly a getting-older, wind-down cycle. The highlights were Robert Aldrich‘s Ulzana’s Raid, Luchino Visconti‘s Conversation Piece and Bernardo Bertolucci‘s 1900.
Then came the ’80s and a resurgence with three great performances in three commendable films — aging wise guy and Lothario Lou Pascal in Louis Malle‘s Atlantic City (‘80), oil tycoon Felix Happer in Local Hero (’82) and the kindly Moonlight Graham in Field of Dreams (’89).
Lancaster was not a great actor, but he was a graceful and commanding alpha-male presence, and he had a great sense of style, and he knew how to sell it. What was his greatest performance? I’m torn between From Here To Eternity, Elmer Gantry, The Swimmer and Atlantic City (“Boy, that was some ocean”).
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