Hollywood Chicago‘s Adam Fendelman, who will soon have a running column here at Hollywood Elsewhere, has posted a nifty interview with Once director John Carney and its stars, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova.

Deadline Hollywood Daily‘s Nikki Finke on the projected $25 million-plus earnings for Knocked Up this weekend, and the bonus that Universal has given to director-writer Judd Apatow.

“If you’ve ever been perplexed by the small photographs used to represent YouTube clips, you’re not alone,” writes Tampa Tribune staffer Gregg Williams. The reason is that “the photos are selected automatically, with no regard to its actual content: It’s the frame that falls precisely in the middle of the clip. From a promotional standpoint, these ‘middle frame’ images are hit-or-miss. As the basis for a pop-culture quiz, on the other hand…”

This is Drudge Report material, but this qualifies as…I was about to say “moderately exciting video footage” but the server is so slow over here that it’s taken 12 minutes to load 18 seconds worth. I’m hereby relying on readers with faster connections to determine the value.

Inspired by a brief but intense Cannes Film Festival argument between Robert Duvall and We Own The Night director James Gray about the merits of Arthur Penn and Warren Beatty‘s < Bonnie and Clyde, Toronto Star critic Peter Howell re-examines this 1967 classic and its several bold strokes in particular:
“It would be a serious movie about serial killers, but there would be plenty of laughs. And these outlaws would be seen not as dangerous and evil outlaws, but as sexy young lovers fighting a morally unjust society. There were other innovations: shooting was done mostly on location in Texas, editing was brisk and brutal and the sex and violence was pushed as far as possible. Almost too far: the bullet-strewn finale shocks even by today’s bloody standards.
“When Bonnie and Clyde opened in New York after premiering nine days earlier at the Montreal Film Festival, critical reaction almost killed it. N.Y. Times critic Bosley Crowther panned it as “a cheap piece of bald-faced slapstick comedy.” Warner Bros. quickly withdrew the film from circulation, but Beatty pushed for its return, aided by a rapturous review by The New Yorker‘s Pauline Kael.”

A fairly well-written take on MPI’s Becket DVD by Discland‘s Michael Adams, although he’s dead wrong in saying that Peter O’Toole‘s performance as Henry II “doesn’t come close to matching” his work in Lawrence of Arabia. The former is O’Toole’s crowning achievement.

“Will Once, the recently released Irish film, turn into this summer’s indie hit? It’s showing early promise. Starring Glen Hansard, the lead singer of Dublin’s the Frames rock band, as an Irish street singer and his sometime musical collaborator, Marketa Irglova, as a classically trained pianist who sells roses on the street, the film opened May 18 on just two screens, both in L.A., to an abnormally high $30,000-per-screen average. An unvarnished ode to musical discovery, Once expanded to 20 screens in 13 cities over the Memorial Day weekend, averaging $21,626 per screen.” — from Sheigh Crabtree‘s L.A.Times piece, which is actually more about the music.

Stanley Kubrick “always admitted he took too long to make Barry Lyndon,” former Kubrick assistant Leon Vitali tells The Reeler’s Jamie Stuart. “There was about a year of pre-production, a year-plus of shooting, then he took an awful long time to edit. And by the time it was ready to come out, I would say, the blockbuster action movies had become de rigeur. That was what the people really wanted to see. So when this film came out it was received as strange, slow, completely out of context to what was going on.

“And I think people were expecting something a little closer to A Clockwork Orange, which, of course had caused such a furor. It was living! A Clockwork Orange was playing for over a year in London. And Barry Lyndon was trashed by many critics, equally so in the UK. That really hurt Stanley a lot. He was very depressed about it. Very upset about it. He took it to heart.

“It took a long, long time really before…I can tell you exactly when it was… It was in the early ’90s. The BBC ran a series of his films on television. It was all the films from Lolita, Strangelove, 2001, Clockwork, Barry Lyndon, The Shining …The Radio Times, which is like a TV Guide, but more of a magazine, I suppose — they gave each film a critical breakdown. Well, they gave Barry Lyndon five stars, because they believed that was the true Odyssey film: you start with someone who’s lowdown; he travels all the way around Europe; gets himself into the upper-echelons of the British aristocracy; then there’s a slow decline back to where he came from. It’s a classic Odyssey story.

“They gave it five stars and all the other films got four stars, but perfect critiques. And they said if it hadn’t been for the fact that wBarry Lyndon was playing along with these other films, they would have given all those films five stars. I realized there’d been a real turning point, especially toward the end of Stanley’s life, where we were getting feedback from a lot of critics that suddenly said: ‘I’ve just seen Barry Lyndon again and I did not realize at the time what a wonderful film it was.’ They went so lyrical about it.”

I — not Stuart, not Vitali — have seen Barry Lyndon at least fifteen times. Possibly a bit more than that –I’ve lost count but who counts and who cares? It’s brilliant, mesmerizing, exquisite — a dry, note-perfect immersion into the climate and mores of William Makepeace Thackeray‘s novel, and, by its own terms, one of the most perfectly realized films ever made. But the problem — and this needs to be said (or re-said) with all this passionate but vaguely snobby Lyndon gushing going on — is that it turns sour at a very particular point. And, in my eyes, it is just a notch below great because of the dead zone section in the second half.

I’m speaking of the moment when Barry (Ryan O’Neal) blows pipe smoke into the face of his wife, Lady Lyndon (Marisa Berenson). Something happens at that moment, and from then on it’s “oh, odd…the energy is dropping, and I’m starting to enjoy this less.” For another 30 to 40 minutes (or what feels like that amount of time), Barry Lyndon gets slower and slower — it becomes more and more about stately compositions and dispassionate observation.

Then, finally, comes the duel with Lord Bullington (Vitale) and Barry gets his groove back. Then that perfect, dialogue-free scene with Lady Lyndon signing checks with Bullington and Reverent Runt at her side, and she signs the annual payment to her ex-husband. And finally, that perfect epilogue.

There’s one other draggy component that diminishes Barry Lyndon, and in fact makes the dead-zone portion even deader than it needs to be, and that’s Berenson’s performance. Even now, the mere thought of her glacial expression — there’s only one — in that film makes me tighten with irritation.

If anyone’s going to hire Lindsay Lohan after her latest drunken meltdown, she “might have to be more than sober,” reports the N.Y. Times‘ Sharon Waxman. “She would need perhaps to post her salary as bond, or pay for her own insurance, even on an independent film.” And what’s so terrible or unfair about that?
The bigger problem is that the supermarket-tabloid version of Lohan, as has been the case with so many others who’ve grappled with her disease, has almost totally eclipsed what little power or aura she had as an actress before this latest episode. (The quick death of Georgia Rules indicated her diminished popularity a few weeks back).
Waxman briefly mentions that Lohan’s various enablers and wink-winkers are perhaps a factor in her inability or unwillingness to fix the problem, but she fails to even mention the biggest enabler of all — Lohan’s manager-mom Dina. The latter’s defensive comments last August in response to criticism of her daughter’s wanton ways by Morgan Creek honcho James G. Robinson spoke volumes.

Another big-city newspaper forced to cut staffers, another much-loved editor packing his bags….and not once in this story does the word “internet” appear.

If the casting rumors are true, Orlando Bloom will play an upstanding engineer named Marcus Attilius Primus in Roman Polanski‘s Pompeii, which will start shooting in August. The rumor mill is also saying that Scarlett Johansson may be cast as as Cornelia, the “defiant daughter of a vile real estate speculator who supplies Marcus with documents implicating her father in a water embezzlement scheme,” according to an Amazon synopsis.
How did Johansson become the dominant period actress of our time? She was right for her role and quite good in Match Point, playing an insecure 21st Century neurotic, but did anyone really believe her as a subservient Dutch maid in The Girl with the Pearl Earring? There’s something about her that’s almost molecularly 21st Century — something common and mall-ish in that vaguely teasing, mind-fucky manner of hers. I didn’t believe her in The Black Dahlia and The Prestige, both period films. And she’s up to more period The Other Boleyn Girl and Mary Queen of Scots.
I thought it had been widely agreed that Johansson hasn’t just been over-rated but is close to over. (Which doesn’t mean “dead” — only that it’s time for a serious career re-think.) Why is it that the internet community always seems to understand the the new modes of perception about this actress or that genre months faster than the filmmakers and the suits?

In honor of tomorrow’s opening of Judd Apatow‘s Knocked Up, here’s a re-run of that HE-vs.-Joe Leydon piece I wrote after seeing it 40 days ago. And that Seth Rogenis-the-new-John–Belushi piece. Doing so conveys as impression I’m linked up to the USA hubba-hubba, which, let’s face it, I’m not. Not in the laughing Mediterannean culture of sunny Italy, which is still living in the Bill Clinton internet era. It is easily the biggest and darkest black internet/wifi hole I’ve ever struggled with in my professional life.