On 7.19 Kino Lorber will issue a 4K “special edition” Bluray of Delbert Mann‘s Marty (’55). It will include the correctly framed 1.37 version, which Kino issued in 2014, along with an 1.85 version — a political concession to the 1.85 fascists who screamed bloody murder over the boxy.

In a 7.28.14 HE post titled “Marty Is Boxy After All…Glorious!,” I included an explanation from Kino Lorber vp acquisitions and business affairs Frank Tarzi:

“We looked at [Bob Furmanek]’s research and then screened Marty at 1.85, and didn’t like what we saw,” he said. “If I cropped some of the close-up scenes down to 1.85 I would be cropping half of their face off. I could see [going with] 1.66 but I still think 1.33 is better. We got attacked on Home Theatre Forum and Facebook. I couldn’t believe the tone of [some of the posts]. For a two-week period we were being crucified.”

Tarzi says he’s “very happy” with the boxy Marty. “1.85 just would have been too severe, he believes. “We did several tests. There’s one closeup scene in which Marty’s is on the phone, asking the girl for a date…by the time the camera stops getting in tight, the face covers the whole frame. Cutting that down to 1.85 would have been incorrect.”

Today’s trio: Riley Keough’s War Pony (2:15 pm), Ruben Ostlund’s Triangle of Sadness (4:30 pm) and Cristian Mungiu’s keenly anticipated R.M.N. (10 pm).

Didn’t like and therefore haven’t mentioned — Arnaud Desplechin’s Frere et Soeur, Jerzy Skolimowski’s EO.

Can’t wait for Sunday afternoon’s screening of Ali Abbasi ‘s Holy Spider.

On the Cannes red carpet for George Miller’s new movie, the woman in front of me stripped off all her clothes (covered in body paint) and fell to her knees screaming in front of photographers. Cannes authorities rushed over, covered her in a coat, & blocked my camera from filming pic.twitter.com/JFdWlwVMEw

— Kyle Buchanan (@kylebuchanan) May 20, 2022

“Maybe childhood makes you sad sometimes, but there are other solutions besides ‘hand me the dick-saw.’I’m sure the vast majority of parents do not take this lightly, and [know] that it’s very hard to know when something is real or just a phase. Being trans is different — it’s innate — but kids do have phases. Gender fluid? Kids are fluid about everything. If kids knew what they wanted to be at age eight, the world would be filled with cowboys and princesses. I wanted to be a pirate. Thank God nobody scheduled me for eye removal and peg-leg surgery.” — from last night’s “New Rules” crescendo of last night’s Real Time with Bill Maher.

Edited Twitter reaction: You can’t say George Miller‘s Three Thousand Years of Longing isn’t trippy or eye-popping or CG-swamped or…okay, a bit florid. But it also touches bottom with a poignant, imaginative and very adult current of romance, discovery and even transcendence.

Much of Miller’s film is invested in a 21st Century CG-meets-Michael Powell and The Thief of Baghdad aesthetic, but it’s framed by a very unusual and touching love story between Tilda Swinton‘s English writer — whipsmart, spinsterish — and Idris Elba‘s hulking and thoughtful Djinn (i.e., magic genie).

I can’t say that Longing is a supreme G-spot experience — too much is submerged in the Djinn’s fantastical history, which is devoid of story tension — but the film has something of real emotional value while Swinton and Elba are holding the screen.

I was praying that the film wouldn’t stay inside the genie bottle and smother us with CG fantasy mush.

But during the last 15% or 20% it leaves the CG palaver behind and focuses on the grown-up love story, which is one of the gentlest, most other-worldly and spiritually driven I’ve ever experienced.

Elba** and Swinton are wonderful — seasoned, grounded, playing-for-keeps actors at the peak of their game.

I was scared at first, but Longing turned out much better than I expected. A mixed bag with an intriguing beginning and a payoff that feels (or felt in my case) sublime.

** Elba’s gentle and reflective genie reminded me, of course, of Rex Ingram‘s Djinn in The Thief of Baghdad (’40). What a contrast between this exuberant, rip-roaring, loin-clothed giant and Ingram’s quiet, tradition-minded “Tilney” — servant to Ronald Colman‘s Supreme Court nominee in George Stevens‘ The Talk of the Town (’42).

Friday, 5.20 — 6:45 pm: I’m sitting in the rear left section of the Grand Lumière for a 7 pm black-tie screening of George Miller’s Three Thousand Years of Longing. I scored a last-minute ticket through friends, and I’m the only guy not wearing a tux. Miller, Idris Elba, Tilda Swinton, producer Doug Mitchell on red carpet as we speak.

Variety‘s Clayton Davis has posted a torpedo response to James Gray‘s Armageddon Time, at least as far as its awards potential is concerned. Scenes conveying white elitist viewpoints from three or four odious characters have rubbed Clayton’s woke sensibilities the wrong way.

In describing the film as deeply offensive in terms of said attitudes, Davis is half-suggesting that the film’s admirers are either missing something or oblivious to same.

The autobiographical Armageddon Time is a humanist, well-honed, memory-lane film about what Gray experienced as an 11-year-old youth in Queens, and the ugly elements that he encountered after enrolling in a Forest Hills private school. It’s the first really good film I’ve seen at this technically troubled festival.

Davis excerpt #1: “Armageddon Time, a deeply personal look at how the auteur became the auteur we, or at least the French, came to know and love, debuted to warm applause on Thursday. However, the film’s problematic depiction of racial inequalities in the Reagan era may turn off awards voters.”

Davis excerpt #2: “In a one-scene surprise, recent Oscar-winner Jessica Chastain plays U.S. State Attorney Marianne Trump, speaking to a sea of privileged white children at an elite private school, where [lead protagonist] Paul eventually attends, while Fred Trump (yes, Donald’s father) is present.

“[Marianne] channels the entitlement to be superior, oozing the grotesque and vile nature of a class of people in this country who are ‘the chosen ones’ for no other reason than the tint of their skin. While never named, two boys who use the ‘n-word’ when speaking about [a young Black protagonist] when he visits the school, have the narrative DNA of young Eric and Donald Trump Jr. The cringe factor may be too much to bear for more progressive voters.”

Davis excerpt #3: “Respected critics like Justin Chang of the L.A. Times were high on it, while Peter Bradshaw of The Guardian absolutely admonished it. Unfortunately, when this tale unveils itself stateside, a new racial debate will likely ensue regarding the undertones, similar to Licorice Pizza from Paul Thomas Anderson last year in the AAPI community. That may keep many voters at a distance.”

Last night Tatiana was fired up by recent contrasting samples of the human character — the odious Charles Bramesco on one hand, and a good-samaritan gummie buyer on another. Here’s her essay, received this morning:

“I guess I am totally addicted to cannabis-infused gummies. No gummies = no sleep for me. Realizing the possibility of going back to Moscow or moving to Paris or London in the near future, where marijuana is illegal, the idea of quitting this addiction been on my mind lately.

“One recent evening, when the 150th container of gummies was empty, I thought: Great, that’s the right moment to start to fight the bad habit! I did my best, but was unable to fall asleep till 4 am. Next evening I thought: Okay, I didn’t sleep enough last night, my body is exhausted and now I will do better. Nope! Awake until 4 am again. So next evening I gave up. I decided to buy gummies but reduce the intake.

I arrived at The Artist Tree on Santa Monica Blvd., 15 minutes before closing. The receptionist always asks for ID and only after that you are allowed to enter the area of buying stuff.

I knew this rule, but that evening I had my tiny Chanel purse, where I could fit only my credit card and iPhone and ten dollars, hoping that the photo of my ID would be fine. But the receptionist said that only physical ID could be accepted. I said that I have been their loyal customer for almost five years, that I am completely unable to sleep without those gummies and maybe they can save me and sell at least two gummies for one night.

“There were three people behind me: a tall, slender, pretty woman in white pants; beautiful hair below her shoulders; she looked like a rockstar to me. And two well dressed and nice looking gentlemen with her. The woman partially overheard our conversation and asked me: What do they want? I said desperately: They want my ID. Then I showed her the empty box from gummies and told her, that I was very unhappy because I am unable to sleep without them. And I din’t have time to walk home to pick up my ID and back then, because they were about to close.

“The tall rock star said, ‘Don’t worry — I will buy them for you.’ I said, ‘No, no, thank you very much, but I have only ten dollars in cash and the gummies cost $27 and I will be fine.’ “But you can’t sleep without them, right?,” she said. “Yes,” I answered, ‘but I will feel very bad that I owe someone money. Unless I can send it to you through Zelle right now.

“It was no biggie, she insisted. No worries at all, it’s nothing. She took the empty box from my hand and asked one of the gentlemen to get them. I didn’t know what to do. I was so grateful to that woman and begged her to take at least ten dollars I had. Looking at my desperation, she took it.

“Three minutes later the gentleman was back with my medication, I hugged her warmly and my heart was about to jump out of my chest. I said that I wish I could do something nice for her. She said, ‘You are very sweet, I am so sorry for your trouble with sleeping. No worries about the money. Go to church, that will be enough.’ I said that I would definitely do that. I left the store and ten seconds later I realized that I didn’t even know her name. I rushed back in and asked her name. It was Janice.

In her Thursday (5.19) testimony in the Depp–Heard defamation lawsuit trial, Ellen Barkin was persuasive in recollections about her “sexual” relationship with Depp (she said she preferred that term to “romantic”), which began sometime in ‘94 and lasted for maybe “five or six months”, give or take.

But they had a friendly relationship, both pre- and post-sexual, for roughly ten years, she said. Things were platonic at first, Barkin said, but then Depp “switched the buttons.”

Things were largely defined by Depp almost always being drunk (i.e., “red wine”) or ripped or high in some way, Barkin said. In addition Depp was a “controlling, jealous man,” she testified.

Depp was nine years younger than Barkin (31 to her 40) when their relationship first became carnal during the second year of the Clinton administration. They later costarred in ‘98’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Barkin’s snow-white hair, cut short as if she was playing an anti-Nazi freedom fighter in a Sidney Lumet or a Michael Mann film, is striking. Ditto her “I have nothing to prove one way or the other” no-bullshit street vibe, and that wonderfully raspy New York accent.

Barkin was married to Gabriel Byrne between ‘88 and ‘99: she subsequently married billionaire Ron Pearlman, who divorced her in ‘06. Barkin reportedly emerged from that union with a $20 million settlement plus $20.3 million in a Christie-supervised jewelry auction.

I haven’t been on the James Gray train for years, but early Thursday evening I saw Armageddon Time, his latest, and I was seriously, solemnly impressed. It’s the first really good film of the 2022 Cannes Film Festival.

It’s a modest little moral tale — concisely written, very well acted (especially by first-timer Michael Banks Repeda plus Jeremy Strong, Anthony Hopkins and Anne Hathaway) and ridden with echoes, laments and (from its 1980 perspective) dark projections.. And it’s definitely a Best Picture contender — of this you can be certain.

Armageddon Time is Gray’s best film — the most unaffected, straight-shooting and plain spoken — in a dog’s age. I was a Gray fan during his peak decade (The Yards, We Own The Night, Two Lovers), which happened between ‘98 and ‘08. I fell away in the 20-teens but now I’m back, as is Gray himself.

Largely autobiographical, Armageddon Time is basically a Queens-based family drama, set in the fall of 1980 and focused on the moral and creative growing pains of 11-year-old Paul Graff (Repeda).

In its own unpretentious, quietly on-target way it grapples with ethics and ethnicism, grandfather comforts, morality, racism, the Age of Reagan and the early seeds of Trumpism, brutal parenting, “life is hard” and “the game is rigged.”

I don’t know why I’ve decided to call it “a modest little Truffaut film,” but that’s the phrase I’ve been using since last night.

It’s a film about a kid dealing with family demands (particularly a brutal father) and being sent to a Forest Hills prep school and absorbing the first whiffs of late 20th Century evil in this country — Reagan, Trump, elitism and the ever-present component of half-hearted, laissez-faire racism.

A friend asked last night if it’s woke and I said it’ll certainly strike a chord with wokesters, but it’s “not really a woke film…it’s certainly not about woke Hollywood lecturing the middle of the country or anything in that vein.

“It’s Gray telling an honest, unpretentious story of his own childhood. It’s simple and real and I believed it.

“Racism and unfairness in life are real — you can’t just swat them away like a fly. It’s not about today’s deranged left. It’s set in 1980. ‘Woke’ wasn’t a thing 42 years ago. It wasn’t a thing ten years ago, and was barely a thing give six or seven years ago.

“Stop trying to define everything by today’s toxic cultural terminology,” I concluded. “Respect this movie for what it does and doesn’t do. It’s not playing any tricky or underhanded games.