Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu has reiterated his disdain for superhero movies. He recently told Variety‘s Marc Malkin that superheroes are “sad figures,” although inorganic or uninvested is probably closer to the mark. Overly confident, No pain or gain.

AGI seems to be alluding more to superhero fans and their attachment to repeatedly re-sampling those surges of adolescent euphoria…we’re all receptive to that stuff on a certain level, to the casual glory of it all…the basic selling point of every superhero flick.

“I see heroes every day,” AGI explained. “I see beautiful people really going through very difficult situations and doing incredible things. And [these are] the people that I kind of connect with. But superheroes…do we really need that?”

More to the point and aside from Chris Nolan, James Cameron and Sam Mendes, which world-class, major-league directors have truly embraced the basic superhero scheme from a fan perspective? They all pretty much hate them, don’t they?

Here’s an idea — imagine that five or ten genius-level directors (forget their ages) have been somehow forced to go superhero slumming as a one-off…forced to co-write and direct some kind of smartly imagined superhero flick. Who might perform well under these circumstances?

There’s a clear differences between superheroes and exceptional action stars, and most of us can roll with the latter. Seemingly invulnerable (or certainly difficult to kill) protagonists with extraordinary skills. No movie fan can truly enjoy the adventures of supermen because of the bullshit factor. But somewhat vulnerable figures with exceptional skills and determination…tactical intelligence wizards…action studs. That’s as far as I can go. Matt Damon‘s Jason Bourne…Denzel’s Creasy…that line of country.

It was asserted yesterday that for All Quiet on the Western Front to win the Best Picture Oscar, “It must win Best Adapted screenplay, but that will be tough because Sarah Polley could definitely win that.”

And I said “oh, yeah?”

It was then claimed that whichever film wins the Best Original Screenplay Oscar, Banshees or EEAAO, that is your Best Picture winner. What else can Banshees win?  If Kerry Condon wins, it’s over.  Banshees will take the Best Picture Oscar.

And I said “oh, yeah?”

It was pointed out that a film “usually can’t win Best Picture Oscar without a Best actor nom, a Best Screenplay nom/win, and a Best Editing nom.”

And I said “Oh, yeah?”

The same guy said “if Judd Hirsch wins the Don Ameche award, then The Fabelmans could win.”

He concluded by saying that Top Gun: Maverick, which will almost certainly win Oscars for sound and editing, can only win if it somehow wins Best Screenplay, but that ain’t happening.”

And I went “Ohhhhh, yeaaahhhh.”

Friendo: “Any thoughts on Jacob Bernstein’s 1.21 NY Times piece about the last days of Nikki Finke?”

HE: “What’s there to say? Okay, to some extent Fink wept and lamented as she faced the Big Sleep, and to some extent she was accepting. Most of the article is a “Nikki’s greatest hits” rehash. The only new material (at the beginning and end) is from a friend of Nikki’s, Diane Haithman, who helped her during the waning days.

“For what it’s worth, Jay Penske comes off like a human being.

“The piece says, by the way, that Finke died last October at Hospice by the Sea in Boca Raton. In fact it’s located roughly 20 blocks from the sea. It should be called Hospice by Interstate 95.

“The important thing, no offense, is that she’s dead. Nobody wept when J.J. Hunsecker passed on either.”

Last night “Correcting Jeff,” one of the more dickish and obnoxious HE comment hounds, stated that “cinema died years ago, yet Oscar bloggers fight on like Japanese soldiers hiding in caves.”

Not a bad metaphor for what people like myself do, but there’s more to it than just living on wild berries and stray lizards, bathing in mountain streams, sleeping on a bed of grass and leaves and occasionally sharpening the bayonet sword with a rock.

Wokesters deciding that “ars gratia artis” had to be diminished if not dismissed in favor of movies being used mostly if not exclusively as propaganda devices to promote social justice and implement across-the-board DEI — that’s certainly one big change that corroded the Oscar brand and the general aspirational vibe that fed the magic of Hollywood for so many decades.

Over the last 90 or so years the best films have often reflected social-political tensions and concerns, but the balance tipped six or seven years ago when a stone sociopath and crime-family grifter won the Presidency and a reactive lurching decision was made by woke commissars to counterbalance the Trump toxicity…to emphasize progressive instruction and social equity over emotional revelation and (at least occasional) attempts at universal illumination — this is what killed the once-vital golden goose of cinema more than anything else…more than Marvel/DC, more than the pandemic and streaming, more than Bob Strauss incessantly beating the Get Out drum.

I for one am proud to be an online, 24/7 cave-dwelling Japanese soldier in this regard, fighting like Emiliano Zapata or William Wallace or Dorothy Parker or Mose Allison for the values of classic-brand cinema and the cause of reminding the industry that the artistic values of yore are eternal and need to be cherished …values that exist above and beyond the oppressively shallow SJW Jen Yamato progressive gulag aesthetic (“banal representation matters!”) and the terrible nerve-gas scourge of the Perri Nemiroff / Maria Menudos Noovies brand (“keep smiling!…keep hustling popcorn!”) and the soul-numbing narcotic of those utterly grotesque Nicole Kidman “big lie” AMC spots….I for one am proud to be a proverbial die-hard Japanese soldier in this regard.

It goes without saying that Sea of Love (’89), a sexually charged Manhattan noir + Al Pacino‘s comeback film after the colossal misfortune of Hugh Hudson‘s Revolution, would never be made today.

Richard Price‘s screenplay is too male, too sexualized, too inauthentic as far as Ellen Barkin‘s character was concerned. But it had some really great scenes, and this was one of them.

Pacino was 48 at the time; Barkin was 34. The beefy John Goodman was perfect as Pacino’s temporary partner in a hunt for a serial killer. William Hickey, who had played Don Corrado in Prizzi’s Honor four years earlier, was perfect as Pacino’s widowed dad.

The late, great Warren Zevon was born exactly 76 years ago today (1.24.47). Like everyone else I’ve adored his third album, Excitable Boy, since it first came out on 1.18.78, when he was about to turn 31. Of all the great songs on that magnificent and pungent album, I’ve always found “When Johnny Strikes Up The Band” the richest and friendliest…the most inviting, the most melodic and complex…a lifelong keeper. I also thought back then that “Lawyers, Guns & Money” was my personal theme song, particularly “dad, get me outta this.”

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Two days ago I caught The Son (Sony Pictures Classics, 1.20), which I found well-written, well-acted and somewhat arduous to watch. Which doesn’t mean it’s a bad film — it’s just a bit of a thing to get through. Not a slog, which has negative connotations, but somewhat burdensome.

Directed by Florian Zeller (The Father) and cowritten by Zeller and Christopher Hampton, it’s about five characters — a 50ish, high-powered Manhattan businessman (Hugh Jackman), his anguished and estranged teenage son (Zen McGrath), the son’s divorced, worry-fraught mother and Jackman’s ex (Laura Dern), Jackman’s second, 20-years-younger wife (Vanessa Kirby) and Jackman’s crusty, tough-as-nails father (Anthony Hopkins) who’s in his late 70s or early 80s.

My mp3 review lasta around 12 minutes.

I’ve just verbalized some reactions to this morning’s Oscar nominations. Click the arrow below — 20 minutes, give or take.

Suddenly and very much out of the blue, Edward Berger‘s All Quiet on the Western Front is the Best Picture frontrunner. Or so it seems to me. There’s no possible basis for a broad-based consensus on Everything Everywhere All At Once (it’s too hated), and The Banshees of Inisherin is respected but not loved…not with those finger stumps and that dead donkey. If I could wave a magic wand I would give the Best Picture Oscar to Top Gun:Maverick, but that’s me.

Friendo to HE: “All Quiet has a lot of noms but zero for acting, and actors are the largest branch of the Academy. Same thing as 1917, which also couldn’t go the distance. In fact, Parasite is the only recent Best Picture winner that didn’t have at least one nominated actor. Before that you have to go all the way back to Braveheart, which isn’t a bad comparison for All Quiet, except it at least had its director [Mel Gibson] nominated, which All Quiet doesn’t have either. Perhaps all meaningless, but I still smell an EEAAO win in the making.”

HE to friendo: “No!”

Hollywood Elsewhere is extremely bummed that Everything Everywhere All at Once nabbed 11 Oscar nominations this morning. Congrats, however, to Martin McDonagh‘s The Banshees of Inisherin and Edward Berger‘s All Quiet on the Western Front, which took nine noms each.

Given that All Quiet landed so many noms without much promotional help from Netflix, it seems to be the Best Picture frontrunner. Will Netflix finally start promoting it? Or will they continue to sit on their hands?

Especially given the negative responses to EEAAO from the over-45 crowd, and given the bloody finger stump residue from Banshees.

All Quiet is not an easy sit, but it’s obviously a compassionate, humanistic film at the end of the day.

9:17 am tally: Best Picture — All Quiet on the Western Front, Avatar: The Way of Water, The Banshees of Inisherin, Elvis, Everything Everywhere All at Once, The Fabelmans, Tar, Top Gun: Maverick, Triangle of Sadness, Women Talking.

8:32 am: Wait…Best Supporting Actress nominees include Jamie Lee Curtis and Stephanie Hsu, both from Everything Everywhere All At Once? Bad sign. Very bad sign.

8:47 am: To Leslie‘s Andrea Riseborough got nominated for Best Actress! Her seat-of-the-pants campaign worked! And Ana de Armas overcame the Blonde negativity to land a nomination also. Till‘s Danielle Deadwyler snubbed though…sorry, raw deal, tough darts.

Against all odds, Women Talking managed to get nominated for Best Picture. Not a prayer of winning, of course. But at least saved from being snubbed.

Decision to Leave snubbed in Best Int’l Feature category…admired the chops, didn’t like the film, fine with me.

Allison Williams speaks with one of those mincing Millennial beep-beep “sexy baby” voices. Lauren Bacall she’s not.

Director friendo: Netflix totally blew it with All Quiet on the Western Front. No campaign. I know many directors who were unaware that the film even existed.
HE: But it was nominated for Best Picture and five or six other Oscars….right?
Director friendo: Yes. Nine. But no Best Director nomination for Edward Berger. It can still win Best Picture if only Netflix would mount a campaign.
HE: Netflix was strangely reticent with this film. Odd.
Director friendo: More than reticent. Neglectful. It scored 9 noms with no Netflix suppoprt. What does that tell you?

The 95th Oscars will happen at the Dolby Theatre on Sunday, March 12. Jimmy Kimmel will host.

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It’s been an HE cliche for several years that I will never accept, much less forgive, older dudes shuffling around in mandals or even, God forbid, barefoot. In the old days men wore lace-up tennis shoes or slip-ons. There are very few things in the public arena that are more odious than man toes, and yet millions of older American males are staunchly defiant in this regard, sometimes to the extent of wearing mandals in hotel breakfast rooms.

With the 2023 Santa Barbara Film Festival only a couple of weeks away, it is time once again to recount an HE incident that happened during the 2016 festival, at Santa Barbara’s Cabrillo Inn at the Beach. But first a re-posting of two comments, from Gigi Pinimba and Mr. Sunset Terras Cotta:

Posted on 2.14.16: I don’t like mingling with hotel guests as a rule. If I run into one I’ll turn on the pleasant smile and say “good morning!” but if I can avoid them I will. Partly because I prefer morning solitude, and partly because the folks who stay at midrange hotels and motels tend to be the kind of people who go on Caribbean cruises and vacation in Cancun and Las Vegas. Middle-aged marrieds, overweight types, elderly folk, tourists with kids…later.

All to say that when I want a cup of Starbucks Instant I’d rather fill the cup with hot water from the bathroom tap than hit the breakfast lounge. It’s not the staff (they’re all gracious and obliging) as much as the riff-raff.

In any event I was up early this morning and not, for a reason I won’t go into, at the Fess Parker but at the Cabrillo Inn. Around 6:45 am I turned on the bathroom tap and waited for the hot water. And waited. It didn’t happen, never even turned warm. So I went downstairs with my day-old paper cup and my Starbucks Instant and strolled into the complimentary-breakfast room. Some 50ish guy (a tourist from Chicago, he later explained) was standing inside and giving me the once-over.

Two women were preparing things; they weren’t quite ready to serve. But all I wanted was some hot water so I asked if I could get some. In a minute or two, they said. So I nodded and waited. It wasn’t worth explaining that steaming hot tap water would suffice.

The guy from Chicago thought I had overstepped. Chicago guy: “Why don’t you ask the hotel manager?” Me: “What’s he gonna do?” Chicago guy: “That’s what he’s here for.” Me: “What’s he gonna do, push the emergency hot-water button?” Chicago guy: “He could get an engineer to fix the pipes.” Me: “At ten minutes to seven on a Sunday morning? Yeah, that’s a possibility.”

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