…for HE to post regular recollections of what the film business looked, sounded, felt and tasted like beforetheterror — i.e., before 2017 but mostly focused on the glorious ‘90s (the indierevolution), the aughts (last stabs before superhero plague) and the early to mid teens (ZeroDarkThirty, 12Years A Slave, Drive, TheSocialNetwork, Moneyball, Carol, ManchesterByTheSea).
Inotherwords: rather than overdose on cursing and condemning the present darkness (although I will never abandon this hard but necessary duty) it might be better to invest more energy into shining a light upon the above-mentioned goodtimes (‘90 to ‘17 or just shy of three decades) and thereby possibly inspire a longing for films that aspire to more than just delivering “content” as well as persuading at least some of the fiercely progressive descendants of Maximilian Robespierre and Josef Stalin to possibly ease up on their social justice crusades and just…you know, try to make good movies that are less “instructive”?
Then again I wouldn’t want to descend into the pit of too-much-nostalgia…all right, fuck it, I’m not changing the game.
Oscar Poker had been moribund for two weekends, sidelined by tech issues and whatnot. Obviously time to record again, and so Jeff and Sasha went to town on a rainy Sunday afternoon. And here it is.
Points hit:
How the Oscars lost their brand.
All hail Adam Carolla’s spot-on analysis about sports vs. award season and politics.
Leave the World Behind – a Netflix movie exec produced by the Obamas, and whether or not that’s creatively upfront of agenda-driven.
Having freedom of mind as opposed to being “in the bubble.”
Complimenting Jeff for not being an Oscar whore.
Jeff’s ongoing annoyances with Lily Gladstone and Barry Keoghan.
The Best Picture standouts, according to Jeff — Poor Things, Maestro, The Holdovers
The Boys in the Boat is an “old-fashioned” but very well-made and deeply likable film.
How Barbenheimer signified the return of “traditionalism”.
The 4K Titanic Bluray is great.
Was Joan Baez molested by her dad? What is she trying to say?
Therapy is ruining everything.
How erasing boundaries led to helicotper parenting in the 90s, which led to “safetyism.”
Why is Todd Haynes’ May December so popular with woke-bubble critics?
The romantic intrigue in Phillip Noyce's Fast Charlie (Vertical, 10.8) is the thing. The blam-blam is fine the laid-back, settled-down relationship drama between Pierce Brosnan‘s Charlie, a civilized, soft-drawl hitman who loves fine cooking, and Morena Baccarin‘s Marcie, a taxidermist with a world-weary, Thelma Ritter-ish attitude about things...that's what holds you. Is he too old for her? (Call it a quarter-century age gap.) Does it matter if he is somewhat? Nobody makes any overt moves, but you can feel the simmering.
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This almost felt like a fitting crescendo as the film was widely regarded as a crisis itself, albeit a “what the hell happened?” kind. The final production tab was $27 million, or roughly $275 million in 2023 dollars — a startling level of exorbitance.
Bounty had been shooting for two years, partly under the directorial command of Sir Carol Reed but mostly Lewis Milestone, who didn’t get along wih star Marlon Brando and vice versa. A few months earlier the film had been publicized as a cost-overrun disaster, particularly by a June 1962 Saturday Evening Post cover story, written by Bill Davidson, that identified Brando as the principal culprit.
Production was marked by constant tempest (Reed either quit or was let go, and Milestone, his successor, also left under turbulent circumstances), largely, according to Davidson, due to Brando’s egoistic big-star behavior. Brando sued the Post for $5 million over claims that the article had wrongfully damaged his professional reputation. It did, in fact, do that.
Filming was almost as prolonged and costly as the $31 million Cleopatra, which would open seven months later in June 1963.
I wouldn’t call Mutiny on the Bounty a flawed film as much as a “good but not quite there” one. It’s actually a well-written, handsomeiy produced, eye-filling wow for the first 70% or 75%, and Bronislau Kaper‘s score is inescapably rousing in a crash-boom-bang sense.
I would give it an 8.5 grade up until and including the mutiny sequence. But the tension flies out the window after the mutiny, and the remainder of the film is just okay. And Brando’s (i.e., Fletcher Christian‘s) high-minded urging that he and the crew should return to England to plead their case? Totally absurd. Tantamount to suicide. I agree with the decision by Richard Harris‘s Mills and other crew members to burn the ship after Brando suggests this hair-brained notion.
The act that ignites the mutiny scene as Brando’s Fletcher Christian tries to give fresh H20 to a thirsty seaman, and Howard’s Cpt. Bligh expresses his opposition.
Say what you will about Bounty‘s problems — historical inaccuracies and inventions, Brando’s affected performance as Christian, the floundering final act. The fact remains that this viscerally enjoyable, critically-dissed costumer is one of the the most handsome, lavishly-produced and beautifully scored films made during Hollywood’s fabled 70mm era, which lasted from the mid ’50s to the late ’60s.
It has a flamboyant “look at all the money we’re spending” quality that’s half-overbaked and half-absorbing. It’s pushing a certain pounding, big-studio swagger.
There’s a way to half-excuse Bounty for doing this. It was made, after all, at a time when self-important bigness was regarded as a kind of aesthetic attribute unto itself, with large casts, extended running times, dynamic musical scores (overtures, entr’actes, exit music) and intermissions all par for the course. And there’s no denying that a lot of skilled craftsmanship and precision went into this manifestation.
Bounty definitely has first-rate dialogue and editing, and three or four scenes that absolutely get the pulse going (leaving Portsmouth, rounding Cape Horn, the mutiny, the burning ship). And I happen to like and respect Brando’s performance — it gets darker and sadder as the film goes along — and you can’t say Trevor Howard‘s Captain Bligh doesn’t crack like a bullwhip. (Bosley Crowther‘s review said his emoting was imbued with “wire and scrap iron”, and that Brando’s came from “tinsel and cold cream”.) And Richard Harris and Hugh Griffith are fairly right-on. And everybody likes the topless Tahitian girls.
I’d forgotten how foppy and buffoonish Brando’s Fletcher Christian character is, and how frequently his contentious relationship with Trevor Howard‘s Captain Bligh is played for easy laughs during the first 100 minutes.
The extremely wide 2.76 to 1 Ultra Panavision image, shot by Robert Surtees and derived from the original 70mm elements, is really quite beautiful, and the colors are full and luscious.
My difficulties with the jokey humor aside, I have to acknowledge the “make love to that damn daughter of his” scene between Howard and Brando, and pay my respects to the way Brando pauses ever so slightly before and after he says the word “fight”. It’s the film’s wittiest moment — the only line that still makes me laugh out loud.
The decision not to offer a “making of” documentary on the Bounty Bluray was unfortunate, given that Mutiny on the Bounty‘s production history was one of the most expensive and out-of-control in Hollywood history, and therefore worth recounting for history.
Fox Home Video included an ambitious making-of-Cleopatra doc along with their Cleopatra disc, and it’s a far more engaging thing to watch than the film itself. Too bad Warner Home Video didn’t follow suit. Laurent Bouzereau or someone on his level could’ve really gone to town with it.
Director-screenwriter friendo: “Biden somewhat reminds me of when Playboy magazine, competing with FHM and Maxim, tried to make Hugh Hefner relevant to a younger demographic and couldn’t. He came off to young guys as a licentious old man.
“Dr. Caroline Heldman is someone I’d seen on CNN a few times, occasionally billed as a Democratic advisor, but what struck me is to see on her social media accounts that she also moonlights as a rock singer. She’s a liberal Buckaroo Banzai.
“This collision of politics and show business, as well as a generational gap, underscores how Biden, aside from being old, also doesn’t have any sort of dynamic personality that can negate age. Trump’s bombast is immature and grotesque, and yet it makes him seem bizarrely energetic.
“Gavin Newsom would perfectly dovetail into the sensibilities of Heldman’s era.”
I explained that Martin Scorcese‘s Killers of the Flower Moon looked professionally illuminated when I saw it last May during the Cannes Film Festival, but when I saw it at the Westport Royale 6 a couple of weeks ago the images were “noticably subdued, a bit muddy, murky…like the sun was behind the clouds.”
I stated that the SMPTE requires that foot lamberts levels be between 14 and 16, and asked whether proper SMPTE-recommended illumination was represented upon her theatre’s screens.
Ross responded last night, and here’s the the heart of her letter: “I have talked to my head of projectors who does checks on our projectors every quarter to make sure lighting and sound is up to par. He has said that all lighting levels are set to each movie.
“The other issue might be just that our projectors are so old, but when he does his [assessments and tune-ups] everything is set correctly. I have never had a complaint or issue about our lighting levels since we do have them looked at every quarter.”
I wrote back immediately. After greeting Caroline and thanking her for replying, I got down to it:
“So let me get this straight — your head of projectors checks your ‘old’ projectors every quarter, or every three months? Right away I wondered why the projectors are allowed to collect dust for 90 days between check-ups. A monthly or bi-monthly check-up seems like a more appropriate regimen given that they’re ‘old’ and possibly in need of more upkeep or fine-tuning…no?
Evan Roberts and Jack Guild settle in at the AMC Royale 6 on Westport Avenue in Norwalk, Conn. (Norwalk Hour photo taken six years ago.)
“Your projector guy also told you that ‘all lighting levels are set to each movie.’ But how could he possibly do that if he only checks the projection standards every three months? Movies arrive and depart all the time. Some last a couple of weeks; others for a month or so.
“What you seem to be saying is that your head of projectors drops in four times a year to check things, but that he doesn’t really focus on light levels. Are you saying that he wings it or improvises to some extent? My general impression, according to what you’re telling me, is that SMPTE foot lambert standards are not really a standard that the AMC Westport Royale plex adheres to.
“Trying again and with all due respect — do you guys have any interest in adhering to SMPTE light standards? Do you generally project at levels of 14 or 16 or…what, 10 or 12 or something lower? What are your exact foot lambert standards? Where are you coming from as exhibition professionals?
“You also haven’t told me if you or your head of projectors use the kind of standard light meter that measures foot lambert levels. Do you?
“You’ve said that when your head of projectors ‘does his checks everything is set correctly.’ But what does ‘correctly’ mean in this regard? I’m sorry but you’re not being specific.
“May I please speak to your head of projectors? Would you ask him to please call or write?
“You’ve said that you’ve ‘never had a complaint or issue about our lighting levels since we do have them looked at every quarter.’ Well, that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean very much as no ticket buyer ever seems to complain about anything in terms of projection. I’ve been a devoted movie fan and an occasional complainer about light and sound for decades, and I’ve found that people are generally sheep when it comes to issues of this kind.
“Only film-industry professionals and hardcore tough nuts like myself complain about sound and light levels.
“Repeating: I saw the world premiere of Killers of the Flower Moon in Cannes last May, and I am telling you straight and true that the AMC Westport version of Killers doesn’t look anywhere near as good as it did at the Salle Debussy on the Cote d’Azur.
“What would you imagine the response would be from Killers of the Flower Moon director Martin Scorsese, or the film’s director of cinematography, Rodrigo Prieto…what would you imagine they would think or say if they were told that the people showing their film at a Westport/Norwalk plex don’t really address projecting issues in terms of foot lamberts? And that an AMC tech guy only tunes up the projectors once every three months?
“Please ask your head of projectors to get in touch. Thanks for responding.”
Jeffrey Wells, Hollywood Elsewhere
Note to AMC management: Please don’t penalize poor Caroline for sending me an honest reply. She’s a very polite and considerate professional, and is a credit to your theatre chain outside of the technical stuff.
DATE: 11.8.23
FROM: Jeffrey Wells, Hollywood Elsewhere
TO: Caroline Ross, general manager, AMC Royale 6 in Westport, CT.
RE: Screen illumination levels
Caroline,
I’m Jeffrey Wells of www.hollywood-elsewhere.com, and I’m writing to convey concern about the screen light levels (or foot lambert levels) at the AMC Westport Royale plex, which, I’ve been told, you’re the general manager of.
I’ve been attending the Cannes Film Festival for 23 years, and when I saw Killers of the Flower Moon at the Sally Debussy last May the images were fully rendered and totally satisfactory.
When I saw Killers at the Westport Royale 6 a couple of weeks ago the images were noticably subdued, a bit muddy, murky…clearly being presented at lower-than-intended light levels. Like the sun was behind the clouds.
I had the exact same impression when I watched Priscilla there a few days ago. It was as if the story was happening inside a barely illiuminated closet or a shadowy shoebox of some kind. The images made me feel trapped. Depressed even. No one’s life has ever been this dark, not even Priscilla Presley‘s during her perverse marriage to Elvis.
In order to check this you need to own a light meter, and with this device you have to check the light levels without a movie playing — you have to check with just pure light being thrown on to a blank screen.
Do you own a proper light meter? Have you checked the light levels on all your screens? If so, what are the foot lambert readings? Do they meet SMPTE’s recommendations? I’d be greatly surprised if they’re between 14 and 16. As noted, the Westport Royale images are definitely subdued.
I say this knowing that AMC hasn’t employed projectionists for many years — it’s all done through some kind of soul-less computerized system.
Almost exactly 13 years ago I riffed about films that have dealt with death in a “good” way: “The best death-meditation films impart a sense of tranquility or acceptance about what’s to come, which is what most of us go to films about death to receive, and what the best of these always seem to convey in some way.
“They usually do this by selling the idea of structure and continuity. They persuade that despite the universe being run on cold chance and mathematical indifference, each life has a particular task or fulfillment that needs to happen, and that by satisfying this requirement some connection to a grand scheme is revealed.
“You can call this a delusional wish-fulfillment scenario (and I won’t argue about that), but certain films have sold this idea in a way that simultaneously gives you the chills but also settles you down and makes you feel okay.
“Here’s a list of seven top achievers in this realm. I’m not going to explain why they’re successful in conveying the above except to underline that it’s not just me talking here — these movies definitely impart a sense of benevolent order and a belief that the end of a life on the planet earth is but a passage into something else. I’ve listed them in order of preference, or by the standard of emotional persuasion.
“1. Martin Scorsese‘s The Last Temptation of Christ. 2. Stephen Frears‘ The Hit. 3. Brian Desmond Hurst‘s A Christmas Carol. 4. Warren Beatty and Buck Henry‘s Heaven Can Wait. 5. Henry King‘s Carousel (based on Ferenc Molnar‘s Lilliom). 6. Tim Burton‘s Beetlejuice. 6. Michael Powell‘s A Matter Of Life And Death, a.k.a. Stairway To Heaven. 7. Albert Brooks‘ Defending Your Life.
Ten days ago I wrote six paragraphs about David Fincher‘s The Killer, and it came out just right because (this is important) I hadn’t really explored what I was feeling deep down…I just said “this movie made me feel so damn engaged and electrified, escapism-wise”, and I did so without asking why or trying to protect myself from the usual HE slings and arrows. Because that is what this site is partly about….dicks firing beebee pellets.
If I had a magic wand I would wave it like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia and transform The Killer into one of the locked-and-loaded, no-escape-clause 2023 Best Picture nominees…I would have no hesitation about this whatsoever. Because the Movie Godz are sold on the value of this film and so am I….and when you’re right, you’re right. And I don’t want to even think about what the Perri Nemiroffs of this world feel about The Killer. It’s not worth fooling with.
I knew deep down that I’d said the right and necessary thing when I wrote that Fincher’s revenge film (and that’s what it is — a sleek and efficient survival and revenge thing that will only warm the hearts of earth-orbiting, X-factor, don’t-fence-me-in fellows like myself)..I said that it “feels like a kind of new-age opiate…it’s about the joys of living a cold and barren life….it mainlines the hollow.”
Strange as this may sound, typing these words felt like a breakthrough of sorts. Without planning it out or thinking it through I had randomly but decisively admitted that there’s something to be said for living a life of smart solitude and fleet escapism…a life defined or punctuated by apartness, alert alienation, fake IDs and chilly satisfactions. And at the same time I live for rare meltdown moments in exceptional grade-A films…I’ve been watching the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol every holiday season since I was nine or ten years old…at the same time I love staying a step or two ahead of pursuers and living for the chase and the game of it all.
The instant that I acknowledged that a cold and barren life could radiate joy and satisfaction…well! I don’t think I’ve ever read something like this from any movie critic anywhere, and to compound matters I’m not even sure why I’m making this distinction as we speak.
It’s 4:45 pm and I have some stuff to do, I’m afraid, so I have to shut this down, but I can’t leave without asking what’s up with Elvis Mitchell‘s baggy-ass, dark-blue, fresh-off-the-rack jeans with the cuffs folded up, not to mention those plastic, lace-up space shoes with the three-inch soles? The photos are from last night’s post-screening q & a at the David Geffen Theatre at the Academy Museum.
I loved David Fincher’s TheKiller (Netflix 10.27)…a great escape film if I’ve ever seen and felt one. It took me out of myself and dropped me into a higher realm, or at least my idea of one. It redefines the meaning of the word “chill” in a way that will either knock you out or, if you’re an ideologue or a shoulder-shrugger or a constipated, closed-off type, leave you with shards.
It’s first and foremost about the supreme comfort of living in a super-clean, perfectly crafted Fincher film, and about the joy of being a ghost and travelling alone like a nowhere man, and about the blissful solitude and curious joy of disassociative technique…about the existential solace and solitude of having a wonderfully endless supply of fake IDs, fake passports and fake license plates, and maneuvering through flush and fragrant realms and the zen of nothingness…about the almost religious high of not giving a single, solitary fuck.
Despite sitting in a too-small Paris theatre seat (I could barely move my legs) and despite Fincher’s film starting almost a half-hour late, I was in heaven start to finish. It’s all about eluding fate and slipping the grasp, about playing a fleet phantom game and, much to my surprise and delight, about chasing down several unlucky functionaries and nefarious upper-caste types and sending them to God.
It’s about a side of me (and of Fincher, of course) that loves being on the move and managing to slip-slide away like Paul Simon but in a GOOD way or at least an extremely cool one…about being blissfully free of conventional entanglements and concerned only with slick stealth and ducking out of sight and, despite suffering a bruise or two, gaining the upper hand.
TheKiller is about the joys of living a cold and barren life…it mainlines the hollow but feels like a kind of new-age opiate…it turned me on like Joni Mitchell’s radio, and I’m still feeling the buzz and humming the melody the morning after. I can’t wait to see it another two or three times, bare minimum.
Thank you, Mr. Fincher, for slipping me a great nickle bag of smack and what felt last night like the best meaningless-but-at-the-sane-time meaningful movie high I’ve had in a dog’s age.
In Henry Koster‘s Desiree (29th Century Fox, 11.16.54), Marlon Brando‘s performance as Napoleon Bonaparte was actually pretty good. Plus the 30 year-old Brando was the right age to play Napoleon at the time of his crowning, which happened in 1804 when he was 35. Phoenix is a great actor but he was 48 during filming and looks it. He’ll turn 50 on 10.28.24.
Not so much the film itself. An “historical romance” aimed at impressionable women. The music score was created by Alex North; the CinemaScope cinematography by Milton R. Krasner. Jean Simmons played the titular role of Desiree Clary. Costarring Merle Oberon (44 at the time) as Josephine. Plus Michael Rennie, Cameron Mitchell, Elizabeth Sellars, Charlotte Austin, Cathleen Nesbitt, Carolyn Jones and Evelyn Varden.
“Not happening…way too laid back…zero narrative urgency,” I was muttering from the get-go. Basically the sixth episode of White Lotus Thai SERIOUSLY disappoints. Puttering around, way too slow. Things inch along but it’s all “woozy guilty lying aftermath to the big party night” stuff. Glacial pace…waiting, waiting. I was told...
I finally saw Walter Salles' I'm Still Here two days ago in Ojai. It's obviously an absorbing, very well-crafted, fact-based poltical drama, and yes, Fernanda Torres carries the whole thing on her shoulders. Superb actress. Fully deserving of her Best Actress nomination. But as good as it basically is...
After three-plus-years of delay and fiddling around, Bernard McMahon's Becoming Led Zeppelin, an obsequious 2021 doc about the early glory days of arguably the greatest metal-rock band of all time, is opening in IMAX today in roughly 200 theaters. Sony Pictures Classics is distributing. All I can say is, it...
To my great surprise and delight, Christy Hall's Daddio, which I was remiss in not seeing during last year's Telluride Film Festival, is a truly first-rate two-hander -- a pure-dialogue, character-revealing, heart-to-heart talkfest that knows what it's doing and ends sublimely. Yes, it all happens inside a Yellow Cab on...
7:45 pm: Okay, the initial light-hearted section (repartee, wedding, hospital, afterlife Joey Pants, healthy diet) was enjoyable, but Jesus, when and how did Martin Lawrence become Oliver Hardy? He’s funny in that bug-eyed, space-cadet way… 7:55 pm: And now it’s all cartel bad guys, ice-cold vibes, hard bullets, bad business,...
