They say that this period in late January is the darkest time of the year. For me, it’s the morning the Oscar nominations are announced. I sit in front of the TV and watch as someone like current Academy president Sid Ganis and an underemployed actor like Mira Sorvino (what’s she been up to since Mighty Aphrodite? The power of a Best Supporting Actress Oscar) reads off the list of nominees. I check them off next to my list of predictions published in the Phoenix the week before. For all to see. I never get them all right.

This year: six wrong. Why do I even try (they make me do it)? A sensory deprived monkey with a keyboard could have done as well.

On the other hand, as my friend J. would put it, I got them wrong for all the right reasons. Take Best Actress, for example. They picked Keira Knightley in Pride & Prejudice; I said Ziyi Zhang in Memoirs of a Geisha. So they prefer their heroines in period costume dramas to be pre-feminists and not patriarchally enslaved love objects.

Or Best Actor: Terrence Howard in Hustle & Flow over Russell Crowe in Cinderella Man. The pimp seeking redemption through rap beats out the family man seeking security through boxing.Or maybe they just like performers in movies with ampersands.

Or in the category I did worst in, getting two wrong for Best Picture. Instead of Cash in Walk the Line, the Academy opted for Capote, confirming the gay rights trend. And in the political conspiracy niche they passed on the toothless Constant Gardener for Spielberg’s controversial Munich, ignoring what that film’s producer Kathleen Kennedy called its “swiftboating” by critics.

So my basic argument — left wing issues will shape this year’s Oscars — remains intact, nay, vindicated! The problem is I didn’t push it far enough.

Will it make a difference? A billion people watch the Oscar broadcast (okay, nobody’s actually counted, but a couple of hundred million anyway).

Saddam will be watching. “That George Clooney is all right,” he’ll say. “Change my plea to guilty, call off the insurgency and donate the billions in my Swiss bank accounts to the DNC. And get me some face time with Barbra Streisand.”

Some guy in Utah, or Wyoming or Alabama will tune in. “I like that Ang Lee,” he’ll say. “Let’s legalize gay marriage. And banning the death penalty and assault rifles might not be a bad idea. And while you’re at it, get me a latte.”

And George Bush will stay up until the end. “Alito?” he’ll say. “What was I thinking? Get Cheney on the phone!”

Well, maybe the results won’t be that dramatic. Between now and the awards, maybe the Academy’s resolve will fold faster than a Democratic filibuster. Or if they stand fast, they’ll probably alienate everyone and reverse Bush’s negative poll numbers. The most likely scenario, however, is indifference. Does anyone remember last year’s nominees? (I don’t). Enthusiasm will rise and fall and finally peak with the Awards ceremony itself on March 5. Then we’ll be talking about American Idol and baseball again.

1/31/2006 11:28:44 AM by Peter | Comments [1] |  

Once the nerdy wallflower of Hollywood, documentaries are now its hottest date. Everyone knows this. Everyone except the documentary branch of the Academy Awards. Every year they send in their short list of the 15 documentaries that will be nominated for an Oscar, and every year they usually ignore the most significant, the most artful, and often (though less so in recent years) the most popular.

Why is this? Maybe because as a voting body they are about as judicious as the Texas legislature, as transparent as the MPAA’s ratings board, as byzantine as the Vatican, as nepotistic as the Borgias. Read this Sunday’s story in the New York Times to see what I mean. Only the foreign language film committee is as bad. Nobody expects the Oscars to be given to the best of anything any more than anyone believes that a political ballot will elect the most qualified candidate, or even the one with the most votes. But they could at least try to maintain an illusion of fairness.

Among those chosen? Jessica Sanders’s inept documentary about exonerated prisoners, After Innocence (see review in next Phoenix). Sanders, coincidentally, is the daughter of Frieda Lee Mock, head of the Academy’s documentary branch. Another is Dani Melkin’s 39 Pounds of Love, a shamelessly staged, manipulative and mawkish film about a muscular dystrophy victim making a cross country trip.

To its credit, they did include what I would consider the best documentary of the year, Hubert Sauper’s Darwin’s Nightmare. We’ll see tomorrow whether those knuckleheads actually nominate it. If they had asked me, this would be the list of Best Documentary nominees:

Darwin’s Nightmare, Hubert Sauper

Grizzly Man, Werner Herzog

The Nomi Song, Andrew Horn

Parallel Lines, Nina Davenport

William Eggleston in the Real World, Michael Almareyda

But nobody asked me, and only Nightmare made the short list.

Everybody seems to think that Brokeback Mountain getting stiffed by the SAG awards is a big deal, but really, did you expect Heath Ledger to beat Philip Seymour Hoffman? Or Crash, which, as  Don Cheadle noted while accepting the Ensemble Cast award, has “74 actors,” would lose to Brokeback with only four? Just those 74 votes alone would put it over the edge. In their rush to push Brokeback off the mountain, many commentators have overlooked Ang Lee’s victory in the Director’s Guild race, a far more accurate barometer of Oscar success. 51 of the past 57 DG winners have seen their film win the Best Picture Oscar.

The contest in the SAG awards that interested me most was one in which Brokeback Mountain was not involved, Best Female Actor in a Leading Role (ie: “Best Actress”). Reese Witherspoon standing by her man as June Carter in Walk the Line beat out Felicity Huffman’s I-can’t-stand-to-be-a-man tour-de-force in  Transamerica. It’s the first major bump on the road to a GLBT dominated Oscars. Its endorsement of traditional women’s roles suggests that there might be some conservative clout in Hollywood yet.  Witherspoon underlined that point when she said in her acceptance speech that the role  pays tribute to a woman who was not just a performer but a dedicated wife and mother. The award celebrates “women who are the quiet...unacknowledged center of so many people’s lives.”  No offense to Reese’s highstepping incarnation of June Carter, but  Laura Bush would probably have have voted for her, too.

1/30/2006 2:18:29 PM by Peter | Comments [0] |  

Here’s Otto. Just imagine him gold-plated and held aloft by a teary-eyed Philip Seymour Hoffman. Check out the tongue. What could better embody the spirit of the National Society of Film Critics?

Scoffers will note that Otto is a “French” bulldog. I know what they’re thinking: Anti-American elitism. A pointy-headed penchant for subtitles. So they might be gratified to know that foreign language films are pretty much the spotted owl of American pop culture.

I first took note of this when V, a world renowned local film scholar, complained that European films can’t be found screening anywhere locally these days. He went to the Kendall Square Cinema and all they were showing were the kind of pallid American Indies that Sundance is currently grinding out like celluloid sausages. (He said he walked out of Good Night, and Good Luck, a critical judgment I would differ with, but I digress). It’s not like they’re not making great movies in Europe, he said. He just came back from a trip there and saw a lot of terrific films that will never make it to these shores.

So maybe you’re thinking: big deal; you can’t see the latest Latvian film at your cineplex? This is America in the 21st Century. Love it or leave it.

Will the world be any worse off if we never see the likes of Yi Yi (the NSFC’s winner for Best Picture in 2000; I can still hear Bob Lobel’s  snort of derision when I told him this on some radio talk show) again? If Antonioni,  Rossellini, Herzog, Godard or Fellini (their films recently shown or showing at the Harvard Film Archive and the Brattle Theatre) never shot a frame of film?

That’s the kind of attitude that might partly explain the drastic decline in foreign films. A recent New York Times article on the subject also blames the upsurge in the popularity of alternative homegrown films such as Brokeback Mountain and of documentaries, which have displaced foreign films at movie theaters. Directors such as Fernando Meirelles (Mexico’s City of God; Hollywood’s The Constant Gardner) hitting the studios as soon as they make a name for themselves don’t help the situation either.

But I think it’s more the attitude that’s to blame. Anti-intellectualism has become the new snob appeal. It’s hip to dismiss art or ideas that are “serious,” that have ambition, that challenge people beyond mere passive engorgment or regurgitation. And its not just the knuckledraggers who indulge in this. Two days after their report on the sad fate of foreign film, the Times published Joyce Wadler’s “Cliché,” a “satire” of Michael Haneke’s Caché, one of the few films from overseas to get any American distribution. I guess the title refers to every derogatory stereotype about French film, with the exception of  Jerry Lewis, that passes for humor in the piece.

Caché might not be a masterpiece, but it does engage the viewer intellectually, emotionally and spiritually and not just on the “white knuckle thrill-ride” level. And though that might be too much for Wadler to handle, it isn’t for many average filmgoers. The other day someone in the office — who in the past has taken me to task for advocating esoteric films — button-holed me about Caché. He  said he loved its subtle suspense and open-ended conclusion. Me too. Enjoy it while you can.

1/26/2006 4:15:34 PM by Peter | Comments [0] |  

We’re still working out the details on getting Otto’s picture, but for now just take my word for it that someday the world will recognize the “Otto” as the benchmark of film excellence.

Meanwhile, we’ve got the Oscars. I just finished my annual, masochistic ritual of predicting the nominees, which will appear in the upcoming issue of the Phoenix. While working on it I couldn’t help noticing that political films dominated the top contenders

But are they political?

This has been the year of political movies without politics, pictures that make believe they’re tackling tough issues but don’t have the guts to face the consequences of doing so.

Remember Lord of War? Some exposé of the arms industry that turned out to be: it was De Palma’s Scarface with guns instead of drugs.

Or the classier, likely Oscar nominee The Constant Gardener. They’d like you to believe it’s a courageous critique of the pharmaceutical industry, but it’s just an excuse to have pretty white people in love and in danger in a colorfully miserable Third World setting. Also a chance for the director Fernando Meirelles to show off his gratuitously funabulistic style.

Then there’s the biggest crock of shit of the year: Crash, the theme park ride equivalent of an honest look at racism, violence and police brutality in LA.

Same with Syriana. Using the same multi-narrative, faux-ironic, contrived coincidence structure as Crash,it poses a snow globe version of reality that will neither enlighten audiences nor motivate them. Director Steven Gaghan did a lot of research; so why didn’t some of the actual events, people and places he uncovered show up in his movie? Here’s what he said in an interview:

“I witnesssed things and heard conversations that if I – they were great scenes, but if I stuck them down in the movie people would have said, ‘I don’t believe it. That’s bullshit. There is no way,’ or people would have said, “Oh, you just have an agenda,” or they would have said, ‘This is Dr.Strangelove.’”

I wouldn’t worry about people accusing Syriana of being another Dr. Strangelove. And could the prospect of a one-way trip to Git-mo have entered into his decision?

The lowly Documentary category, more than any other, will indicate how political this year’s Oscars really are. Two years ago Errol Morris won for his lacerating The Fog of War. Three years ago it was Michael Moore and Bowling for Columbine. This year? Most likely March of the Penguins.

True, the director of Columbine and Fahrenheit 911 bears an uncanny resemblance to the stars of that wildly popular nature movie. But there the similarities end. Fundamentalist and conservative groups have embraced March as a celebration of family values. Gay cowboys be damned; those straight shooting, Christian penguins will be the real winners this year at the Oscars.

Meanwhile, two of the grouchiest guys in Hollywood grace Boston this week. Harrison Ford does interviews with the media in town today (he did a Q & A after a screening of his new film Firewall last night; sorry if you missed it). Tommy Lee Jones will be screening his new film The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada Wednesday night at the Harvard Film Archive. Go and ask him about roommate Al Gore; he'll love it.

1/24/2006 2:07:15 PM by Peter | Comments [0] |  

While comparing and contrasting the Brokeback Mountain and Titanic posters a few days ago, something about the one for  Munich  bugged me. What did it remind me of? Then it hit me: Collateral.

Okay,they don’t match perfectly. But there is something there. Coincidence? Steven Spielberg seems too savvy for that. So, if it was calculated, what was he driving at by limkinghis film, however subliminally, with Michael Mann’s thriller about a hitman?

There are similarities. Munich tells the story of professionals who kill strangers for justice. Collateral is about a professional who kills strangers for money. The motive makes a big difference, I’d say, but this does cue audiences into expecting the kind of action and suspense you get from a Michael Mann movie.

More to the point, though, Spielberg seems to be evoking the qualities of doubt, ambiguity and angst that the two films share. The kind of deep thoughts a guy has when he sits alone in a dark room fondling a handgun. You know what I mean. We’ve all been there.

 So viewers shouldn’t be too surprised when they see a film that offers no easy answers, but only hard questions and long ethical discussions bound to infuriate both sides of the issue and bore everyone else.

Also, maybe, Spielberg had a premonition that his film would share the same fate as Mann’s at Oscar time: nada. They ever-dicey Drudge reports that his studio is bailing out on him. Even without that his chances are grim given the cold shoulder from the Golden Globes.

More importantly, he failed to win that most esteemed of trophies, the one bestowed by the National Society of Film Critics, yet to be named. My friends Steve and Lynn have suggested the “Otto,” after their French Bulldog. I'll share the image when I get it, but trust me, he's got great ears and his name is a pallindrome.

1/19/2006 2:07:08 PM by Peter | Comments [1] |  

Other than the  gay and liberal dominated slate of winners, the only controversial moments at last nights Golden Globe awards were Dennis Quaid’s “rhymes with chick flick” comment and George Clooney’s “Jack-Off” remarks about Jack Abramoff. Maybe it’s the back pain talking.

So much for the so-called “Hollywood Foreign Press.” What about the good old American press, the National Society of Film Critics? I’m a member and I find this coddling of other nations’ critics at the expense of our own pundits symptomatic of a lot that’s wrong with this country.

On January 7th, our group gave the Best Picture prize to a film about being gay out West in the days before the sexual revolution. That’s right: Capote. You hadn’t heard? Well, no one asked me, but this is how it happened.

I arrived at Sardi’s, that show business landmark outside Times Square, at about 11:30 am. I told the guy at the desk what I had come for. He replied: “So?”

Upstairs, I gladhanded with the gang. A younger member told me that the New Times had bought up his paper and he was going into Academia. I learned that the meeting was being dedicated to Kevin Thomas, who had “resigned” from the Los Angeles Times after 44 years. Someone told me that in fact he had been squeezed out of his job. Later, when I asked another member why he had abstained from voting in some categories, he lamented, “I’m not a film critic any more. I’m a DVD reviewer.”

Okay, so not a group brimming with self-confidence. But we do what we can, like vote.Things went pretty smoothly until the Best Picture category. After four ballots an older critic said, “I’ve never seen anything like this in all my years as a member. This is fascinating.” Then he fell asleep.

I should talk: a little earlier I had voted for River Phoenix as Best Actor. This isn’t easy work, writing down names on little pieces of paper and hearing them read back, over and over again. Our boys at Gitmo should look into it as an interrogation technique.

After the fifth ballot, with dusk falling, it went into Sudden Death, a head-to-head between the top two vote getters, Capote and A History of Violence (Aren’t they the same movie? I asked myself at this point). Capote took it, 12 to 11. Thank God there was an odd number of voters remaining. Otherwise — trial by fire? Russian roulette?

So: what does it mean? Nearly every other critics group from Boston to San Francisco picked Brokeback Mountain. We picked the gay movie that won’t get an Oscar nomination. We’re a maverick bunch, it seems. As Oscar guru Tom O’Neil notes, in four decades the group has picked the Best Picture Oscar winner only four times.

Does that mean we’re irrelevant? Proudly so! As MSNBC contributor Erik Lundegaard reassures us. But, is irrelevance enough?

Here’s the problem, I think. We don’t have a defining trophy, some geegaw like the “Oscar” or the “Golden Globe” that is instantly recognizable and intensely coveted. So I’ve been trying to come up with one.

I first thought of the “Yodel,” after my cat.


But then I remembered that the local film group the Chlotrudis Society names itself and its award after the founders’ two cats.

Other possibilities include “Mr. Maize”

 

and “The Lemon.”

Nothing is resolved yet, though. and the search continues.

1/17/2006 6:43:00 PM by Peter | Comments [1] |  

Where’s the outrage? Brokeback Mountain has climbed from Venice Film Festival winner to film critic favorite to multi-Golden Globe-nominee to the top of the Oscar heap. Where are the demonstrations, bomb threats and denunciations from religious zealots, politicians and right wing TV demagogues who haven’t seen the movie?

 

Maybe the movie isn’t really gay after all. That’s what star Jake Gyllenhaal has suggested. James Schamus, the film's producer, says it's just a love story, and that's why they designed a poster like Titanic's (see sidebar of my review). Maybe it’s because the film implies that being gay is it’s own punishment. Why else wouldn’t Jack and Ennis pack up and leave Wyoming for San Francisco where they could open a boutique selling Western regalia? Or maybe it’s because being gay is not much different from being straight in middle America: all they do is eat beans and fight.

 

Curiously, the biggest outcry against the movie has come from sources you’d normally expect to support it; the liberal media. Like Alex Beam’s recent column in the Globe in which he predicted that the “gay cowboy movie” would not win the hearts of the heartland. To support his case he points out that after a strong start the film was only number 13 that week in box office. “First and foremost, outside of major cities,” he writes, “many Americans remain jittery at best and disapproving at worst of homsexuality.”

 

I suppose it doesn’t count that Brokeback was just named Best Picture by the Iowa Film Critics Society. They’re just film critics. But maybe Beam is trying too hard to downplay the movie’s popular success. This weekend it’s moved up to number 8, and though  its $5.7 million take wasn’t up to  number1 Hostel’s nearly 20 mil, it still beats out Rumor Has It and The Family Stone. And that’s at less than 500 screens compared to Hostel’s nearly 2200.

 

What Beam overlooks is that this is a platform release, with new screens added as word of mouth and positive reviews and stories like Beam’s increase its interest in the public mind. By the time it gets its likely Oscar nominations at the end of this month then we can decide whether Broakback is a bust or not.

 

Actually, some theaters did drop Brokeback recently. Patrons at theaters in Utah and West Virginia found the film pulled from the screen. Many were pissed. (here’s star Heath Ledger’s reaction). That’s a nice change. Instead of people getting outraged about others seeing movies they don’t want them to see, they’re getting angry when others tell them they can’t see what they want to.

 

Finally, if nothing else, the film has added this image to the political market place of ideas:

 

1/13/2006 3:51:10 PM by Peter | Comments [1] |  

So which pretentious title should I pick for this blog? “Outside the Frame,” refers to that area off screen where secrets and surprises and the stalker with the knife lie hidden.“Out of Frame” is that annoying moment in movie screenings when the projectionist has put in the wrong aperture and everything is flattened or elongated or the sound mike is hanging out. The Big Picture or crazy talk? Maybe both.

 

Either way, as I was trolling through the Al-Jazeera website the other day, I came across this item about the brou-ha-ha surrounding Steven Spielberg’s Munich. My first thought was: don’t these people have their hands full with things like civil war in Iraq, Iran’s nukes or Sharon’s stroke? Anyway, they point out how Jewish audiences in America are split between those who think it a thoughtful analysis of anti-terrorism and those who find it an equivocating, inaccurate crock of shit.

 

It’s not a new debate. Munich has already taken fire both from the terrorists and the anti-terrorists. Clearly a film that everyone has condemned as a pack of lies must have an element of truth in it.

 

Not that it matters. If Spielberg was concerned with historical accuracy, why would he have the central event related through flashbacks from the point of view of someone who wasn’t there? (I am belaboring a point I made in my review of the movie). Despite his cutting into the action with longwinded spiels on the morality of it all, I think Spielberg realizes that the the truth of the matter is that people don’t care about the truth. Judging from the success of films like Hostel what they want is blown up body parts hanging from a light fixture.

1/13/2006 3:02:19 PM by Peter | Comments [1] |