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Tuesday, January 30, 2007 - 20:48:02
A Rant
I'm sick of awards season. Sick of it. The same people win every time. EVERY SINGLE TIME! Come on! Where's the suspense? Where's the upset? The long shot? The dreamer? Strange picks that keep us talking for decades?
The Golden Globes, with the exception of Merly Streep's acceptance speech, was down right boring. A snooze fest. There's a reason that crap is on cable. There's also a reason the particpants booze it up during the show.
But I watched the whole damn thing. I didn't quit. Nope. Followed all the awards talk from the damn Sundance film festival to the guilds. I even watched the New York Film Critics announcements online. Read all those websites. Even watch the E! channel. I was a fan. But the Golden Globes about sucked the life out of me. So predictable.
Then the Oscar nominations were announced. Woo-hoo! "Dreamgirls" shut out, "Letters from Iwo Jima" in. Marky Mark got a nod so did the little girl from the "Sunshine" movie. I love when someone gets something that is absolutely undeserved. Poor Pedro Almodovar was blocked. Rumors of a "Pan's Labyrinth" conspiracy were everwhere. And Almodovar is gay, even "swishy" as it was described. You know Hollywood and its gay issues.
Then came the Screen Actor's Guild. Finally an opportunity for actors to step up and say "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!" Shit, throw"Dreamgirls" for best ensemble or Leo for best supporting at me. Dare to be different or bold or whatever the saying is. But no, just the same group of winners: Whitaker, Mirren, Murphy, Hudson.
Look, they all did great in the roles that were written for them. But seriously. If I'm going to have to listen to that odd bloak Jeremy Irons drone on and on, please give me something to smile about.
So here were are back to Oscar talk and the odds are that the same folks will walk away with Oscar gold.
No seriously, is the Academy really going to skip Peter O'Toole? That has to be a joke. After all, Timothy Hutton, Louis Gossett, Jr., Cher, Kevin Costner, Mercedes Ruehl, Mel Gibson, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Helen Hunt, and Roberto freaking Benigni have more gold than that guy.
Don't get me wrong, I like Whitaker's performance, I do. He was solid. I'd give it to him if history wasn't nipping at my behind. Same with Mirren (although I'd really give it to her without equivocation. I don't care if there's only one American in the race).
I'd give the supporting oscars to (of those nominated) Alan Arkin and Cate Blanchett. Arkin was funny, but I realize he didn't have "Thunder" in his name. Fair strike. Yet he did wear a fanny pack loaded with heroin and he sported some blue jean cut-offs. Rock out. I'd say that's at least worth a tie.
Blanchett's character was boinking a 15-year-old. That's like playing a psycho or a boy, isn't it? (those two roles seem to get folks Oscars every time). But it seems that the bourgeois Academy considers such acting an Oscar no-no when compared to a chubby character with pipes. Oddly, they seem to forget that Roman Polanski was convicted of the same bad act. Yet, they loaded his hide-away-in-France ass with Oscar gold for "The Pianist." Where's the fundamental fairness?
Seriously, come February are we all going to sit there once again with this same group of "winners" and have to listen to the same sorry acceptance speeches? I simply don't care about the guy who chauferred you around on the set. Yes more torture on top of the traditional torture of having to deal with reality: "yeah, that chick is way too hot for me" or "yeah, if I dropped 45 I'd look like that guy." Or having to sit quietly when your girl says, "that fella can really wear a suit" knowing that you haven't been able to fit into a decent suit in half a decade.
Shouldn't we settle for a bucket of delicious delicious from Popeye's and a ballgame instead?
Armchair Critic just reminded me in a cranky e-mail about all sorts of nonsense related to film that the Academy Award ballots were just mailed out. So there's time for people to liven up and do something outrageous.
NOTE TO MY 5 READERS (Family included): Don't send me an e-mail saying "I think an outrageous selection for Best Picture would be 'Little Miss Sunshine.'" You won't get a response. Ok, you probably will. At 2:00 a.m. It will be unpleasant and full of typos.
Watch the Oscars. Seriously. Watch Scorsese win. It will be cool. He'll talk fast. But don't bitch. It's going to be the same old song. You're on notice. Get a tall glass of gin or vodka or scotch. Drink liberally.
Yep, I'm sick of it.
I've been a little spastic lately with my DVD viewing. I went with "The Age of Innocence" this week because I was feeling Socorsese nostalgia. It's not one of his best, but it's still a fine film. I've got "Convicts" with Robert Duvall and written by Horton Foote who wrote the screenplay for "To Kill a Mockingbird." I've also got an old Mary Steenburgen film "Cross Creek" in my queue along with Hitchcock's Orson Welles (yes, I was drinking when I wrote that and Carol Reed directed it)"The Third Man."
I'm eagerly anticipating another go round with "Half Nelson," which is out in 2 weeks and to see "Flags of Our Fathers," which I missed for a slew of petty reasons (I was a big fan of "Iwo Jima" in spite of my Eastwood issues).
Alright, so this is a bit off topic, but Pulitzer Prize winning novelist Richard Ford will speak at Hendrix College at 7:30 on Friday Thursday night. His latest novel "The Lay of the Land" was released in the latter part of 2006. The lecture will be held in Staples Auditorium and is free. A reception and book signing will be held after. Philip Martin has an interview with Ford in today's Democrat Gazette.
Ford's a movie guy, I'm sure.

Jake Gyllenhaal is profiled in this month's issue of GQ.
Peter O'Toole recently nominated for a Best Actor Oscar for "Venus" talks to Newsweek about movies, booze, women and winning.
Monday, January 29, 2007 - 08:02:26
Kirk Honeycutt on "Black Snake Moan," (dir. Craig Brewer "Hustle & Flow")
. . . Screenwriter-director Craig Brewer likes to make films about how music can heal people, and he got away with some pretty ludicrous fantasies about pimps and whores in his last film, "Hustle & Flow," thanks to the music and winning performances. The blues music in "Moan" is superfine, but my oh my, what to make of the ripe Southern cliches and this absurd story. The film is so jaw-dropping awful that it just might become a boxoffice hit. The cast certainly is a plus as long as no one minds that Jackson sings and Timberlake doesn't. . .
James Greenberg on "Hounddog," (dir. Lisa Kampmeier)
. . . Occasionally, Kampmeier lays on the southern Gothic too heavily. Snakes are crawling everywhere in the movie, and after Lewellen is raped, she is visited in bed by a bunch of reptiles. The tone of the story veers from the naturalistic to the mythical, but it is sometimes inconsistent, and a couple of plot points are overplayed. Still, in spite of a few missteps, the cumulative impact of the film is undeniable.
Shot beautifully by Ed Lachman, Jim Denault and Stephen Thompson, the darkness and light in the forest conjures up the lair of a fairy tale princess, which is the kind of archetypal power Kampmeier is aiming for. After the incident, which threatens to destroy her life, Lewellen is rescued not by a prince but by Charles, who forces her to exorcise her demons by singing the blues. Her now hesitant and soulful rendition of "Hounddog" is both heartbreaking and life-affirming.
A bluesy score by Me'shell Ndegeocello and period songs, including Big Momma Thorton's original version of "Hounddog," evoke the mournful undertone of life in the South. It is from this kind of suffering that artists are born. Lewellen might not be well or cured, but she is on the mend, which is a start.
Duane Byrge on "Snow Angels," (dir. David Gordon Green, "Undertow")
. . . Told contextually as filmmaker David Gordon Green interweaves the three "romances," "Snow Angels' is unsparing in its depiction of the pain of relationships. While often hard to watch because of its unflinching portrayal of the ugliness that love can take, "Snow Angels" succeeds because of the depth of its well-drawn characters. With no cinematic sugarcoating, it's an organic story that draws us in to these people's lives, as flawed and destructive as they may be.
The portrayals are across-the-board well-realized. In particular, Sam Rockwell is powerful as the addictive, grandiose ex-husband who malevolently clings to his once happy family. As his pressurized ex-wife, Kate Beckinsale is sympathetic as a working woman who bravely tries to endure. On the lighter/younger side, Michael Angarano is appealingly awkward as the love-smitten high-school student. Also, Griffin Dunne is convincing as his self-centered, philandering father, while Amy Sedaris is nicely spunky as a rag-tag waitress. The technical contributions smartly congeal; specifically, the multi-parted storylines are brilliantly connected by William Anderson's lucid editing.
Robert Koehler on "Padre Nuestro" (dir. Christopher Zalla)
The desperate conditions of Mexicans eking out a living in the U.S. is the basis for writer-director Christopher Zalla's contrived "Padre Nuestro." Far from the standard weepy melodrama that might be expected from a Yank filmmaker depicting an underclass that hangs on for dear life, pic is a straight thriller, sending its two morally opposite emigres into a clash of stolen identities and familial dreams. By any measure an unexpected and curious choice for Sundance's grand jury dramatic prize, Spanish-language film will perform well at fests but barely make a commercial ripple. . .