Cannes is in full swing and there’s plenty other stuff going on besides — way too much to cover completely. So, consider this just me hitting a very few of the highlights of the film world right this moment.
* The critical wars are going full strength at Cannes with the biggest love-it/hate-it proposition appearing to be Alejandro González Iñárritu’s “Biutiful.” I haven’t seen the film, of course, but Iñárritu is most definitely my least favorite of “the three amigos” of Mexican/Spanish/U.S. cinema. (The other two being Alfonso Cuarón and Guillermo del Toro) and not only because his name is the most impossible to type. I mostly liked “Amores Perros” but his “21 Grams” and “Babel” struck me as exercises in touchy-feely realism that was a lot less real than it seemed to fancy itself.
Still, he’s working with different writers now and everyone seems to agree that the always great Javier Bardem is especially fine in it, so I suppose I should keep an open mind. Still, reading about the film, it’s hard not to side with the anti-faction when much of the commentary echoes my feelings about past films and when the pro-side is being taken by Jeffrey Welles, who really doesn’t seem to respond well when other people don’t love his favorite films. It’s a conspiracy, I tells ya!
In any case, David Hudson does his usual amazing job summarizing the critical reaction from a wide swath of the press; John Horn at the L.A. Times focuses on the reactions of big name critics.
There’s no other way to say it: the carnage from tonight’s episode of “24” made me positively giddy. Jack Bauer may have dispensed some Dirty Harry-style justice in the past, but this time around, he’s a Terminator. He doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, and he absolutely will not stop until you are dead. Jesus, I can still feel the small jabs that he hit that hit man with last week, but that shot of Novakovich’s suite littered with dead guys, with Novakovich himself taking a poker to the stomach…that was a thing of beauty. I have been waiting for years to see Jack do something like that. Way to give the people what they want, Fox. I love it when shows finally start acting like they have nothing to lose. Unfortunately, they usually only do so after they’ve lost everything.
Having said that, I’m still unhappy that Jack hasn’t thought to upload the incriminating video to the interwebs. On the plus side, Mr. Blonde still has a copy of it on his hard drive, and since the video is of Starbuck, and Buffy is the one that’s about to pay him a visit, it’s possible that Buffy will get one look at this video and want to blow the whistle whether Jack wishes it or not. Either way, it will be a huge missed opportunity if the world doesn’t see that clip.
I thought for sure that Timmy was going to quit on the spot when Allison asked him to organize the raid of a newspaper. He’s always had a strong moral compass. He has to know that this is bad juju. But never mind that: Jack had to know that White She Devil was not smart enough to evade the authorities long enough to get her piece written. Heck, how many of us are smart enough to fall off the grid? The second you use a credit card, boom, you’re done. Need cash? Can’t get any out of an ATM. She was a sitting duck, and Jack should have known that.
“Hello? Hey, Mr. Rafferty, how are you? Are the royalty checks still coming in?”
Then again, I’ll forgive him for having other things on his mind, namely how he was going to make I.M. Weasel sing like a canary about his involvement in the day’s events. I’m actually tempted to reinstate Logan’s other nickname of Buck Buck Brawwwwwwk, because the sounds he was making as he was grilled by Jack sounded just like a chicken. And, to bring the Terminator analogy back, I loved how Jack only wounded the American agents while mercilessly killing any and all Russians. I half expected him to say to Logan, after knocking one of his Secret Service agents unconscious, “He’ll live.”
So I.M. Weasel finally reveals his source within the Russian government, and it is none other than President Suvarov himself. Now forgive me, because I can be a little dense – I’ll pause while you get all jokes out of your system – but this doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Why on earth would Suvarov tell Logan anything? There is no good that can come from this, especially if he’s trying to torpedo a peace treaty that the President of the United States is pushing. If I’m Suvarov, I am meeting Logan’s call with a long string of phrases that vary on the theme “You dumb motherfucker!” Gee, thanks for not ratting me out, but you may as well have, dingus. Please tell me I’m missing something here.
That was a nice touch, though, to see that Jack planted a bug on Logan and overheard everything he said to Suvarov. Here’s the question, though: was he able to capture that recording? Overhearing isn’t exactly admissible in a court of law. Not that Jack is thinking about the letter of the law at the moment, but you get the idea. In case the video’s destroyed, he’s going to need a backup plan. Assuming he even has a plan at this point. Seriously, he’s killed every single Russian connected to Renee’s death. What else is left? Killing Suvarov? He should make a video of himself, in the event of his untimely death, where he explains everything that has happened up to now, and finish it by playing the recording of the conversation he just overheard, if he’s capable. Then, upload it to the Web. Have I mentioned that he should be uploading stuff to the Web, multiple times, and sending copies directly to TV stations as well?
Two hours left. It’s the end of an era, if you will. We’ve given nine years of our lives to this show, and in a week, it’ll all be over. They say that they want to turn it into a movie franchise, but as Mr. Paulsen points out, if people aren’t willing to watch it for free, who’s going to pay to see it? Surely the people at Fox know this, which gives me hope that they will actually have the balls to kill Jack in the final seconds of next week’s series finale, giving him a ten-second silent clock tick. Ah, but who are we kidding, that will never happen. The thing is, it should. For what he’s done in the last few hours, Jack’s either looking at death or life in prison, even if he succeeds in exposing two corrupt administrations. And I for one do not want to see Jack end the show behind bars.
I originally planned on titling this blog “…And you will know us by the trail of dead” after seeing that slow pan of Novakovich’s suite. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t pimp Ice-T’s hardcore side project from the early ’90s, which seems positively quaint now but was a big deal at the time, to the point where his song “Cop Killer” got him in so much trouble that Time Warner voided his contract. These days, of course, he’s a “Law & Order” guy. You know what would be really awesome? When the time comes to kill off his character, it’s at the hands of a guy who was amped up after listening to some rapper talk about killing pigs. I have to think even Ice-T would appreciate the irony of that.
Director Nicholas Ray’s bombastic follow-up to “Rebel Without a Cause” failed in 1956, but has become a cinephile favorite despite being available only at museums and on Fox Movie Channel and TCM. Now presented fully restored and in a ultra-first-rate Criterion edition, film geeks may be entranced by Ray’s outlandish use of widescreen and color, but it also stands as one of the most profoundly emotional and disturbing of classic-era Hollywood melodramas.
James Mason (who also produced) stars as Ed Avery, a kindly suburban schoolteacher struck by a rare, painful, and deadly illness. The only path to survival is a new “wonder drug,” in this case cortisone, a steroid. In time, Avery seems recovered, except that he is slowly becoming a control-obsessed tyrant and drug addict with delusions of grander prone to increasingly extreme reactionary diatribes. Of course, his loving and too dutiful wife (Barbara Rush) and devoted young son (Christopher Olson) suffer. His health-obsessed P.E. teacher best friend (Walter Matthau, terrific in one of his earliest film roles) experiences some discomfort as well, but mid-fifties people were far more naive than we are now about science-driven “miracle cures.” “Bigger than Life” could have been called “Fascist With a Chemical Cause.” (Ray was the prototypical “Hollywood liberal.”) At heart, however, it is an exploration of the potential for madness underlying all family life and quite a baroque one. “Bigger Than Life” treats the potential dissolution of a family somewhat like sci-fi horror and, in this case, it kind of is.
Here’s a trailer that has been making the rounds and that I think is worth a look.
There’s some pretty contrived stuff in here but overall the writing — by playwright Bert V. Royal of the Peanuts-influenced “Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead” — certainly seems to be a cut above the usual. The same definitely applies to the first-rate cast, with such reliable supporting players as Stanley Tucci, who everyone seems to agree has the best one-liner in the trailer, and Patricia Clarkson supporting up-and-comer Emma Stone, who was such a hoot in “Zombieland” and also “Superbad.”
Yup, with Cannes going on and the early-early summer movie season happening, things are hopping.
* Nikkie Finke broke the news this morning of the latest chapter in the never-ending tale of the battle over the rights to the character of “Superman.” It seems DC is countersuing lawyer Marc Toberoff on the grounds of conflict of interest. Sure does sound like “hardball” but that’s what happens when millions of dollars are at stake.
* It never ends. It just never, ever ends. A new alleged victim has come forward claiming that Roman Polanski raped her during the eighties when she was sixteen. (The terms used in the article are “sexually abused” in “the worst possible way” — I have no clue how that could not be rape, at the very least, if true). The woman is being represented by, naturally, Gloria Allred.
At this time, there’s no corroborating evidence beyond the charges. If there is, I think it’s curtains for Polanski and he’ll find himself suddenly and justifiably all-but friendless in Hollywood. It’s one thing to have one extremely nasty episode in your past, it’s quite another to be a serial sexual predator.
