It’s clearly Poster Revision Day or something, as this new concept for Darren Aronofsky’s “Black Swan” (you may have heard of it by now) builds and improves on the simple head shot unveiled in August — while maintaining its pristine, counter-intuitive snow-white sheen. Obviously, nothing’s going to top those Art Deco-inspired teaser designs released last month, though it seems this one has at least incorporated a key visual metaphor from one of them. See if you can spot it.
Well, this is interesting. The newly unveiled US poster for cheery true-life Britpic “Made in Dagenham” points to a tactical turnabout as politically suggestive as its red-to-blue color shift — one that suggests Sony Pictures Classics still harbor serious awards hopes for this 1960s-set underdog story. An initial one-sheet was based directly on the jolly UK design, which foregrounded the fun factor with a grinning Sally Hawkins and that cheeky “We Want Sex” sight gag.
“No need for him to take it so seriously,” replied reader KevinK when I Twitter-linked Guardian critic Xan Brooks’s sharp dismissal of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1” last night, one in a mixed wave of reviews flooding the net following the film’s London premiere.
Kevin is both right and wrong. Right, in that the Harry Potter films, with their mostly unvarying construction and vast built-in audience, are the definition of critic-proof; whether attack or defending the films, by this point in the franchise, any critic will find himself preaching to the choir. Wrong, in that any pop-culture phenomenon on this scale merits serious discussion; the fans certainly take the films seriously, so it behoves a good critic to offer more than a rote “if you liked the others…” response.
No one is going to need a critic to help them decide whether or not to see “Deathly Hallows,” so as this behemoth of a series draws to a close, one may as well use the review space to start debating the films’ legacy.
Apropos of nothing — apart from the fact that she’ll be hitting US screens in “Made in Dagenham” next week — but I hadn’t seen this 2009 Sally Hawkins skit before, and it gave me yet another reason to adore the sparky Brit. Great seeing her in a more deadpan comic mode, and I love the hint of relish as she mutters, “I beat Meryl Streep.” The “director,” by the way, is Richard Ayoade, set to make a splash in 2011 when his appealing, Weinstein-backed debut feature “Submarine” (also starring Hawkins) hits screens. (Thanks to Nick for the link.)
I’m lousy at keeping track of pre-production news, so if you’d asked me an hour ago what British artist-turned-filmmaker Steve McQueen was tackling for his sophomore feature, I’d have answered, “Oh, I know — that Fela Kuti biopic starring Chiwetel Ejiofor.” And I’d have been wrong.
The more clued-up folks at The Playlist report that McQueen’s next project, “Shame,” begins shooting in January and will actually reteam him with the star of his vastly acclaimed debut “Hunger,” Michael Fassbender. As you know, we love “Hunger” rather dearly here at InContention, so this is exciting news, made more interesting by the fact that it’s McQueen’s first venture into fictional narrative. Here’s the selling blurb:
Brandon (Fassbender) is a 30-something man living in New York who is unable to manage his sex life. After his wayward younger sister moves into his apartment, Brandon’s world spirals out of control… Shame is a compelling and timely examination of the nature of need, how we live our lives and the experiences that shape us.
I admit I haven’t yet got round to seeing the fact-inspired, gay-themed comedy “I Love You, Phillip Morris,” despite it having opened in the UK way back in the youthful glory days of March. (US audiences still have to wait another three weeks.) Reaction from my fellow Brit critics was politely tepid, and I largely forgot about the film until Kris’s highly enthusiastic response re-piqued my interest last month.
Whether “Phillip Morris” — in which Jim Carrey plays a closeted con man who falls for his prison cellmate — works or not, its long-delayed (the film bowed at Sundance 2009, remember) US presence is welcome.
In addition to following “The Kids Are All Right” in edging homosexual romance into the mainstream, the film’s publicity run also employs Carrey’s to drive home social messages that, however obvious to most of us, still bear repeating.
(From here on out, my nomination predictions will be updated weekly to coincide with this column. Check them out here.)
Tweed-coated and steam-breathed, winter formally arrived in my corner of the world this week, and with it the slightly grim realization that just over seven weeks remain of this year.
I say “grim” not so much because I’m unprepared for the rigors of Christmas shopping or because 90% of my year’s to-do list remains undone—though neither of those truths are helping—but because, from a film perspective, 2010 feels to me like it needs at least another couple of months to find itself.
Yesterday, I found myself battling with two lists of 10 films: the first, my own provisional best-of-year collective, the second, my revised predictions for the Best Picture Oscar nominees. Neither list, in my experience, has ever had much to do with the other (of course, I’ll take that back should the Academy reveal hidden depths of enthusiasm for, say, “White Material” on nomination morning), but both the rough drafts I wound up with had one thing in common: they’re badly in need of a late-breaking great film or two.
The delicate folks at the MPAA have come in for a right old bollocking in the past few weeks, and deservedly so. First came the furore over the baffling ‘NC-17’ rating they awarded “Blue Valentine” — a lemon of a situation that Harvey Weinstein, to judge from the steamy poster unveiled yesterday, has decided to make into lemonade.
Another of Weinstein’s babies, “The King’s Speech,” also got the brunt of the ratings board’s conservatism when it was slapped with an ‘R’ for a brief torrent of narratively contextualized four-letter words — despite having a fair claim to being the most mild-mannered prestige drama of the year.
We all know that bad things, like Kardashian sisters, come in threes, so we didn’t have long to wait before the next eruption over MPAA idiocy, and once more, the film at the center of it is a calculatedly inoffensive true-life Britpic. Despite having the kind of cheery inspirational message that young girls and their grandmothers alike can appreciate, feminist dramedy “Made in Dagenham” has received an ‘R’ rating for “language and brief sexuality,” referring respectively to a scattering of f-words and some gentle, clothed innuendo.
Hot on the heels of the lovely poster unveiled yesterday, we now have a trailer for Focus Features’ spring release “Jane Eyre.” The assembly of the trailer is a touch overegged, though I’m reserving judgment — at the very least, cinematographer Adriano Goldman seems to be having the same fun with light and weather that he did in the sunnier climes of Cary Fukunaga’s debut “Sin Nombre.” Meanwhile, I get the feeling that we can pencil in Michael O’Connor (a recent Oscar winner for “The Duchess”) as a repeat Best Costume Design nominee over 14 months from now. Click on the image to check out the trailer at Yahoo! Movies, or watch the embed after the cut.
Memo to the folks handling “The King’s Speech” at TWC: this is how you rustle up a poster for a period prestige pic. Cary Fukunaga’s adaptation of Charlotte Brontë’s “Jane Eyre” — the first since Franco Zeffirelli’s Charlotte Gainsbourg-starring attempt in 1996 — is one of my most curiously awaited films of 2011. The novel, a personal favorite, has been filmed multiple times, with no screen version quite hitting the jackpot: I’m intrigued, then, to see what fresh insight the young director of “Sin Nombre” will bring to the material. (Here’s hoping the corsets don’t constrict his personality the way they did the similarly indie-based Jean-Marc Vallée’s in “The Young Victoria.”)
Almost two weeks ago, I mentioned an unfortunate charge of “trademark infringement” being levelled against Sylvain Chomet’s animated wonder “The Illusionist” by the purported rights-holders to the 2006 Edward Norton film of the same title, who somehow felt that sharing a title and a magician protagonist amounted to a “Single White Female”-style violation.
I called the claims ludicrous (or less delicately, “bullshit”) then, and happily, it looks like one Judge Dolly M. Gee agrees. The Hollywood Reporter reports that Judge Gee has thrown the case out of court, citing the First Amendment to defend the newer film’s right to its title, and dismissing the rest as “weak”:
According to Judge Gee, the trademark enjoyed by Illusionist Distribution is “weak,” describing a movie about an illusionist rather than its particular film. She agrees with Sony that a wide variety of consumer products employ the term “illusionist,” including another 1983 film, 14 books published since 1952, and thousands of magicians who perform under that description.
It’s fair to say that there aren’t many movies in 2010 — much less in the awards race — that have earned the distinguished attention of The New York Review of Books, let alone a 5000-word essay by a superstar of contemporary literature. But such is the curious magnetism of “The Social Network,” whose queasy social currency has now been nailed, better than any film critic has managed thus far, by New York-based British writer Zadie Smith.
I’ve always thought Smith a better essayist than a novelist, and her quasi-review of David Fincher’s film is a tour-de-force, using Aaron Sorkin’s script (the verbality of which she likens to “His Girl Friday”-era comedy) as the starting point for a stinging but compassionate address to ‘Generation Facebook,’ its communicative lapses and its identity insecurities. She likes the film quite a bit, but that’s almost beside the point: it’s more of a compliment that she felt it merited this level of scrutiny in a publication dedicated to another medium entirely.
With the season now unshakeably upon us, it’s time to dust off the annual conversation topic of who should host the upcoming Academy Awards ceremony. I am prompted to do so, of course, by Deadline’s recent scoop that 2009 host Hugh Jackman — the first choice of new Oscarcast producers Bruce Cohen and Don Mischer — has turned down the gig, owing to a scheduling conflict with the shooting of of “Wolverine 2.”
Many will be disappointed by this news, given that the Jackman-hosted telecast was one of the better-received of recent years. As one of its few detractors, I’ll admit to feeling relieved: Jackman’s song-and-dance schtick was amiable enough, but he lacked the comic zeal I prefer in an Oscar host.
To be fair, the balance between comic and cuddly is a difficult one to strike at the Oscars. There’s ample room for error on either side of the beloved Billy Crystal school of sweet-and-sour satire: Jackman played it too safe for my liking, but neither do I want to see an encore of Chris Rock’s hostile, room-cooling barbs. The Academy Awards, as much as we might like to mock them, are effectively the industry’s prom night, and the tone should be appropriately celebratory.
Dear European Film Award nominating members,
You seem to have suffered some form of collective amnesia in recalling the last 12 months of European cinema. So much so that you had to resort to nominating an Argentinian-Spanish co-production (that, let’s face it, everyone thinks of as Argentinian) as one of the continent’s finest this year, despite mentioning it in no other categories.
Allow me to help you. The following are all European films superior to the six you shortlisted in your top category: “Another Year,” “The Illusionist,” “How I Ended This Summer,” “Kawasaki’s Rose,” “White Material,” “Dogtooth,” “Certified Copy,” “Mysteries of Lisbon,” “Four Lions,” “The Mouth of the Wolf,” and so on. And hey, I’m not that high on “I Am Love” either, but are you really saying nothing at all stuck out about it to you? (You only have four cinematography nominees, by the way. Just a thought.)
(More thoughts, and the full list of nominees, after the cut.)
It’s odd to think that younger readers may principally recognize Jill Clayburgh, the New York City-born actress who passed away yesterday after a long battle with leukemia, from her Emmy-nominated role in TV’s “Nip/Tuck” — where she played Bobbi Broderick, a vengeful victim of unsuccessful liposuction, done in the hope of securing a job ahead of younger, thinner rivals.
It was a sharp, upsetting performance, all the more haunting because it was easy to imagine Bobbi as the soured middle-aged self of Erica Benton, the unaffected, sexually liberated divorcée she played, to career-making effect, in Paul Mazursky’s 1978 romantic dramedy “An Unmarried Woman.”
The film is rarely spoken of today, but Clayburgh’s immense performance, balancing sweetly goofy comedy with stabs of untempered pain and anger, was something of a feminist touchstone for the depiction of “real” women in American cinema — she won Best Actress at Cannes for her efforts, and was nominated for an Oscar that unwisely went to Jane Fonda instead.
“I’m going to bring back the letter,” a flustered Patricia Clarkson announces as she makes her way to our lunch table, ever-so-slightly rain-mussed but otherwise immaculate in black and cream, a jaunty matching fedora astride her familiar blonde mane. “I’m never late. I blame email for this. I’m only just getting acquainted with it.”
She is, thanks to a slight communication muddle, late only to a degree most actors wouldn’t apologise for. Together with my lunchmate, Daily Telegraph critic Tim Robey, we’ve nabbed a cosy corner spot at Mayfair’s all-day Italian bistro Cecconi’s, a humming London institution of marble, green velvet upholstery and £40 white truffle starters. (Clarkson is more excited by other things on the menu: later, one eye on the menu, she interrupts her own sentence with the jubilant cry, “Meatballs! With spaghetti sauce!”)
“This place is fabulous,” she says—that adjective’s first of many appearances in our two-hour conversation—settling into our banquette with a tidy collapse of a sigh. Patricia Clarkson, she does not mind admitting, is exhausted, and not just from her week of jury duty at the London Film Festival, where she presided over the panel that, we’d learn the next day, selected Russia’s “How I Ended This Summer” as best in show. (All she tells us is that she’s “very happy” with the “wonderful” winner they’ve chosen, though she successfully deflects our speculation as to what it might be. “Oh, the Russian film?” she shrugs, when Tim brings it up.)
The pieces are gradually — very gradually — falling into place for Terrence Malick’s endlessly delayed “The Tree of Life.” First, new adoptive parent Fox Searchlight revealed a US release date of May 27, 2011. Now, courtesy of Collider, we have our first glimpse, albeit not of the finest quality, of a sales poster for the film. A bit of a half-and-halfer, as far as I’m concerned: the image is stark yet subtle, but the clunky typography carries a fan-made look to it.
In addition to the poster, the studious Collider folks have also dug up a synopsis — one that’s been kicking around for a while, I hear — for those itching to know what the hell the film is actually about. It carries a spoiler warning, so I can’t say I’ve read it myself, but it’s also included after the jump if you feel so inclined. Now the only remaining question is: when, are where, are we finally going to clap eyes on it? Sundance, Berlin, Cannes, or none of the above?
When the director of a gentle indie character study—even one joshingly praised as “mumblecore with a plot” by certain critics—cheerfully tells you that his next project is more of a “werewolf buddy cop comedy,” you could be forgiven for expecting a thick veil of irony to cover the remark.
But Aaron Katz, it turns out, is as guileless and unfussy as the films he makes, describing his foray into genre play with a boyish excitement and sincere sense of movie-love. “There are a lot of big films that come out in the summer now, but not the kind that I really love,” he says, fairly late in our Sunday afternoon conversation. “In the 80s early 90s, we had films like ‘Die Hard’ or ‘Beverly Hills Cop’ – genuinely fun and weirdly classy and restrained compared to blockbusters today. So we’re trying to write the kind of entertainment that we’d want to see, but still, you know, very much us.”
That modestly stated “us” nods to a distinct stylistic trademark the 29 year-old Oregon native and his collaborators have established across three features in just five years: his 2006 debut, “Dance Party, USA,” and Spirit-nominated follow-up, “Quiet City,” both balanced the talky, lo-fi youth idling of much contemporary Amerindie cinema with an unusually crisp visual sensibility.