THOROUGHLY MIFFED PART II: CHAPTER 3 - INGLOURIOUS BASTURDS

First, I'd like to thank those of you who read my epic introduction -- membership price bitching, Tarantino fellation and all -- and have waited expectantly for this chapter. What's your reward for your attention, you may ask? A billion (if a billion = fifty-two) reviews!!!

Let's get into it, shall we? Counting down, in order of preference, from 52nd (least favourite) to 1st (favourite):

Dead Stone Motherless Last - HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT'S INFERNO

I am an unashamed, unabated film tragic. As such, I adore 'making-of' documentaries. I'll watch useless on-the-set featurettes to catch any peek behind the creative curtain. I'm even more obsessed with directors; following their careers keenly and will regurgitate their filmographies, on demand, with RAIN MAN-like precision. But one director I'm not an expert on (there are still many) is Henri-Georges Clouzot. I knew he was the man behind the classic French thrillers THE WAGES OF FEAR and DIABOLIQUE, among others, but I've not seen any of them, nor have I read anything about the man. Flush with discovery, I was ready to learn about a complex filmmaker driven by obsession to make a strikingly original picture, and be enraptured.

I was not enraptured. Firstly, the film is shot, cut and delivered without the slightest hint of energy or inspiration. The interview subjects are not garrulous, interesting, inspired or eccentric. In fact, they spend most of their time carping about what a taskmaster Clouzot was, despite most of his methods being commonplace today. (Sample gripe: "He would shoot a scene with three cameras. Who shoots a scene with three cameras??!" I stress, this was uttered sans humour. Another crew member whinged about Clouzot working them for fourteen hour days! God help these dudes if they ever work in independent cinema or major US television.)

Secondly, its portrait of Clouzot is mostly full of cliche: he's your stock standard egotistical hell-driven dictator who pushed his crew to (barely) superhuman levels to achieve some thing new, and drove his actors spare in the process, until everyone broke up the band. *Yawn...* Give us some more interview quotes, or some spirited accounts of what a madman/genius he was.

Thirdly, INFERNO, the lost film itself, looks pretty terrible. The entire story is this: Guy goes on holiday with his wife, gets insanely jealous whenever she's near another man, said jealousy manifests itself as hallucinogenic fugue fantasies of impotence/revenge/retribution, fugue subsides, repeat. So, apparently, the entire INFERNO project was cooked up so Clouzot could play with trippy camera shots that will date by decade's end. Oh, and explore the violence of jealousy in a completely superficial way.

Lastly, what should've been a 45 minute DVD-style featurette is stretched to an endless 100 minute dirge. Knowing exactly where it was headed, and tired of being bored stupid, I tapped out at the 65 minute mark, setting a new milestone: the first MIFF film I've ever walked out of. Because I had better things to do... like, umm, wander the streets aimlessly.

51st - NYMPH

The other most boring film of MIFF 2009 admittedly begins with a rather beautiful, startling opening shot, which sets the film's tone perfectly; as it gives you both an indication of what you're in for (glacial pace, endless shots which give one ample time to work out what'll happen next, huge stretches of time where nothing happens) and what it lacks, as the scene has a nice payoff (which you work out well in advance as the camera takes forever getting there), which you better really enjoy, because director Pen-ak Ranaturang ain't gonna spring for another.

The film is kind of a pseudo-horror ghost story which aims for existentialism and self-discovery by just holding the camera on someone as they look at someone, or something, blankly for two minutes. Then, we cut to a shot of what/whomever they're looking at, and hold that for two minutes. Now, I love a long, languid, thoughtful, gradually revealing shot as much as the next guy, but this isn't that. This is art-wank masquerading as existentialism. I LOATHE this style of filmmaking. There has to be something going on ON THE ACTOR'S FACE during these shots. Or in the background. Or, umm, ANYWHERE.

NYMPH is like someone drained all the humanity, emotional reality, dramatic tension and power out of a Terrence Malick film, leaving us only with two nondescript people in a crap marriage staring at nature and disappearing. As a viewer, I'm happy to work a bit, but as a filmmaker, you've gotta bring something to the table, man. I'm not doing all the heavy lifting. There's only so much one can stand of barely sketched characters (only the program gave me any clue as to what the leads did for a living), interminable blank looks, drawn-out silences, shots of trees and dramatic inertia before an entirely different spectre descends: sleep.

50th - DEAD SNOW

While I guess it's more engaging than CLOUZOT'S INFERNO, DEAD SNOW just edges it out as the biggest disappointment of MIFF 2009. I looked forward to this film with massive enthusiasm: It's Nazi Zombies, fer chrissakes, and the trailer was highly entertaining. Unfortunately, "Nazi Zombies" seems to be where the filmmakers' production conference ended. Presumably, the writer/director uttered those two words, pushed his chair out from the table and spent the rest of the day watching EVIL DEAD, SCREAM and SHAUN OF THE DEAD. Because said auteur, Tommy Wirkola, rips those movies off wholesale. Now, as a movie buff turned developing filmmaker, I'm not one who throws the term "rips off" around easily. We all know that very little- if anything- is original anymore, everyone is influenced by somebody and, as one of the SWINGERS boys says, "everybody steals from everybody". But there is an entire character in this flick who's a gross bastardisation of Ed from SHAUN. It rips off shots from Raimi's zombie classics and SHAUN not just here and there, but constantly.

Wirkola isn't adding anything of himself to this concoction, nor is he mixing it all into his own unique tune, as Tarantino or PT Anderson would. All this fanboy adulation would be charming if the story took any interesting turns, or if the characters were funny and relatable, or if the script went to any dark and inspired places besides the hacking of limbs. It's also technically shoddy; all the money went into the makeup and uniforms, because this film boasts some of the most cringingly obvious blue/green screen work since STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE. Most deporably, though, Wirkola does nothing with the Nazi Zombie conceit. Do they march, fight, plan, act in the least bit like Nazis? Apparently not, as Wirkola probably couldn't track down a copy of SHOCK WAVES or ZOMBIE LAKE to rip off. Nup, these are just your average flesh-eating zombies, who just happen to be wearing Nazi uniforms and have a thing for Nazi gold. It's fine to be trashy, guys and gals, but for fuck's sake... be creative.

49th - DOUBLE TAKE

The MIFF program guide pitched this as being one of the most original and thrilling films of the festival. They lied about the thrilling. Using news grabs, clips from the Alfred Hitchcock Presents TV show and advertisements from the 1950s, along with newly filmed footage, Argentinian director Johan Grimonprez attempts to fashion a narrative involving Alfred Hitchcock becoming aware he has a doppelganger, against the backdrop of the Cuban Missile Crisis. What relates these two subjects is fuzzy and tenuous at best... and, as the film drags on, we find there's a lot of that.

One minute we're treated to one of Hitch's awesome AHP intros, then we cut to a coffee commercial, then we cut to poorly matched and cut together shots of Alfred Hitchcock on AFP passing Alfred Hitchcock in one of his big screen cameos, then we segue to a Nikita Kruschev-Richard Nixon press conference, before hearing a modern-day Hitch (sort of-) lookalike regaling us with anecdotes of meeting Tippi Hedren. And it's like that for 80 minutes. The "plot" makes no sense (Yo Hitch: *why* does one have to kill one's double, anyway?), the links between all the threads are shaky, all the gear with the Hitch impersonator is pointless and anything the director wants to say about identity and duality gets swallowed up by baffling -- and, it must be said, often shoddy -- technique. The only bright spots in this entire film are those AFPresents introductions, which are gorgeous, and the Kruschev-Nixon chat, which is amazing footage... which I'm sure you could find on DVD or YouTube. Still, I'm glad they showed up here, or I'd have been forced to commit my own perfect murder out of boredom.

48th - MARTYRS

Much has been ranted about the so-called "torture porn" genre this decade, and I'm not sure where I stand on it. If there's a story, I'm more likely to go with it. Sometimes you've gotta increase the stakes and push boundaries, but don't be clumsy or sledgehammer about it... unless, of course, sledgehammer works. It's a fine line. Horror has to be a tough genre. You can't pussy out. You have to take people where they don't want to go. Horror shouldn't be safe. Sometimes off-camera works, sometimes it doesn't. Then you have films like HOSTEL, which are competently made and come with a genuinely fearsome concept, but just hit the "this is a movie!" switch too often, which sells out the reality and the true horror of the piece.

To MARTYRS' credit, it never hits the laugh button. It never reminds you it's a movie... unless you've seen its many French siblings. See, France has been a hotbed for what some may term "torture porn" of late: HAUTE TENSION, INSIDE, FRONTIERE(S), SHEITAN... and many of these films share all-too-apparent DNA with MARTYRS. Washed-out colours? Check. High-speed shutter? Check. Dark creeping around houses? Check. Random slashing attacks? Check. Dark, twitchy, grey demon visions? Check. High-energy set pieces which wouldn't look out of place in an action film? Check. All of which is perfect if you've got a terrific and/or cohesive story and, well, a point. Sadly, this is what MARTYRS seems to be missing.

The film seems to change plots every 15 minutes: it's about an abused girl seeking revenge - no, it's about said abused girl's best friend, who has to deal with her vengeance-seeking besty (which is actually the best idea in the film, for mine) - no, it's about the vengeance seeker fighting a demon - no, it's about the friend being captured and tortured - and so on. These may sound like standard plot twists, but no: they're all distinct threads. Characters and concepts which seem meaningful exit the movie. The film asks questions and abandons them a couple scenes later. Then, about halfway through, we're finally introduced to the central theme of the film... and, as themes go, it doesn't really stand up. If I'm gonna watch a teenage girl get chained, force-fed gruel and slapped around for 20-30 minutes at a stretch -- I'm not kidding -- I demand a stronger, more meaningful reason than the film gives me.

I've heard some internet pundits say MARTYRS is an examination, a deconstruction, even the apogee, of the "torture porn" sub-genre, of the central horror conceit of suffering young women, of the "final girl" concept. I'm only willing to agree this is what director Pascal Laugier may have been going for, but he's wallowing in it, with a wrongheaded script that's both sloppy and spare. And I'm not even mentioning gaping plot holes or ridiculous character motivations (the girl is tied by the world's longest fucking chain and she never once thinks to hide in the shadows of the cavernous basement to wrap it around someone's neck? Where's your survival instinct?!). The ending attempts a mordant cleverness, but rather just underlines the pointlessness of it all. What's more, our protagonist is never a "martyr" of any sort. She's a guinea pig, stumbling through the ordeal with the barest notion of why she's there. The one thing, the only thing a martyr never lacks, is a purpose. Perhaps Laugier should've reevaluated his.

47th - HORRORS OF MALFORMED MEN

Upon seeing two minutes of pure insanity passing itself off as a trailer for this at the MIFF launch, my interest in this flick soared skyward. There was cackling, bad makeup, cackling, hyperbolic Japanese title cards, cackling, waves crashing upon beaches, cackling, Dr Moreau-style ani-men... I love me some crazy nutty bugfuck Asian cinema and this was from the age of psychedelia, forming a powerful combination I found impossible to resist... So why did I fall asleep halfway through? Sure, it didn't make a lick of sense, but one expects that. It may have something to do with the incredibly slow-moving first act, which sure brings the hokey melodrama, but sits on the crazy for a while, and more's the pity.

There's lots of our lead dude following women around compounds and pining for lost loves, which was all, strangely for a film like this, a bit dull. After some 40 minutes of this, I began trading five minute bursts of melodrama with five minute microsleeps, which persisted for a good half hour... until the uproarious final act, which finally gave up the good stuff. (Only the Japanese would make a film which ends in a crescendo of exploding superimposed floating heads. As ever, I'm not making this up.)

A friend I saw this with made the point that this film seemed all too aware of how nutty it is, and that diminished the experience for him. I can see his point to an extent, but this is based on traditional Japanese Rampo stories, which are traditionally insane, so I don't know how much more licence they could've taken. Was the conviction there? Perhaps. Did I really care? Not really. I came away with the feeling there were Japanese horror films both nuttier and more extreme, both of the time and since, and what promised to be a singular experience didn't quite deliver. Still... that last act is a pisser.

46th - ZIFT

Another MIFF launch trailer which rocked me, only to massively disappoint. Shot in gorgeously stark black and white, this period Bulgarian noir with a rather unhinged, dark-humoured sensibility should’ve knocked me for six. And the opening few scenes are encouraging: handsome, sharp, irreverent and violent, as we see our title character in prison, then departing to restart his life anew. It’s about half an hour in when the problem starts to emerge. Once you remove the, well, Bulgarian-ness of it, it’s really just the same post-QT neo-noir the Yanks and Brits have been pumping out for fifteen years.

Gradually, all the oxygen drains from the film, and, to mix metaphors, it just treads water from there. Full disclosure: the second act sent me to sleep. Sure, it was the third film I saw that day, but I’d stayed awake through many other similar situations this and prior MIFFs. I awoke at the commencement of the final act to find nothing much else had changed: preposterous plot twists and rainswept burials and attempted assassinations, all of which felt tainted by the stain of over-familiarity. I so wish this was a better film.

45th - VAN DIEMEN'S LAND

Let me start off by saying: this is quite possibly the best looking and sounding Australian film I’ve ever seen. No kidding. Debut feature director Jonathan auf der Heide and his veteran cinematographer Ellery Ryan shoot the ever-loving shit out of this notorious tale of Tasmanian convict and eventual-cannibal Alexander Pierce, evoking the exquisite man-as-affront-to-glorious-nature landscapes of Terrence Malick… and losing absolutely nothing in the comparison. Peter Palankay’s sound design is also a thing of haunting, harrowing beauty, just world-class work. Some of the performances are terrific too, most notably a very charismatic Mark Leonard Winter.

You may have noticed I’ve front-loaded this review a little. I wanted to get the positives up front. I want to state that auf der Heide has pulled off a stunning physical effort for a debut feature filmmaker, particularly as he’s still under 30. It’s hard enough to get a film up and made, but rarely are they this handsome. Thing is… the director’s attempts to sustain menace are so endlessly protracted that it winds up almost devoid of it. It’s not particularly scary, just kind of slow and grotty. The characters, aside from Pierce (Oscar Redding) and Winter’s Dalton, are pretty much interchangeable in look and attitude for the first half of the film – and Pierce is so inside himself -- it’s difficult to get a bead on anyone aside from Dalton.

auf der Heide seems to believe that moody sideways glances and endless shots of people staring at campfires passes for character development and narrative tension… and I’m here to tell him, it doesn’t. One or two of the murders have impact, but this is one of the rare pictures which could’ve done with a little more blood. It seems to be a bit too hung up on its own artistic pretension to present the harsh reality of these murders, or cannibalism in itself – which is odd, considering the rest of the picture just bursts with verisimilitude. So the only logical conclusion is, the filmmakers, for all of their ambition, pussied out. Held back. I know this isn’t meant to be a horror picture, but something this ripe with treachery, paranoia and cannibalism should’ve been much more frightening than this.

44th - THE BASTARDS (LOS BASTARDOS)

This Mexican home invasion thriller takes the term “slow burn” and stretches it to snapping point. Two labourers cross the border for a day’s work in LA before heading home and waiting to do the whole thing again the next day. Except on the day we join them, they have nasty plans in mind. There’s plenty of tension at first, as these two edge closer to violence, only to pull back, as the music dramatically smash rises then falls – a pattern which repeats several times in the film, to the point of exhaustion. They’ve been paid to take a housewife (who isn’t what she seems, either) hostage in her home and whack her. However, they’re going spend the night quietly living it up while tormenting her.

I won’t reveal what happens, but it’s safe to say that the picture is 85-ish minutes of tension leading to a – frankly – ridiculously violent denouement, which seems calculated for shock value more than anything else. There’s plenty of social context here though, with the labourers clearly enjoying the perceived fruits of middle-class American life unavailable to them, throughout the evening. Despite moments of genuine menace and style, the whole affair just seems like a lot of time expended on very little.

43rd - PARDON MY FRENCH (UN CHAT UN CHAT)

This French comedy is packed with terrific ideas, fresh concepts, amusing scenes and a cracker of a lead in Italian actress Chiara Mastroianni (Marcello’s daughter, who manages to look scarily like him while being absolutely gorgeous)… but director Sophie Fillières seems to have no feel for the material whatsoever.

The comic tale of a writer and newly-single mother, lamenting both her broken marriage and writer’s block, being latched onto by an aggressively helpful young woman who, as it emerges, is her self-appointed stalker, should’ve been a breezy, bouncy, pacy romp. Instead, it is paced like an Alain Reinais drama, which makes the thing seem ponderous and flabby when what’s going on is actually pretty clever and inspired, and would’ve been massively entertaining with a more understanding treatment.

However, the cast are terrific, but Mastroianni steals the show as the cynical, hard-smoking, neurotic sleepwalking writer who loves her son like crazy (her banter with the kid is one of the film’s highlights.) This is by no means a terrible movie, or even a bad one, simply mis-directed. It’s far too drawn-out and grey for the type of picture it should’ve been, to get the maximum impact out of likeable performances and a witty script. Ripe for an English-language remake, perhaps? So long as they retain Chiara’s services and hire a director with a yen for the material, it just might work.

Next: Mini reviews / rankings of the middle 32!

TSIK

THOROUGHLY MIFFED PART II: CHAPTER 2 - REVENGE OF THE GIANT FACE

The chin was in. Quentin Tarantino was in the house.

Once properly introduced by MIFF Director Richard Moore, the black-suited Mr Tarantino strode out to the stage, as I -- clad in my DEATH PROOF t-shirt -- clapped and hollered like I was at the MCG (wasn't alone there, I might add). Only afterward, upon reflection of my enthusiasm and proximity to QT, did I discover that my behaviour could possibly have been interpreted as, well... gay. And not in the ironic, 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN style "Know how I know you're gay..." way. No, actually gay.

And I, a comfortably heterosexual man, make absolutely no apologies for this.

Tarantino answered the questions of Australian comedian/filmmaker John Safran (chosen, presumably, either because of his Jewish heritage, or reputation as a provocateur) with his customary enthusiasm, bravado and staggering filmic knowledge. I gotta tell ya: I don't think I could even recall half the conversation (thankfully I can recall the other half, clear as a bell). Just being in the room was sensory overload.

Safran's questions seemed to continually threaten to betray spoilers, but QT was doing his best to keep his film's secrets, talking instead of Goebbels' Louis B. Mayer-style involvement in the wartime German film industry, Eli Roth's "jewish revenge porn" fantasies and the influence of Leni Riefenstahl. Then, as an added surprise -- as if out of a hat -- he produced stars Diane Kruger and Christolph Waltz, who took the mike for a couple of brief introductions. Waltz's demeanour, in particular, gave no indication of the performance we were soon about to see; though he certainly seemed cultured and polite (even if his speech was slightly baffling). As the lights went down, the stars ducked out a side door, but Quentin strolled up the aisle to take his seat in the middle of the theatre, to watch his own film amongst the punters. Which fit perfectly; as much as any director before or since, he's a movie geek just like the rest of us.

(No, I'm not gonna tell you here what I thought of the film! All will be revealed in future chapters...)

So, yeah, you could say this experience shaped my MIFF in 2009. There were other delights (and, like any large event, hiccups) to be found, as well:

- The Coopers Forum Festival Lounge was as gorgeous and awesome as ever... however, they really need to stay open later. It's the perfect stylish, dimly-lit, post-film chillout/discussion venue... and it closes by 11:15. It's the Achilles Heel of what is, otherwise, perfection.

- Once again, the ungracefully aging Greater Union cinema took on the lion's share of sessions (even more than last year, which didn't seem possible), but I didn't experience as many dodgy seat issues as usual. (Besides, of course, the fact the seats there are sort of fundamentally dodgy.) I experienced a grand total of one shaky seat and four wobbly armrests. For better or worse, that's below average. I choose to call that a win.

- The Forum continued its fabulous tradition of being the festival's centrepiece venue; a super cool, old school theatre. Even with the age-old seats (the seating is stadium style, representing brilliant foresight on the part of those who built it), it rarely seems to get uncomfortable. I just adore seeing movies there. (Now, if only they could take back the Regent, and get the Capitol up and running again -- thus alleviating Greater Union of its burden -- and the experience of seeing movies at MIFF would fully return to former glory!)

- Last year, my incredibly awesome girlfriend kicked off a birthday tradition of buying me a MIFF Passport; as my birthday is a month before MIFF, it's pretty much perfect. However, Passports aren't cheap... so naturally I was incensed to hear that, from this year, one couldn't buy a Passport unless they also bought a MIFF Membership. A Membership alone, at AU$83, is quite reasonable, but when you stack it on top of the Passport price, it seemed a little rich. So a MIFF Passport was now going to cost my partner AU$413 and, on her behalf, I was livid. From this perspective, the Membership privileges didn't seem to be worth the cash: a paltry 10% off Festival merchandise, concession tickets to cinemas I don't go to (and, admittedly, the cinema I go to the most -- details schmetails, I'm building a case here!), priority queuing, etc. But, as MIFF is my midyear Christmas, I craved that Passport, so I swallowed my vitriol, complained to the MIFF Twitter page, and allowed my partner to pay the money...

Two days in, I discovered what an idiot I'd been. Two words, folks: PRIORITY QUEUING. My god. It's a whole new world. The difference between getting to the venue and going straight in to snag a decent seat (and to save some for your friends!), and standing out in the bitter Melbourne cold for 20 minutes waiting to be ushered in to a seat plastered against the screen. And, let's face it, I saw 52 flicks for AU$7.94 each, which is an ace deal. Mr. Richard Moore and co., I humbly submit my apology, and substitute it with thanks.

- Although it didn't really touch me personally, I can't rightly talk about MIFF 2009 without addressing the hailstorm of controversy that rocked it, courtesy of China versus a little documentary called THE 10 CONDITIONS OF LOVE, and, to a smaller extent, Ken Loach withdrawing his LOOKING FOR ERIC because MIFF bought an Israeli filmmaker (who'd made an Australian film!) a plane ticket. I'm sure you've read about all the website hackings, the hasty withdrawal of every Chinese & Hong Kong film from the program, the Chinese diplomatic corps pressuring Richard Moore to drop 10 CONDITIONS from the program... all dramatic stuff, and Mr. Moore deserves huge kudos for not backing down a millimetre. Instead of sacking the film, he added an extra session and moved it to a bigger venue, which resulted in serpentine queues the likes of which even MIFF had never seen. Well played, sir.

I really feel this is the year Richard Moore began to make MIFF truly his own, stepping out from the towering shadow created by the game-changing reign of James Hewison. For the most part, he's kept Hewison's better additions and has added his own to push Australia's finest film festival boldly into the next decade, and to Cloud Nine for all Melbourne-bound filmgoers.

Now, to the movies: My 10 Worst Films of MIFF 2009... so no flipping!

THOROUGHLY MIFFED 2009: CHAPTER I - GERMAN NIGHT IN PARIS (well, okay... more like a movie night in Melbourne...)

The Melbourne International Film Festival (let's call her MIFF) came back with a vengeance this year. Not that MIFF '08 was bad, it was great... but it wasn't the inspiring, euphoric, Christmas-in-Julaugust that it normally is. Documentaries ruled the roost for me last year, which, I'll confess, is always a bit of a bummer for me. See, I'm in no way an aspiring documentary filmmaker. I'm all about fiction feature films, and MIFF is the Mecca to which I travel for annual inspiration to make my own movies. So, when the docus dominate and the feature films take a back seat, I have fun, but I don't come away with the electric charge of inspiration which I've happily come to associate with the event. For me, MIFF '09 was a return to all sorts of form: incredible guests, blazing controversy, and, crucially, a strong program of terrific fiction feature films.

MIFF 2009, for me, will always be remembered as The Year Quentin Came to Town. Sure, I never got to meet the big man, but I was insanely lucky enough to attend the Australian Premiere of INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS (whose five chapter titles -- or variations thereof -- you'll find subtitling this very blog), where he appeared in person to introduce the film in his own inimitably effusive fashion.

Okay. I'm gonna remove my "critical blogger" hat for a second and throw on my "stark raving fanboy acolyte of Quentin Tarantino" hat on. Got it? Good. (Don't worry, won't be long.)

I was going to be seeing Quentin Fucking Tarantino in the flesh. I won't lie to you: he's the guy whose films inspired me to be a writer/director. Before I saw DOGS and FICTION, I was deeply interested in films, but thought a schlub like me only had a shot at writing them, if I were lucky. Surely I wasn't qualified to be a filmmaker. I didn't go to film school, hadn't fought in WWII, wasn't cut out to be a general or a dictator... all those cliches I'd accumulated in my head about directors of yore. They weren't weedy little film buffs like me, they were decorated, educated and/or utterly insane men and women of bottomless gravitas and sweeping vision, informed by lives of love and loss. So, when I saw these incredibly alive, stylish, unpredictable pictures from an average (if extraordinarily clever & talented) guy who was inspired by the stuff that I was inspired by -- action films, horror flicks, gangster movies -- and then made specific references in his interviews to the obscure films that inspired his works, for buffs like me to seek out and devour, I felt an actual, vein-deep connection, the likes of which I've experienced about three or four times my entire life. So, to see the man who had indirectly helped to set my life on its current course, in my home city, in the flesh, was one of the most thrilling occasions in my life to date.

Okay, enough of the gross adulation... back to the show.

Turns out getting to the premiere screening was a mission in itself. Sadly, my lovely partner could not attend, and the long-standing backup had pulled out with mere hours to spare (both due to work commitments), so we were on the phone, in a mad rush on the way, to recruit ourselves a Basterd. We got our man -- my friend Steve, who, thankfully, had just gotten off crutches a few days earlier -- and he left immediately, hopefully able to meet us in line. Meanwhile, despite being an hour early, I was greeted by an enormous line... which was a meetup-free zone, as all new arrivals were directed to the back of the queue. This, coupled with overheard rumblings of all sorts of no-turning-back security measures inside, shook me a tad, as I had Steve's ticket and he was still en route. I hoped he'd get there in time to see us in line and grab it on the way past...
Then the line started to move. Fast.

Halfway up the line, a security guard was checking tickets, presumably to stop people fossicking through their pockets at the entrance, thus holding up red carpet snapper magnets seeking a photo op. I had the two tickets folded together, so I showed mine to the dude and put the other in my pocket.

Soon, the line was racing, and I was up to the red carpet. I've never trod a red carpet before, I have to say, and it was kinda cool. Well... it would've been cool, if I hadn't been eyeing off the entrance ten feet away and suddenly thought, "Now, where is Steve's ticket?" Soon, I became That Guy, fossicking through his pockets to find... nothing.

Here I am, standing on a red carpet, friends on one side, paparazzo on the other, pulling everything out of every pocket, looking for Steve's ticket. So much for my auspicious red carpet debut.

Another couple of steps. Now about seven feet away, still not found.

It was now my heart doing the racing, as the Forum Theatre entrance was bearing down on me fast. The doors were now so close I could touch them, as my hands dove in and out of pockets, fumbling through all sorts of wallets and coins and brochures and --
THE TICKET! Hurrah!!

I couldn't even tell you which pocket it was in, as if I'd conjured it out of thin air. But it wasn't over. With Phase 2 down, I instantly clicked into Phase 3: how do I get our Basterd his ticket? Being herded up the stairs, I searched for a lanyard-wearing MIFF door keeper and managed to snag one, to explain the situation. She suggested I write his name on the ticket and give it to her, and she would put it on a table out front for collection. Fair enough. So I began texting Steve to tell him this... when I discovered, a short flight of stairs away, that a table of MIFF people were sequestering everybody's mobile phones. I had less than 60 seconds to type the most clear, yet detailed, message possible on how to pick the tickets up, where they'll be, etc. Banged out the text, read it through, read it again, then sent it off, and turned in my phone in the nick of time. So it was all up to the fates now.

Once in, my friends who had lined up earlier secured brilliant seats, about six rows from the front on the side, which is thankfully on an incline, a nice distance up and away from the screen. And on the exact same side as Mr Tarantino would be standing. Dude would be directly in front of us, not 20 metres away.

But our Basterd hadn't joined us yet. Sure, there were still 20 minutes to go, but I -- in my suave, debonair, customary way -- was stressing. Had my text provided all the info he needed? Was it clear? Was he being stopped at the door, searching for a table not to be found and frantically dialing my mobile, now in the hands of the MIFF-appointed Stasi? All these questions ricocheted around my psyche as local celebrities filed past and sat around us: Mick Molloy, Chris Judd, Lucas from Neighbours, Vince Colosimo and, naturally, MIFF's #1 ticket holder Geoffrey Rush...

An Ennio Morricone style chorus of percussion and choirs, worthy of Sergio Leone, should've sounded as Basterd Steve entered the theatre, ticket in hand, with plenty of time to take his seat and share in the madness.

At last, I could breathe easily. Then, my friend Sarah spies the door and exclaims, "I can see the chin!" Yes, all you've heard is true: Quentin Tarantino's chin enters a room before he does. Awesome.

Chapter II to follow...

I'M NOT DANNY OCEAN (BUT I'M TRYING...)

The end is nigh. Dark days are ahead. People are stupid, and a disgrace.

Such sunny sentiments have been shared by various prominent film critics (notably, Roger Ebert, Jeffrey Wells and Patrick Goldstein) in the wake of the box office triumphs of TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN and GI JOE: THE RISE OF COBRA.

These box office figures, when coupled with what's popular in television and music today, make me inclined to agree...

But then, I take a deep breath, and really think about it.

Sure, the signs are there if you're looking. But the cold, hard fact is the signs are always there if you want to see them.

Nostalgia constantly colours our judgments. We always remember the films, songs, shows, experiences we love, above the ones we hate. Or the undiscovered gems we've unearthed, either through long hours of dedication or complete dumb luck. When you think about it (when it comes to entertainment, at least), the human mind is fundamentally optimistic... as long as we're talking about the past.

I remember reading my old edition of Halliwell's Film Guide, back in the early 90s, which used to have quotes from reviews written at the time of release, and being utterly gobsmacked at the critical derision which greeted some of the classic films of the 1960s and 70s. How could Bosley Crowther not get the delicious social commentary and ironies of BONNIE AND CLYDE, and merely dismiss it as "a cheap piece of bald-faced slapstick comedy" and "strangely antique, sentimental claptrap"? Now, make whatever case you like about TRANSFORMERS not having any redeeming social or ironic value whatsoever -- don't worry, I'll agree with you -- but not all blockbusters out there are the same. Who knows, maybe in decades time we'll be discussing what THE PROPOSAL says about relationships in the age of the Global Financial Crisis, or what THE HANGOVER says about modern men in the early 21st century? Who are we to say? My point with Crowther (and his ilk, like John Simon and so on - check Halliwell's, there's a raft of critics slamming great films as empty or brainless) is that he was a major critic who was completely out of touch with the zeitgeist on that picture (and many more). And, as much as I hate to admit it, I think the same thing is happening here.

Allow me to clarify: On a fundamental, opinionated level, I (mostly) agree with these cats. I detest the endless parade of remakes, optioned toys/board games and the all-conquering cult of "brand awareness", as well as the shiny, cut-happy, visually cliched storytelling we get in big films today, but you can't blame the public for this. The general viewing audience can only eat what they're served. To which the three critics above will cry, "But why don't they seek the good stuff out?" Or, in Roger Ebert's case, "Why aren't more kids seeing THE HURT LOCKER?" Well, in regard to HURT LOCKER, it's R-rated, so teens have to drag an adult. And the reason adults can't or won't be dragged is the same reason why they won't seek the good stuff out. The fact many critics ask this question at all illustrates a cruel truth: a startling number of film critics (and buffs) are out of touch with Jane and Joe Public.

Jane and Joe Public could – generally speaking – give a fuck about film as art. Or film festival prizes. Even the Oscars don't matter much, except as vague validation in watercooler conversation (eg. "Oh, I've heard that SLUMDOG MILLIONARE is really good. Didn't it win the Best Picture Oscar?"). This is selling neither their intelligence or cultural awareness short. See, unlike critics and film buffs -- and I want you to listen very carefully -- Film is not the most important thing in J&J Public's life.

They've got kids to take care of and pets to feed and sports to ferry the kids to and bills to pay and work to do and groceries to buy and washing to do and back patios to repair and plants to tend and...

(Quick aside: I'm not saying film critics and film buffs don't have these too. But critics/buffs are wired to love film with all their hearts, will always make room for the demands of being a film lover... and are in the vast minority. End of aside.)

...dentist bills to pay and schools to choose and families to plan and houses to buy and mortgages to pay and... you get the picture. For J&J Public to decide to go to the movies, it's a big thing. It takes time and effort. So, they're looking to get it done with the least amount of effort required. What's more, they might not leave the kids at home. The kids have seen all the ads -- on TV and the internet and on the sides of buses -- and want to come along. So now, J&J Public are focused on family fare. Now, some people read reviews, most don't. Most go from word of mouth, which is still, after all the tricks are pulled from the hat, a marketer's greatest ally. Most don't live near an art house theatre, let alone look in the art house listings, let alone feel inclined to go to an art house theatre. If a particular J&J Public reside in an affluent suburb or major city, the inclination might be there. If not, forget it. So, once they've booked the babysitter or piled the kids into the 4WD, they're looking to see a film the whole family will dig, with no extra effort. I'll be honest: it feels a little patronising to spell this out, but this is what critics just don't understand. It's what good specialty films are up against. It's why it's easier to rock down to the local shopping mall to take the kids to TRANSFORMERS or GI JOE -- or, if the kids are at home, to take themselves to see THE HANGOVER or THE PROPOSAL -- than to drive all the way across town to go to the lovely, refined art house palace to see MOON or THE HURT LOCKER. (In fact, most "specialty" films are for adults, another obstacle. Not a lot of art house fare skews toward families.)

So J&J Public can not, must not, be blamed or derided. It ain't their fault. But it's got to be somebody's... right?

You bet.

What if, by some quirk of fate, the local shopping mall multiplex was showing MOON or THE HURT LOCKER? And were on the equal amount of screens as the blockbusters? And those films had the same level of marketing support as the others? Some of J&J Public would go, guaranteed. And those -- we're talking Mr & Mrs Public here, not the Public's film buff mate who likes all those weird foreign films & exploitation movies -- that enjoyed them, would tell their friends. And more would go. And, like all other films, some would hit, some would flop... but they'd have a fighting chance.

Of course, we don't live in that world. We live in a world where your multiplex has 20 screens but shows 10 films. Where we can't turn a corner without hearing about Megan Fox's views on men or how Channing Tatum got those pecs. Where intelligent specialty and indie fare are continually pigeonholed as such and rarely allowed to cross the borders of major cities or affluent suburbs. We live in the world of mass media as one gigantic, throbbing, incestuous, tumour-like entity. We live in the world of big studios swallowed by mega-corporations. Everything is money, everything is controlled, and everything that emanates from these megaliths is marketed to within half an inch of its glossed-up little life.

And that's who to blame. Like I said, the public can only eat what they're served, and it's too arduous to travel to another restaurant... too bad the most accessible restaurants in town are all McDonalds’.

I heard the saddening news this week that Paramount is closing the door on its excellent Paramount Vantage specialty division, responsible for films like THERE WILL BE BLOOD, BLACK SNAKE MOAN, BABEL, SON OF RAMBOW, INTO THE WILD and REVOLUTIONARY ROAD. Apparently, Paramount execs have been very open in their ambition to focus upon bigger event movies. This from the studio who shelled out for megabucks for... TRANSFORMERS and GI JOE. So look forward to more of the same. Vantage is only the latest casualty in a war that's killing specialty divisions like grunts who've just shown you a picture of their girl back home: Warner Independent Pictures and Picturehouse are dead, even once-powerful mini-majors like Miramax and New Line Cinema have been scaled back dramatically (New Line is actually virtually dead, with only THE HOBBIT keeping it alive). Studios have decided, in their infinite answer-only-to-stockholders wisdom, that there's no money in making interesting movies in this current financial climate.

There’s the rub. We, as a public, have to vote with our feet to change this. But the studios aren’t letting us, not really. Because they know and, unlike the critics, acknowledge what the public are up against. Promote the hell out the product and throw it on every two available nearby screens, and people will go. What’s more, studios will steer clear of each other’s similarly themed releases so everyone makes as much money as possible. That’s how corporations think, because money is what feeds and drives them, what makes them grow. This is their nature, and you can’t blame them for doing it. And what critics don’t realize is people don’t care about this as much as them, not because they’re stupid or lazy or illiterate, but because they’ve got too much important stuff to deal with and film is an escape from all that, which they can afford all too infrequently. See, the corporations that own the studios are the casino, the public audience are the gamblers, and – as any recovering gambling addict will tell you – the house always wins.

I agree that blockbusters, generally, are often lazy and/or moronic and are swallowing the major movie business, and something needs to change. So, what form of subversive activism do Jane and Joe Public have? 

When you’re looking up the session times in your newspaper, or at outside the local multiplex, if there are two highly promoted, massively budgeted blockbusters going head to head… buy tickets to the one that looks or sounds smarter. Don’t fall to peer pressure. Don’t see something purely because it’s the only thing opening this weekend – look at the stuff you may have passed over last week. Thing is, if we’re talking about movies showing at multiplexes at peak times of the year, if they’ve got big production and marketing budgets, then they’re all blockbusters… which means, they’re all designed to entertain. Choose DISTRICT 9 over GI JOE. (Which the American public did. Take THAT!) Choose PONYO over G FORCE. You’ll walk out having had a fun time, with the added benefit of not having to feel like an idiot if you enjoyed yourself. Good, fun, guilt-free entertainment… and isn’t that what big studio blockbuster movies are all about?

MORE BALLS THAN CRYSTAL

So, it's that time of the year again, where the filmmaking community commonly known as "Hollywood" hand out surprisingly large gold statuettes to those it decides have waited long enough for universal recognition, and we the viewer are treated to dance sequences, speeches and whatever "innovation" (their word, not mine) the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences believes will shake up the ceremony... all of which can be summed up in one succinct word: INTERMINABLE.



What's more, we don't even have a comic host this year... I'm as much a fan of Hugh Jackman as the next guy, but I tend to enjoy the Oscars most when a slightly subversive loose cannon is at the wheel -- Rock, Stewart, Martin, hell, even Letterman -- and, as charming and affable as Jackman is, he ain't that guy. (It doesn't help that I've long held a vain hope to see Robin Williams have a crack before he moves into senior citizenry... just one last tommy-gun blast of stream-of-consciousness, near-offensive take-no-prisoners free-association to remind us all how great the man once was... but back to topic.) I'm interested to see what he does with it. No doubt it will involve song, which always gives me the shudders.

And please, DON'T get me started on the underwhelming crop of nominees we have this year. I haven't been this uninspired by a Best Picture field since 2000/01, when GLADIATOR, CHOCOLAT, ERIN BROCKOVICH and CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON duked it out (the slow-moving but smart, stylish and inspired TRAFFIC was the only pistol in the bunch). There's only three awards I'm really invested in tonight, and all I'm gonna say is this: Good luck Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei and PRESTO. I'm pulling for ya. (I should throw WALL-E, for Best Animated Feature, in there, too.)

As this is an Oscar predix blog (as Variety would call it), I should get my tips in: a) before my Australian friends, buffs and tragics go into their yearly, Oscar-imposed Media Blackout, and b) before the awards are actually announced. So no more waffling. For the time being, anyway.

BEST PICTURE
Who WILL win: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE (I'm gonna be saying this a lot, unfortunately). It's won everything to date, and the Mumbai-to-London transcontinental express sure as hell ain't gonna stop here.
Who I'd LIKE to win: I've only seen three of the nominees -- BUTTON, NIXON and SLUMDOG -- and was underwhelmed by all of them. Push comes to shove, I would very narrowly choose FROST/NIXON over Ben Button.

BEST DIRECTOR
Who WILL win: Danny Boyle, SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE. The right guy for the wrong movie. From everything I've ever seen and heard from the man, he seems like one of the genuinely nicest dudes in the business, so I can't begrudge him this. And that's all I have to say about that.
Who I'd LIKE to win: David Fincher, THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON. Again, I've only seen 3 of the 5 nominees, but for mine, this was the best directed film of the three, as most of the film's problems lie in the script (and one of the lead performances). I still maintain that the first 60-70 minutes of this film are utterly spellbinding.

BEST ACTOR
Who WILL win: Sean Penn, MILK. It's the year of Proposition 8, and the (sadly mostly closeted) gay-heavy Academy won't let that go unnoticed. Plus, I hear Penn's really great in it. I thought he should get the Oscar for smiling, alone. Have we ever seen him do that? (In the 27 years since Jeff Spicoli, anyway.)
Who I'd LIKE to win: Mickey Rourke, THE WRESTLER. A big, brave, bold body-slam of a performance, which seemed to be where Rourke's painful, rollicking, messy and messed-up life was leading all along. Just a man baring his heart and soul on the screen for all to see, thanks to Best Director nominee Darren Aronofsky-- huh? Whaddya mean he wasn't nominated?!? But, did they see the film??? What, no Best Picture nomination either?!!?? Arrrrrggghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(TSIK walks away to headbutt a brick wall several times, before returning.)

BEST ACTRESS
Who WILL win: Kate Winslet, THE READER. Between this and the overlooked REVOLUTIONARY ROAD, the Great Kate Mk II has swept all before her this award season. She's snagged more nominations (six) than any 33 year old in movie history, and it's time for her moment to arrive.
Who I'd LIKE to win: Kate Winslet, THE READER. Because it's Kate Winslet. I've not seen the movie; in fact, the only nominee I've seen is Angelina Jolie's fairly standard and serviceable turn in the resoundingly poor CHANGELING, which has no business getting nominated for anything.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Who WILL win, I'd LIKE to win and is a CERTAINTY to win: Heath Ledger, THE DARK KNIGHT. Even if tragedy hadn't befallen him, they'd still be giving him a statue today. (The author says this brazenly, having not seen three of the five nominees.)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Who WILL win: Penelope Cruz, VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA. To quote the Eagles, I can't tell you why. In a tough, evenly spread category, she seems the most flashy and likely.
Who I'd LIKE to win: Marisa Tomei, THE WRESTLER. In a role 16 years and 180 degrees away from her last appearance here, for MY COUSIN VINNY, Tomei is real, raw and ragingly brilliant.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Who WILL win: Dustin Lance Black, MILK. By all accounts, the main driving force behind this film getting made, which may explain why his name is given ridiculously large prominence on the film's trailer and poster. Did a bang-up job, by all accounts.
Who I'd LIKE to win: Having only seen IN BRUGES, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY and WALL-E, I would have to say THE WRESTLER. Wha-- it wasn't nominated for this either?!?!??? In light of this, I happily throw my weight behind the endless and seemingly effortless storytelling genius of Pixar (namely, Andrew Stanton, Pete Docter and Jim Reardon -- hey, wasn't he played by River Phoenix in the '80s??) and WALL-E. Beautiful stuff.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Who WILL win: Simon Beaufoy, for you guessed it, SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE. For months, I had Peter Morgan's FROST/NIXON written in pen to win this... until Beaufoy won the WGA award. Seems conducive to a SLUMDOG sweep now.
Who I'd LIKE to win: Anything but that. From the three I've seen, FROST/NIXON was the most impressive. Peter Morgan continues to put fascinating spins on true-life figures.

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE
Who WILL win & Who I'd LIKE to win: WALL-E. Another which shoulda been a contender for the big prize.

...and my picks for the rest...

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM: THE CLASS (France)
BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY: THE DARK KNIGHT
BEST ART DIRECTION: THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
BEST COSTUME DESIGN: THE DUCHESS
BEST FILM EDITING: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
BEST SOUND EFFECTS EDITING: WALL-E
BEST SOUND EFFECTS MIXING: THE DARK KNIGHT
BEST VISUAL EFFECTS: THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
BEST MAKEUP: THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
BEST ORIGINAL SCORE: WALL-E
BEST ORIGINAL SONG: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE ("Jai Ho")
BEST DOCUMENTARY FEATURE: ENCOUNTERS AT THE END OF THE WORLD -- A terrific docu which should pip popular favourite MAN ON WIRE at the post. I just wanna see Herzog give an Oscar speech.
BEST SHORT FILM, DOCUMENTARY: THE WITNESS: FROM THE BALCONY OF ROOM 306 -- One of my only two complete stabs in the dark (along with Best Supporting Actress). I know nothing about any of the nominees, and this one just sounds right. And by "this one", I mean, this title.
BEST SHORT FILM, ANIMATED: PRESTO -- Pixar's best short ever. Inspired, hilarious and balls-out brilliant. Puts pretenders like FOR THE BIRDS and BOUNDIN' into the shade.
BEST SHORT FILM, LIVE ACTION: NEW BOY -- It's the only one I've seen, and it's absolutely terrific.

Here's hoping you all do well in your respective Oscar pools, and that some of the truly best films of 2008 -- namely WALL-E and THE WRESTLER -- and take home some goldness this afternoon, Aussie time.

Later gators,
TSIK

WHY SO SERIOUS? (IT'S THE OSCARS, AFTER ALL...)

A few thoughts on the 2008/09 Academy Award Nominations, released this morning, Melbourne time...

THE DARK KNIGHT THING:

Come on, AMPAS, stop being so damn prejudiced. In fact, I demand a recount. Go back, vote again, and get back to me when the polls are counted and THE DARK KNIGHT takes its rightful place as 2009's Oscar Colossus, with a record-breaking 15 nominations -- with Best Picture, Director, Actor, Supporting Actor (x3, for Eckhart and Caine, as well as Heath), Adapted Screenplay, Costume Design, Original Score, etc, on top of the eight it already scored -- befitting the towering, groundbreaking epochal moment in film TDK is. 

After all, it changed the way we see movies, has changed hundreds of millions of lives, inspired a generation of filmmakers, and has redefined the art of feature films as we know it -- so, at least acknowledge all that.

*cough*

Okay, so I'm being facetious. But close your eyes, type a random sequence of letters into Google and hit enter. Then click on the nearest blog link and, chances are, you'll be treated to an anti-Oscar diatribe gushing over the film in exactly this fashion. People have lost their collective minds over THE DARK KNIGHT, and I really don't see why. Don't get me wrong: it's a very good flick. But calls of capital-G Greatness are, to be polite, premature. There's an arseload of folks who really need to breathe, have a Bex and a lie down, and get some distance between them and this film. 

In my recent 2008 wrap up, it was an agonising, line-ball decision as to whether TDK made my Top 10 list, or my Top 5 Most Overrated list. I had a hankering to put it on both, but ultimately -- thanks to an average year for movies, more than anything else -- it squeezed into the Top 10. Even now, that decision doesn't sit entirely well with me, but it's how I felt at the time of publication, so I'll call it a snapshot and move on. But it could've gone either way. 

But 2008 was a fairly average year for movies (particularly if you only count the Oscar-eligible releases, and filter out all that great stuff from the start of the year -- THERE WILL BE BLOOD, JUNO, LARS AND THE REAL GIRL, et al), and maybe audiences just really needed a hero. Not the one we want, but the one we-- um, well, you know the rest. Give me the little boxy robot dude, any day of the week, or the big "broken down piece o' meat". Those two richly deserve a Best Picture spot ahead of TDK. 

However... if the real issue here is not how "Great" THE DARK KNIGHT is, but how the Academy Awards continually pisses on genre pictures, then the argument gains both legs and validity. Of the films I saw, WALL-E was the best Oscar-eligible feature film of 2008... but that's why they invented the Best Animated Feature category, so those damn Pixar nerds couldn't take Best Picture Oscars away from films featuring emotive performances from good, god-fearing, good-looking flesh and blood actors, and steal all our jobs, and our women, and refuse to assimilate, and... 

*ahem*

The Best Animated Feature category cuts the legs off another popularly acclaimed cash cow, the animated feature (or, more pointedly, the PIXAR animated feature). So comic book films and animations are out. Comedies and non-historical actioners never have a chance, and neither do thrillers (THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS was as big a one-off fluke as the Oscars have ever seen). As for science fiction or horror... bwahahahahaha! Yeah, right. Like that's ever gonna happen. (THE EXORCIST and STAR WARS were nominated in the 1970s, but they're both special cases, from a special decade.)  And now we come to my ultimate point: to paraphrase a past unworthy Oscar winner, "Oscar is as Oscar does". 

In our heart of hearts, did we really expect the 5,900 or so members of the Academy -- about 3,500 of which are over 50 -- to vote a Batman movie as Best Picture??  I mean, what does the film say about social tolerance, the vagaries of the human heart, social injustice or the endless struggle to find love?  (And don't give me any of that Rachel Dawes shit, I'm warning you right now.)  Even though I'm not batshit about DARK KNIGHT, I would love to live in a world where something like that could happen. 

We've seen this before: a superhero film broke box office records on its way to three-quarters of a billion worldwide and set new standards for comic book adaptations along the way, while the latest offering from Pixar told arguably the most adult story -- in terms of subtext and complexity -- of any animated film ever released by Disney on its path to a crapload of money, uniformly excellent reviews and the love of nearly all who saw it, regardless of their age. Yet, after the dust of the 2004 Oscars had cleared, SPIDER-MAN 2* was nominated in just 3 technical categories, winning one, and THE INCREDIBLES* was cordoned off behind the velvet rope of the Best Animated Feature category. (And as much as people are carping about a lukewarmly recieved film like THE READER pushing out DARK KNIGHT, spare a thought for S2 and INCREDIBLES, hustled out of the Best Pic race by such modern classics as RAY and FINDING NEVERLAND. In addition, THE AVIATOR was strictly a middle-of-the-pack effort for Scorsese, and even SIDEWAYS seems vastly overrated now.) 

(*Not to mention, in this blogger's humble opinion, SPIDER-MAN 2 & THE INCREDIBLES are far superior to this year's offerings.)

As infuriating as it is, to a certain extent you can't blame the Academy Awards for being the Academy Awards. It's with great interest to me that this year's Best Picture nominees are made up of the following types:

- Epic romance

- Political drama

- Biopic

- Holocaust drama

- Indie Feel Good drama

Now, if you were to hazard a guess as to what kinds of films the post-WWII Academy Awards have fiercely gravitated towards, they would have to be it. Meanwhile, popular blockbuster hits are rewarded with a swag of technical nominations -- the genre film's Oscar booby prize, from DIE HARD to TERMINATOR 2 to, now, WALL-E and THE DARK KNIGHT. This year's list of nominees is a textbook list from a textbook organisation whose relevance has been steadily diminishing for over a decade now. If they don't smarten up soon, they're in real danger of looking like the Grammys. (Who may as well call themselves the "Grammas" for all the edginess they have these days.) 

So, before you all moan and cry about THE DARK KNIGHT's snub, look at the facts. It was never. Gonna. Happen. 

THE WRESTLER THING:

Because of the Oscars' ridiculous, byzantine rules for qualifying and quantifying the eligibility of competitors for the Best Original Song category, the best song written for a movie in 2008 slips away completely unrecognised. Apparently Bruce Springsteen -- who wrote a beautiful title song for THE WRESTLER, which encapsulated Mickey Rourke's desperately lonely, broken-down title character -- included his song on his newest album, mere weeks before the WRESTLER's soundtrack album got out there. Despite it being, y'know, written and recorded for the film, it isn't eligible, so they get to throw more non-deserved nods in the direction of SLUMDOG OVERRATEDAIRE. A damn shame, and who wouldn't want to see The Boss play the Oscar Ceremony for the first time since '94? (Come to think of it, maybe he whacked the track on his own album to avoid Oscar duty...?)

THE SALLY HAWKINS THING:

MY GOD. Of all the Oscar fuckups this year (and there wasn't an insane amount, despite appearances to the contrary) this reigns supreme. Hawkins carries HAPPY GO LUCKY solely on her eminently charming shoulders, making a potentially atomically annoying character not only palatable, but utterly believeable and downright loveable. So who gets her place... Angelina Jolie?  Really?!? While I must confess I haven't seen CHANGELING and can't judge this performance, but I did see her supposedly Oscar-worthy turn in A MIGHTY HEART and found it convincing but totally vanilla. I'm yet to be convinced she can completely disappear into a character. Maybe this is the one, but... surely it isn't the full-bodied breakout performance Hawkins delivers. I could be wrong (but I don't think i will be). 

THE SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE THING:

Just as DARK KNIGHT clearly filled a void for movie audiences, SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE seems to do so for Oscar voters, or awards voters in general. Are we seriously in need of a feel-good film so badly that we're willing to just anoint this, the usually excellent Danny Boyle's most middling film in nearly a decade?  It's a scarcely plausible fairy tale, filled with cliched one-note characters we barely get attached to because we're too busy blasting through shakily shot, jauntily edited, barely plausible anecdotes before reaching a suspense-free conclusion we not only know is inevitable, but we keep being told is inevitable. Just like the Coen Brothers and NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, they're gonna give the award to the right person for the wrong film. No nominations for SHALLOW GRAVE, TRAINSPOTTING or 28 DAYS LATER, but this cleans up. Oscar is as Oscar does... 

Other than that, it's pretty straightforward, predictable stuff. Despite being a good film that misses out on greatness, THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON actually deserves most of its whopping 13 nominations; it is an absolute technical marvel, wonderfully acted by Brad Pitt and Taraji P. Henson, and (for the most part) beautifully directed. 

SOME STUFF I LIKED:

- As much as I should ideologically be on the other side, I'm ashamed to say I got a small kick out of THE DARK KNIGHT snub. Brings it all back down to earth a bit. 

- Michael Shannon's nomination for Supporting Actor. I haven't seen REVOLUTIONARY ROAD, but I really like this actor. Check out William Friedkin's BUG to see a virtuoso performance from Mr Shannon... in a psychological thriller, no less! 

- Melissa Leo's nomination. Again, I haven't seen FROZEN RIVER, but back in the 90s I was a huge Homicide: Life on the Street fan, in which Ms Leo was dynamite, amongst a crackerjack cast of accomplished character actors. So it's awesome to finally see her get her moment. (Same goes for Richard Jenkins, too.) 

- Best Director nominations for David Fincher and Danny Boyle, directors I've long loved and admired, respectfully.

- BURN AFTER READING getting shut out completely!!

And, to finish up, a weird stat: 

- Best Director nominee Stephen Daldry has made just three feature films (BILLY ELLIOT, THE HOURS and THE READER)... and he's snagged a Best Director nomination for all of them. 3-for-3 out of the gate. Apparently, this is a record. 

Soon... predictions for February 22/23 (depending which hemisphere you're inhabiting)!

Later,

TSIK