It's not hard to fathom that the much-touted sequel Sex and The City 2, which opened nationwide last week, came in third in the multi-million-dollar weekend box office sweepstakes, which included the U.S. Memorial Day, and which typically kicks off the summer movie blockbuster season.
In fact, the clever, family-friendly Shrek Forever After, the fourth and reportedly final movie in the lucrative franchise, stayed ahead of the pack for the second week running, even kicking the butt of the newly opened Jake Gyllenhaal Disney epic, Prince of Persia: Sands of Time, which took second spot at the weekend box office, slighting edging out SATC 2.
It could be that the girls -- Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda -- are losing their glow after all these years, but more likely it's the the movie was just a tad too long and more than a little ridiculous, from the script laced with silly puns (Lawrence of my Labia) to the over-the-top (yes, even for SATC) fashion. Even Sarah Jessica Parker, who is nothing if not a haute couture clotheshorse, couldn't carry off most of the nouveau Middle East desert ensembles she floated about in, from the moment she boarded the private jet in a UFO hat to the J'Adore Dior cropped tee she wore to the spice market. And even if your intent was to just give yourself over to the whole ludicrous affair, because SATC is but a fantasy, and drink in the silly as Carrie fretted over her marriage to Big, as Samantha struggled with menopause and Charlotte with motherhood, and as Miranda weighed career over family, it was impossible not to laugh out loud in all the wrong places.
The good news, for those of us who were addicted to the Darren Star/Michael Patrick King 94-episode television series, which ran from 1998 to 2004 on cable and would prove to be an instant cult hit, is that the second big-screen sequel, outlandish and ridiculous as it is, allowed for some reflection, on the many life lessons learned from the fab four as they sashayed their way through their post-feminist 30s, tackling life, love and friendship on the streets of Manhattan. Here's my column on A Girls Life, Sex and The City-style.
In a recent Canwest interview, the head of Cineplex Odeon talked about the challenges facing the movie industry in these media-saturated competitive times, particularly owners and operators of big-screen theatre complexes. Where the advent of the DVD and the home theatre were once a twin threat to the big-screen box office bottom line, where once the satisfied sighs coming from the plasma-TVed suburban family room were considered the death knell for the cineplex, the reverse has been true. Movies, and going out to the movies, remains a popular North American activity, perhaps owing its current stretch of financial good will to the likes of 3D and blockbusters like Avatar, and this weekend, the fourth and final Shrek.
In fact, boss man Ellis Jacob, who joined Cineplex Odeon 23 years ago and has watched the evolution of the movie and its customer, says his firm is in the business of "media, loyalty, merchandising, interactive and alternative programming. We had 70 million people coming through our doors last year. I attribute that to all of the innovative things we've done."
Innovative indeed. All that technology, all those Cineplex screens -- 1,347 in 130 theatres across Canada, with many of those digital and several hundred 3D-ready -- are a marvel, to be sure..
Too bad, Mr. President, you aren't making similar gains on the customer service front.
Because there we were, Friday, May 21, the start of the Victoria Day long weekend, the opening day of many a movie -- on this Friday, they included Shrek 4, Letters to Juliet and MacGruber. We were there for the matinee, as always, punched out our tickets from the dispenser, as always, and headed over to the kiosk for a coffee and yogurt to enjoy with the movie.
Oh sorry. Unless you were in the market for popcorn or pizza or pop on Friday at the Silvercity in Coquitlam at 12:30 p.m., which is, you know, lunchtime, you were apparently out of luck. Three of the four food kiosks were closed. Closed. There was no coffee. No yogurt. Junk food, yes. Candy, yes. Soda, yes.
Why was that, we asked, lots of us actually, those of us who were over 20 and who frequent the matinees so as to avoid big crowds and movie chatterers, why on earth wouldn't the biggest movie theatre chain in the country, with its 20 screens and multi-acre parking lot in this busy suburban enclave, with its $12-plus movie ticket prices, with its president so proudly speaking of late about how great his company is doing, why wouldn't this cineplex have all pistons firing on the Friday of a long weekend which is also the opening day of one of the biggest children's movie of the year?
We asked, politely and specifically, why we couldn't get a cup of coffee. Well, it's Friday, we were told. We only open all the kiosks for the matinees on weekends, we were told. Otherwise, it just isn't economical to pay the staff, we were told. Say what? Not economical to pay minimum wage to a teenager to pour coffee and swirl yogurt into a paper cup? Not economical when one ticket alone would pay an hour's wage and then some. Not economical when you run a multi-million-dollar business that your boss says is doing its best to stay competitive. Not economical, in this day and age, when kids are too fat and fast food is even fatter, to offer customers something to eat that doesn't qualify as edible garbage?
Hey Mr. President, why can't we get a coffee at noon in your place? And while we're in mid-rant, Mr. President, why, in this most multicultural of countries,can't you offer your customers something other than junk in a cardboard box. Like sushi. Or maybe a veggie wrap. How about some curry. Or maybe noodle soup.
Or, you know, a cup of yogurt.
Just asking.
If you ever wondered if the words dignity and celebrity can co-exist, you need look no farther than actor Sidney Poitier. At the age of 83, the Oscar-winning star of Lilies of the Field, To Sir With Love, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, The Blackboard Jungle, In the Heat of the Night and countless other ground-breaking films about racial discrimination and the human condition, is one of the last great gentlemen of the big screen.
His appearance this week in Vancouver, as the featured speaker in the Unique Lives & Experiences series, found Poitier in a mood of reflection, not about Hollywood and his famous heydays, but about his upbringing as a poor kid in the Bahamas and about the lessons and major truths he learned from his parents.
For more about the speech, and the man, check out my Social Studies blog, The Amazing Grace of Sidney Poitier.
If you have seen the latest Disney movie showing in your local theatre, you'll know that Oceans -- a lacklustre nature film narrated by Pierce Brosnan -- is just one of a relentless parade of leaden movies that have been pumped out by the venerable Disney entertainment empire over the past decade or so. Oh, there's Toy Story 3 on the horizon, and gems from Fantasia to Finding Nemo in Walt's vault, but something's up at Disney. It's as if the 89-year-old institution has lost its mojo.
What Snow White needs is a dose of Betty White, who at 88 is surely the mother of reinvention. Read more, in my column in today's Sun, as well as stories on Betty White's much-anticipated turn this weekend as host of Saturday Night Live.
Even as Hollywood is enjoying a boffo year at the box office (can you say Avatar), there are people who avidly avoid the cineplex. Lots of reasons for that, including the obvious: the price of admission is too steep, the food selection sucks, renting DVDs is easier and cheaper, parking is too expensive, too many people talk, text and answer their ringing phones throughout the movie, and if you're not a child or a male under 35 there's often not much on tap of interest.
But there are other reasons, too, detailed in an interesting story by The Sun's Marke Andrews, reporting this week on the movie industry's Show Canada conference in Vancouver.
Seems age and ethnicity are becoming big factors, on a global scale, in why consumers are preferring to watch movies from their family rooms. Seniors, the conference was told, don't like traipsing across a parking lot and then having to drink Coke from a plastic cup that's as big as garbage can, and they aren't fussy about the product Hollywood is pumping out, either. And then there are the millions of Canadians who have come here from somewhere else, who love movies, but can't find big-screen offerings from places like India and China, much less some ethnic fare to enjoy while watching them.
What keeps you from away from the local cineplex?
It's that time of the year, the time of the cinematic doldrums, those months between the Christmas and summer blockbuster movie seasons when there's precious little reason to visit the local cinema.
Kick-Ass? Hot Tub Time Machine? Death at a Funeral? Date Night? It's slim pickings these days, unless you're a child, a teenybopper or a young adult male who's into crude (don't say it). For movie buffs of a certain age -- that is, none of the above -- these weeks between December and June are providing some pretty lacklustre selections at the cineplex. Where one is usually not wanting for a few movies that are worth the price of admission most weekends -- not to mention a snack and maybe even parking, if you're an urbanite, so it's not cheap date -- a quick look at the local box office listings finds you coming up short. And you are again reminded, and feel admiration for, all those movie critics who attend movie previews, week after week, which sounds like a dream job until you realize that so much of what they're required to review is utterly forgettable. So, when those of us who aren't professional critics but just love movies can't seem to find a reason to plunk ourselves into a theatre seat, well . . . you get the picture.
Here's the slim pickings du jour, as an example, lifted from today's newspaper listings for Silvercity Coquitlam:
Death at a Funeral: oh please. a cavalcade of corny, if the critics are to be believed, and mostly I believe them.
Kick-Ass: see young adult male, above.
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo: a maybe.
Date Night: don't get Tina Fey or Steve Carell, don't find them that funny and sure don't want to pay to see them not be funny together.
Clash of the Titans: YAM
The Last Song: see teenybopper, above
How to Train Your Dragon: saw it, liked it, thought it a little rough going for kids under five
Hot Tub Time Machine: YAM
Diary of a Wimpy Kid: see child, above
The Bounty Hunter: Gerard Butler notwithstanding, Jennifer Aniston can't act beyond Rachel Greene
She's Out of My League: YAMs and TBs
Green Zone: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Alice in Wonderland: love Johnny Depp but will wait for video night
The Ghost Writer: maybe
Shutter Island: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Avatar: saw it, loved it, can't wait for Thursday DVD release
Kenny Chesney: Summer in 3-D: he's dull in 2-D
Oceans: just turn on the National Geographic channel
National Theatre Live Habit of Art: huh
And there are more, but they involve gas mileage, and, at least to this movie-goer, don't seem quite compelling enough: Greenberg, Chloe, Formosa Betrayed, A Shine of Rainbows, The Last Station, The Runaways, The Hurt Locker . . . .
And then there's the really bad news: A look-ahead shows the lineup for summer 2010 movie releases isn't much better, another long list of remakes and frat boy humour.
They say we get the movies we deserve, and that may be true. But Hollywood has just enjoyed a banner year at the box office, and cinematic history is seldom built on mediocrity.
This week, movie scouts are looking for a Vancouver-area location in which to start shooting Caesar: Rise of the Apes. The film, being billed as a prequel, will be the seventh in the Planet of the Apes franchise, which first hit theatres back in 1968.
In case you haven't noticed, Hollywood is obsessed with sequels and prequels and remakes, which is why in theatres this year alone we have Clash of the Titans, The Karate Kid, Red Dawn, Iron Man 2, Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps and Toy Story 2. In the works? Sequels and remakes of Independence Day, American Pie, Ghostbusters, The A-Team and Smurfs, to name just a few.
It's a lucrative business tactic, not only attracting new audiences to newly scripted story lines, but catering to a built-in audience that consists mostly of those coveted young adult males and those deep-pocketed baby boomers who not only love nostalgia but want their children, and their children's children, to love it, too.
But one wonders how much recycling cinephiles will tolerate, especially as ticket prices rise and especially when it's becoming more and more apparent that producers and scriptwriters seem increasingly unable to come up with original ideas these days.
Read more in my column today in The Vancouver Sun.
Yours might be Barefoot in the Park. Or King Kong. Or Sex in the City. Or maybe it's Sleepless in Seattle, where the best scene in the film is not one of the many shot in the Emerald City, but in fact the one that takes place between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks at the end of the movie, on the viewing terrace of the Empire State Building, in New York City.
And now, because we have lists for everything and because any public relations person worth their salt has a good gimmick, we give you Grayline Bus Tours of New York Top 10 movies in which New York, arguably, is the star. And, natch, the firm is offering tours to all the hotspots featured in these films, including the Fifth Avenue Tiffany's store so adored by Audrey Hepburn's Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's, and Katz's Deli, with that famous orgasmic scene in When Harry Met Sally.
Here is the company's list. See if you agree.
1) The Godfather
2) Miracle on 34th Street
3) Breakfast at Tiffany’s
4) Wall Street
5) West Side Story
6) Rosemary’s Baby
7) When Harry Met Sally
8) King Kong
9) Spider-Man
10) Saturday Night Fever
How To Train Your Dragon may have lit a fire at the box office this weekend -- the latest blockbuster release from the prolific CGI animation studios at DreamWorks earned $43.3 million its first weekend, knocking Alice in Wonderland off her 3D perch -- but if you're thinking of taking your toddler and expecting a dreamy 90 minutes of mirth and merriment, if you're expecting the warm and fuzzy charm of Pixar's FInding Nemo or Disney's cheesy The Princess and the Frog, you might want to think again.
How To Train Your Dragon revolves around misfit Viking teen Hiccup (voiced by Jay Baruchel), whose nerdy smarts and lack of bravery and dragon-fighting skills embarrasses his Scottish-tongued Norse dad Stoick (Gerard Butler), the biggest baddest Viking of all and the ruler of their village, and endears him to Stoick's trusty sidekick Gobber (Craig Ferguson), who is the resident dragon-fighting trainer. Their little village, built on the edge of the stormy seas, is regularly besieged by dragons, fearsome pests that attack the village and make off with livestock and, occasionally, the leg of a villager. Theirs is an age-old quest to rid the land of the winged pestilence, and for elders like Stoick, it's a life-long goal.
Not surprisingly, the move is vintage DreamWorks, all gorgeous animation and big-eyed protagonists, all rollercoaster adventure ride and moral-to-the-story cinematic lesson. The dragons are fantastical creatures, especially Toothless, who looks like a black cat crossed with a lizard, and is tamed by Hiccup after he accidentally shoots down the fierce and dreaded Night Fury, and ends up building him a new tail to help him fly again.
It's a classic tale -- war vs. peace, boy vs. otherworldly creature, good vs. evil. And if you've seen the trailer, or the television ads, you'd be expecting a light-hearted romp, a great way to spend an afternoon with the kids.
You'd be wrong, especially if those kids are under, say, seven or eight.
I took my five-year-old granddaughter to the Sunday matinee. She's a movie veteran, and has been coming with me to the local theatre since she was two. At my urging, my three-year-old grandson and his mom joined us. It was his second movie in a theatre, the first being Alvin and the Chipmunks, which he loved, and this looked to be another winner in my quest to turn him into a movie buff. Most of the other children in the theatre were also under the age of six, and there were even a few babies, not yet of walking age.
Turns out, they were all too young for this movie, which became clear fairly early on, as most of the kids watching the movie began squirming, while others cried and not a few were heard to say "Mommy, I want to go" and "Mommy, I'm scared." My two made it to the end, insisting they didn't want to leave, which in hindsight might have been the better option, given the three-year-old kept looking up at the sky on the ride home.
Why?
Because How to Train Your Dragon is loud, very loud. And violent, very violent. Cartoon violent, but violent nonetheless, from beginning to end, so much so that if you are a parent or a grandparent on the edge of your seat throughout the entire film it's because you're hoping the next scene will provide some relief from the non-stop battle scenes, the noise and fighting, the catapults and knives and ravenous screeching dragons looking to snap off someone's head.
It starts with the movie's too-long opening sequence, with hundreds of menacing dragons swooping in on the village, setting houses on fire with their roaring incendiary breath and spreading panic among the screaming kids, who run amok in the village as the burly Viking elders fight back with all manner of crude medieval weapons of mass destruction. And much of the movie is like that, big-clawed sabre-toothed winged creatures threatening to carry off the young 'uns while Stoick and his troops focus only on waging war, angry Norsemen against the evil dragon hordes, all while half a dozen teenage dragon-slaying trainees talk with relish about killing this dragon and maiming that dragon and slaying those dragons in order to gain acceptance and admiration from their peers. (Funny, there are no mom Vikings in the movie, just the male warriors and the two ball-busting teen girls, including Hiccup's sweetheart Astrid, voiced by America Ferrara.) And if the pesky dragons aren't scary enough, there's the mother ship back at the creepy lair, a dragon so fearsome and deadly that even Stoick cowers in its presence, so scary that Godzilla would turn tail and run.
All of which would be fine, if the movie had been aimed at the teen and young adult crowd. But you won't find that distinction in the marketing, or in most of the reviews --and How To Train Your Dragon is getting generally critical raves -- nor much in the way of warning even at the theatre. The film is rated PG, and the only heads-up you're likely to get is if you do some advance research online, where you'll find reviews that warn of "sequences of intense action and some scary images, and brief mild language," the latter referring to the occasion "hell" being bandied about by the cranky Viking elders. Other reviews, in newspapers and magazines, refer to the film as a "delightfully boisterous romp" and "big bold and colourful" and "entertaining, witty and had heart" and a "fire-breathing dipping, diving ride" and "it's bright, good-looking and has high energy."
That's true. But it's also surprisingly violent, and for many youngsters, not exactly kids' stuff.
Can it be their men simply can't compete with the little golden man? Or that a celebrity marriage can't handle a beautiful and famous and rich wife? Whatever the reason, there sure seems to be a pattern, if the latest news of Hollywood infidelity is to be believed, as the Internet is afire this week with titillating details of the cheating heart of Jesse James, motorcycle madman and badboy husband of beloved American sweetheart Sandra Bullock. Word is that within days of delivering that lovely heart-rending acceptance speech, for Best Actress in The Blind Side, Bullock has cancelled appearances in London and moved out of the couple's home. She could be sick, or renovating, or maybe not so happy about the news that Michelle "Bombshell" McGee -- a tattoo model and stripper who's inked from stem to stern and apparently doesn't like clothing -- claims she has been messing around with Bullock's beau since early 2009, all through the filming of the movie, all through James's dull normal appearance on The Celebrity Apprentice, all through the awards show season and many a tearful speech in which Bullock professed love for her man, and in which her man, dressed uncharacteristically in a tuxedo, beamed from the front row.
Another pop culture couple has bit the dust,? Well, that's no surprise. And, really, nobody's business. But it does raise an interesting question:
Is it the curse of Oscar? For the answer, one might turn to Halle Berry, Kate Winslet, Kim Basinger, Angelina Jolie and Hilary Swank. All won Oscars, and all ended up in divorce court not soon after.
There's a Harvard case study in there somewhere.
And so it begins, the 82nd Annual Academy Awards, after hours and hours of red carpet fashion -- which is now officially longer than the actual show -- and pre-show interviews in which Best Picture rivals and famous exes James Cameron and Kathryn Bigelow declared the other should win, in which primary colours and one-shouldered gowns ruled the walk of fame, in which Hollywood showed once again that the movie biz is as much about glitz and glam as it is about, well, movies.
And finally, inside the Kodak Theatre, the night begins with a dazzling lineup of Best Actor and Best Actress nominees on the stage, introduced and escorted into their seats.
And then it's game on, as Neil Patrick Harris ("I know, what am I doing here?") and we wonder that, too, singing and dancing when Oscar co-hosts Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin, the most anticipated Oscar emcee duet since, well, ever, are more than a little perfect for the job. Harris is peppy but off-key, like a bad Broadway opening night.
Finally, the pros from Dover are off, and Martin and Baldwin are about to show how it's done; dropping from the ceiling in a cage with show girls and tripping down the stairs, hand in hand, to centre stage. Hi, I'm Steve, hi I'm Alec, and the laughs are on. A dig at Meryl Streep, a discussion of the double-digit Best Picture category and why it's a good thing (Christopher Plummer gets a nomination for The Last Station). The boys get off to a rocky start, though, the monologue a little stilted, but soon things smooth out as they find their feet and get into a groove, working their way through some of the movies and stars nominated this year and pointing out Hollywood royalty in the crowd -- ("There's that damn Helen Mirren." "Steve, that's Dame Helen Mirren." Okay, that's funny.) Woody Harrelson? "He's so high." "Is that the director of Avatar,James Cameron?" and they put on 3D glasses, all the better to see his magnificence. Oh, look his ex is sitting in front of him. Let's rag Clooney. And Inglourious Basterds, that's fun. Hey, where's Brangelina? "And there's the beautiful Sandra Bullock. Who doesn't love Sandra Bullock? Well, tonight, we may find out." "And, oh, there is Jeff Bridges. What a great career, nominated five times. Who else has been nominated five times?" Camera pans to a fake gloomy Clooney. Nice.
First presenter: Penelope Cruz. That'll get pulses racing. Especially Javier Bardem's. And the Best Supporting Actor goes to? Matt Damon, no. Woody Harrelson, no. Christopher Plummer, no. Stanley Tucci, no. Christoph Waltz, yes. For Inglourious Basterds. Can you say surprise? Can you say "Oscar and Penelope, that's an uber-bingo." Which is what he said.
Ryan Reynolds (yum) introduces The Blind Side, and then it's Cameron Diaz and Steve Carell (get her, don't get him) and a little bit from the animated stars of the animated film nominees: Fantastic Mr. Fox, Coraline, The Secret of Kells, The Princess and The Frog, Up. And the wonderful Up takes the Oscar for Best Animated Feature, and there goes the little film's chance for Best Picture, for which it was also nominated.
Are you kidding with Miley Cyrus? What the hell is she doing at the Oscars? Like that's going to boost the sagging ratings. And alongside classy Amanda Seyfried to boot. Doesn't compute. Even when introducing the nominated songs. Crazy Heart takes it, and the winner, in what may be the best acceptance speech of the night, says to his wife: "I love you more than rainbows."
Vancouver-made District 9, the sleeper this year, gets a little preview shoutout. Go Canada Go. Oh, that was the Olympics.
Baldwin's back. Hey, Robert Downey Jr., love the blue sunnies. And being able to pronounce specificity. Tina Fey. Don't get her. Writer vs. actor skit. He wins. Skit continues with Best Original Screenplay. Fey still not funny. Uh, oh, The Hurt Locker wins. Cameron looks worried. Winner tells of being a war reporter, which explains his hair. Go journalism go.
Is it just me, or is this thing moving rather quickly? And where are Martin and Baldwin? Molly Ringwald doesn't look like Molly Ringwald used to look, and neither does Matthew Broderick, but their tribute to the late John Hughes is lovely. Hey, Ferris Bueller and Pretty in Pink, good job. "When you grow up, your heart die." is vintage John Hughes, and every memorial frame screams: Don't you forget about me. And out come a host of his baby stars all grown up, from Jon Cryer to Macauley Culkin to Ally Sheedy. The Hughes family, seated in the audience, takes a bow.
Boom, next. Samuel Jackson, Kangol cap on backward, does Up. Can we go to commercial now?
Taylor Hackford, Helen Mirren's husband and a somewhat renowned filmmaker even before he married The Queen, joins a number of directors opining on the subject of short film. John Lasseter: "You know, one of the things I like most about short films. They're short. They're kind of like the jewellery box of storytelling."
Best Animated Short does to Logorama, a French film we can all agree no one has seen. At least on this side of the pond. Best Documentary Short? Music By Prudence. Ditto. Hey, who's the carrot-top crasher interrupting the winner's speech? Kanye in a wig? Camera pans to real-life Prudence in the audience. Confusion. What's next, a streaker. Best Live Action Short? The New Tenants. Ditto, minus the crasher. Which isn't to say they aren't great films. Write if you've seen one.
Ben Stiller does a mean Na'vi in his best blue Pandora makeup. "It was between this and the Nazi uniform but the show seemed a little Hitler heavy." He fights with his avatar tail a bit and then awards Best Makeup -- Avatar wasn't even nominated -- to Star Trek. Seriously? Are they still making Star Treks? And why wasn't that bit funnier? Ben in blue. It should have been a hoot.
Holy handsome, Jeff Bridges is in the house. "This is A Serious Man." The movie. Not the actor, who is about to win his first Academy Award after five nominations, if the Oscar gods know what's good for them.
Jake and Rachel (Gyllenhaal and McAdams) and Best Adapted Screenplay. Love the original book covers and the screenplay script, in elite typewriter font, showing on the screen as nominees are announced, McAdams reading mini scenes. And the winner is: Precious. a movie that if you haven't seen, you should. Its ugly truths are hard to watch, and will stay with you. An acceptance speech with emotion and tears, on the stage and in the audience.
Finally, Martin breaks the ice. "I wrote that speech for him."
The other Queen, Latifah, goes on about some boring event held earlier this week called The Governors Awards, which apparently means a lot to the creme de la creme of Hollywood but not so much to us plebes. Although the winner of whatever the statue was, Lauren Bacall, and her joke about being thrilled at "having a two-legged man in her room" are worth the price of admission.
Hey, Robin Williams is sober. And wearing glasses. "The Governors Ball. Just one of many balls being held all over Hollywood tonight." And he hands the golden bobble to the newest Best Supporting Actress, fellow comedian Monique. Perfect choice. See Precious, above. But can't help wondering, as she thanks the universe (and Hattie McDaniel, Tyler Perry, Oprah, husband Sidney, my Precious family . . . ) if she shaved her legs. Because, you know, she doesn't. And doesn't mind relating the details.
Our favourite Alien, Sigourney Weaver, hands Avatar its first Oscar of the evening for Best Set Decoration, like that's a bolt out of the blue.
Clothes whores. Okay, best line of the night, Steve. So far. But why does Baldwin look like he's wearing a footballer's shoulder pads.
SJP, adjusting her straps, and designer/director Tom Ford, stiff as a mannequin, take us through Best Costume Design -- and we're reminded that this is the part of the Oscars designed for the bathroom break. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. And the winner is: The Young Victoria. Unless you're Coco Chanel, you're still in the loo. And would have missed Sandy Powell's awesome hat.
Monster Charlize Theron, who's newly mateless and might want to hook up with sad sack single Jake Gyllenhaal (just like typing Gyllenhaal), gives us a look at Precious. Hmmm, this little powerhouse might just take the night.
The Twilight kids, the wolf and would-be vampire Taylor Lautner and Kristen Stewart, talk up horror films with a little gorefest featuring quickie clips from Jaws, which isn't so much horror as reality, Psycho, which changed showering forever, The Shining, chainsaws, The Exorcist, Chuckys, Freddies, redrum and babies belonging to Rosemary. And lots of screaming and instruments of torture. This, one assumes, is the portion of the show meant to attract younger viewers. Nice.
The Hurt Locker wins Best Sound Editing. Consider it a gift if you're still in the loo. The Hurt Locker wins Best Sound Mixing. Loo. Better. I'll call you when they pan to the big hurt, James Cameron.
Okay, I go to the movies every week. Seen hundreds and hundreds of films. Who is Elizabeth Banks, and what the hell is she talking about. Phew, saved by John Travolta, and his new toupee, and a peek at his buddy Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds. Where's Brangelina? And who's the Jesus avatar sitting behind Tarantino.
Okay, it's 7:30. An hour, or more, to go. Gotta say, this is dullsville. Perhaps it's the lack of the nominated songs being sung by famous people (Celine, where are you?), which would at least be entertaining. Maybe it's that Steve and Alec are seldom onstage and when they are, they fall a bit flat, a big disappointment given their talent. Maybe, in the midst of all the other awards shows clogging up the television universe, the Oscars has just become another cheesy celebfest with fake smiles and dull speeches. Where's the emotion. Where's the humour. Where are the streakers.
Don't care what Randolph Duke says: Sandra Bullock's red lips are awesome. Hey, Avatar wins another, but Cameron's wife Suzy Amis is so anorexic it's painful to look. Demi Moore, in the best gown of the evening (after Bullock's), introduces James Taylor who sings The Beatles' In My Life, a touching memorial tribute as the faces of the departed flash across the screen. Always wonder who'll get the biggest applause: Patrick Swayze. Michael Jackson. Karl Malden. Three-way tie.
Are they kidding with the dancers and their artistic interpretations of the five nominated Oscar scores? Like a recital at the local gym. Or maybe we've been spoiled by the Olympics opening and closing ceremonies. Whatever, this is snoozeville. Bring on So You Think You Can Dance. And Best Original Score goes to Up. Watch the movie. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll sing. There's that guy, accepting the Up Oscar, talking about dying again.
Gerard Butler and Bradley Cooper. Holy hunks. What is this, a Jennifer Aniston dream. Where's John Mayer. Avatar wins Best Visual Effects. More people calling the king Jim.
Avatar and The Hurt Locker. It's becoming a two-horse race.
Best Documentary Feature: Nope, not Michael Moore but The Cove, a grisly look at the dolphin slaughter in Japan and another reason that the documentary is perhaps the most unheralded Oscar category of all. Fisher Stevens, is that you, getting an Academy Award?
You want a movie mogul? How about Tyler Perry. "They just said my name at the Oscars. Better enjoy it because it'll probably not happen again." Except for that Precious thing. The Hurt Locker takes it for Best Film Editing. Best acceptance gloves.
Must be down to the final five or so -- song, actress, actor, director, picture -- because they're threatening to bring out Sean Penn and he doesn't do anything that isn't scary serious. But first Pedro and Quentin, the mentors, respectively, of Cruz and Travolta, and the announcers of Argentina's The Secret in Their Eyes, winner of Best Foreign Language Film. And then Kathy Bates, with a little Best Picture nominee action with Avatar. Meanwhile, think what you'll talk about around the water cooler at work tomorrow. This keeps up, it won't be the Oscars. Hoping James Cameron wins just he can get all arrogant and self-aggrandizing and give us something to share with strangers on transit.
What's this: Michelle Pfeiffer makes Jeff Bridges cry. Vera Farmiga drools over George Clooney. Julianne Moore lauds Colin Firth. Tim Robbins loves Morgan Freeman. Colin Farrell spoons with Jeremy Renner. A cool innovative way to introduce Best Lead Actor. But there can only be one winner on this Oscar night, and it's Crazy Heart's Jeff Bridges. As it should be. Five times nominated. One big win. He may look like a cross between Colonel Sanders and George Custer up there on the stage, but he's all crazy heart. "Thank you mom and dad for turning me on to such a groovy profession . . . This is as much them as it is me."
And now the intro for Best Actress nominees: Forest Whitaker on a luminous Sandra Bullock, Michael Sheen on Helen Mirren, Peter Skarsgard on Carey Mulligan, Oprah Winfrey on (quelle surprise) Gabourey Sidibe, a weeping Gabourey Sidibe, and Stanley Tucci on a teary Meryl Streep, who's won this rodeo more than once, deservedly so. Hey, there's Sean, and is that a smile. "I never became an official member of the Academy." Like, who cares, Sean. Give us the name: And the winner is . . . Sandra Bullock. Who looks shocked. "Did I really earn this or did I just wear you all down?" A lovely shoutout to her co-nominees, the Touhey family of the movie, "I would like to thank the moms that take care of the babies and the children no matter where they come from." "So, if I could take this moment to thank Helga D . . ." a nod to her mom. And there isn't a dry eye in the house. Even hubby Jesse James, the tough guy, was weepy. But maybe because she didn't thank him. Just a thought.
Barbra Streisand, not holding a grudge that she never won the Best Director Oscar and bold enough to wear a doily to the Academy Awards, looks fab and hands the golden statue to Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker, the first woman to ever win the award. Her ex, James Cameron, is postively beaming. Okay, maybe not. Because you know what it means when someone wins Best Director . . .
And then there was one. One award. And who better than to give it away: Tom Hanks, trying to explain why there are 10 great films. And without further ado and six Oscars later, the runaway winner of this horse race is:
The Hurt Locker.
There's a new king of the world. And he's a she.
Have you noticed that, at some point in the past few years, the Academy Awards became more like a Super Bowl than a simple award show on a Sunday night? That it's now become an all-day event, which this year started on Sunday at 1:30 p.m. with a series of eTalk Oscar specials, sequing on another network into On The Red Carpet program that began at 3 p.m. with live streaming running simultaneously on the official Academy Awards website.
For if the 82nd Annual Academy Awards, staged once again at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood, officially starts at 5 p.m., the action getsunder way long before co-hosts Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin kick things off.
And this year, there are many early birds. There's Anna Kendrick, nominated for Best Supporting Actress for Up in the Air, wearing pale draping champagne-coloured chiffon with a tousled updo and lots of bling. There's Mariah Carey and hubby Nick Cannon, nominated for nothing much -- although Mariah was rather good all stripped down and undiva-like in Precious, but she's suitably outfitted for Hollywood's night of nights, wearing tight royal navy jersey with the obligatory split front and, of course, abundant cleavage, he in understated tux. Much like Sam Worthington, star of Avatar, who's wandering along the red crpet, all dashing in a tux, attached to some lovely arm candy wearing, what else, blue
And so it begins, up on fashion skyway and down on the ground, reporting from the bleachers and inside the the venue, a host of haute couture commentatorslike Randolph Duke who, between observations, are complaining about the rain -- yes, it does rain in paradise -- and the tents and umbrellas are out. The red carpet is actually 500 feet long, as the stars spill out of the blocks-long lineup of limos and make their waytoward the last 100 or so where the flashbulbs pop and the fans shriek, all the while dodging those probing media questions, such as "who are you wearing?"
Hello, Ryan Reynolds. My, we do grow them pretty up here in Vancouver, don't we? Reynolds is surely on hand to cheer his co-star from The Proposal, Sandra Bullock, who looks to be queen of the evening, ad odds-on favourite for Best Actress for her steel magnolia turn in The Blind Side (and how fun is it that, just last night, she was awarded a Razzie for worst actress for the same role. Like Halle Berry, she actually showed up to pick up her Razzie, which most winners don't. We just hope she shows up at the Oscars with that hunky man of hers, Jesse James. Says Reynolds: "She's kind and self-deprecating." As for him: "I'e had the best year ever." Married to Scarlet Johansson might have something to do with that.
The king of the world is in the house, so as not to be late to his own party, and if James Cameron didn't get a haircut for the big event, at least his wife Suzy Amis is wearing Avatar blue, perhaps to distract Cameron's ex-wife Kathryn Bigelow whose The Hurt Locker is said to be Avatar's biggest competitor for the Best Picture nod. Turns out Amis's dress is blue but is green, too. But she could use a meal or two, no?
The limos are lining up. There's Tina Fey (don't get her at all), Sigourney Weaver (the sci-fi queen) in brilliant red, and quirky Maggie Gyllenhaal (how lucky was she to star alongside Best Actor shoo-in Jeff Bridges in the wonderful Crazy Heart? Oh, and she's nominated, too, for Best Supporting Actress) and is wearing a blue/black tie-dyed dress though it's probably the most expensive tie-dye we'll see all night. And Monique, wearing blue, too, which clearly is the colour of the night, and a Billie Holiday-style white gardenia in her hair. Ooh, lovely Vera Farmiga, and Amanda Seyfried, on what is going to be a night of youth. Kathy Bates. What, exactly, is all this star power going to do for the next 90 minutes? Hang around the Kodak lobby? Play musical chairs? Do crosswords?
Jeremy Renner, star of The Hurt Locker for which he is up for Best Actor, has his mom Valerie on his arm and how good a son is he? She's gorg, in white tailored shirt and black wrap, her boy wearing silver tie and pocket square. Hey, there's Sandra Bullock, all draped in silver, or is that gold, brocade, which we hope is a good sign and there's that bad boy hubby, black on black, watching off to the side. "The dress does make the woman," she says to the guy with the mike. Hair's down, long and wavy, lips are bright red. All-American girl, indeed. Duke says the gown is "stunning" and asymetric embroider lace detail with a slinky train, and "she looks a million feet tall, a sliver. My only critique is the lipstick colour." Please, what does he know from lipstick.
Speaking of fashion, designer *** producer Tom Ford, one of those guys in the biz who is better looking than his work, is hoping his A Single Man brings Colin Firth the Best Actor nod. Forget the fashion, says Ford, it's all about the film. Tell that to Penelope Cruz, up for Best Supporting Actress for that awful musical mess Nine and who would look good wearing a towel, which is more than she wore in the movie. She's doing red for Oscar, which is running a close second to the night's blue gown brigade. And if the Hollywood glam is going for bold and primary, the men are all class, in Armani and Hugo Boss, understated tuxes and quiet ties.
Okay, 4 p.m., and Miley Cyrus has just emerged from the security tent, along with cowboy royalty Tim McGraw (The Blind Side) and Faith Hill. Talk about crossover. And Miley Cyrus? Did she get lost on the way to the Hannah Montana set? And is she wearing a corset? Hey Miley, you'e 17. Word is Twilight's Kristen Stewart and wolfman Taylor Lautner -- the new young turks of Hollywood -- will be hitting the red carpet shortly. Wonder if Edward, aka Robert Pattinson, is hiding in the bushes. Oh, there's Nicole Richie wearing something caftanish, fiance Joel Madden to hand. More blue, more red. Hello, Helen Mirren, all soft and regal in baby blue. Forget her acting skill (she's up for Best Actress for The Last Station) -- we'd like someone to ask her how she manages to still rock a red bikini at 64.
Jake Gyllenhaal, sans Reese Witherspoon and who knows who dumped who, cleans up rather well and is on hand, it seems, to talk about sister Maggie and her Crazy Heart turn. "I'm a pretty tough critic," says bro Jake, "and I love the movie." Well, that should clinch it.
Okay, sorry, but what the hell is presenter Sarah Jessica Parker wearing, besides a giant bun on the back of her head and a mint green gown with a blue sparkly bouquet on her boobs. Kind of a '60s thing. Okay, hang on, she turned around. The gown is actually kind of cool, weird strap, interesting back fold. Duke says "modern, Napoleanic, groovy, I like it. So far, she's in my Top 5."
George Clooney is clowning around with the proletariat behind chain link fencing across the street from the Kodak. The sun's shining again, the George is signing autographs, all fan-friendly and good guy. Heads up, folks, he has a new do.
Carey Mulligan, another member of Hollywood's youth brigade, is channelling Mia Farrow with her gamine pixie haircut, chandelier earrings and sweet response to questions about her chances for taking home Best Actress honors for An Education. She's wearing a black strapless with scissors and forks all over. "I have no idea," she says. Neither do we. Duke says she's "fresh, young, the Audrey Hepburn of the modern age." Well, not quite.
Holy bombshell Kathryn Bigelow. "I wish him well," she says of ex James Cameron and her arch rival of the night. If she wins Best Director, she'll be the first women to do so.
Duke is whining about the posing the starlets are doing. "The younger girls looked overdressed." "Look, she struggling with the dreass." "Meryl Streep even poses with her hands on her hips." "I wish we weren't so distracted by the fashion." Say what? Isn't that the point?
Ah, Mr. Clooney, his tartlet du jour (who can keep track and why doesn't he date women his own age, for heaven's sake. Oh right, because he doesn't have to) by his side in bright red glam looking all bored, his new do creating a silver shelf over his handsome wrinkled forehead. A little Haiti discussion, a few quips and he's gone.
Zoe Zaldana's dress a hot mess? Nah. Samuel Jackson wearing best tux of the night? Well, only if you the best accessory of the evening: his backwards cap. Wife Latonya Richardson is wearing some fabulous sparkler around her neck, so heavy it outweighs Suzy Amis, and which she says is a birthday present from the husband and "you can tell it was some birthday."
Again, with the blue gowns. "Yes, I do look hot," says Gabourey Sidibe, and she does, and might just win Best Actress for her amazing job in Precious.
Hey, former Oscar winner Matt Damon, and wife Luciano, who is walking her first red carpet since they married seven years ago, or so he says because she's shy and doesn't say much, in a pink nightgowny strapless number. Kirsten Stewart, hair up, looking far older than Bella Swan ever did. And then along comes acting royalty, Meryl Streep. Love her. Love her dress. Which is white, long-sleeved, figure-flattering and which stands out like a bright light in the primary colour crowd. Love her sassiness. "I think she's fantastic" she says about all the other nominees in her Best Actress (Julie & Julia) category.
And then, Jeff (yum) and Sue Bridges. Class on toast. Even with the scrubby beard and long locks, he''s the magic man. No one works crow's feet, or a movie role, or a Gucci tux, like Jeff Bridges. He better be taking home the hardware.
Even dressed up, director Quentin Tarantino still looks like he just got out of the shower. "I would love to do another horror film again," he says. Like that's a surprise. Question is, can he win one of the eight Oscars that his Inglourious Basterds is nominated for? Hey, Queen Latifah is wearing the colour purple. Jewelled one shoulder, "a continuous curve on her body, and the colour is delicious," says Duke. "I think it's maybe the best I've ever seen her." Clearly missed her leopard-print ensemble in Hairspray. Susan and Robert Downey Jr., the only movie star who can get away with wearing a tux with a blue bowtie and matching blue-tinted sunglasses. Yummy, part two.
It's 5 p.m. and can it be true: another red carpet show which makes it hour three of steady stream of fab gowns and dangly earrings, of gratituous comments, of cheese and charm. Model Kathy Ireland takes on Jake Gyllenhaal, clearly not the easiest of interviewees, perhaps a little cranky now that he's single. Sherri Shepherd takefawning all over Clooney, whose hair is still ledge-like but fetching cuz it's George and whose girlfriend Elisabetta still looks young and bored. Bullock, we learn, is wearing Marquesa (like, who cares). " I'm thinking, like, a nice juicy burger and some double fries and maybe a milkshake," is what she says she'll eat after the show. Which is why we love her. Zac Efron? Did he get lost on the way home from Hairspray? "I feel like we're at the beginning of a brand new phase of film." We do? Matt Damon saying the accent was harder than the rugby in Invictus. More Mirren (in Badgley Mischka and Chopard, but who cares) and co-star Christopher Plummer (another handsome Canadian, doncha know). Freeman showing off some cool jewellery, and his daughter, that will be auctioned off for charity (the jewellery, not the daughter.) Steve Carell. Don't get him. See Tina Fey, above. Jennifer Lopez in Armane Prive, "you have to feel good in it, you have to be able to walk around all night, it just have to have that wow factor." Her wow factor was lilac with a giant bow at the waist. Looked mighty fine. Parker remembers her first Oscar dress by Calvin Klein and "it was very short and had a deep slit in it." Cameron Diaz looking so grown up, long wavy hair and strapless Oscar de la Renta. "All of them are so wonderful," she says about the 10 -- count 'em, 10 -- nominated movies. Gerard Butler, sans rumoured BFF Jennifer Aniston. Speaking of hot messes, where's Brangelina? Kate Winslet in metallic grey, and a necklace that is rather Titanic-ish.
And so, as the show, you know, the real show, the Oscars, is about to begin, a little red carpet recap: It was a strapless affair on the walk of fame tonight, lots of glitz and glam and old Hollywood, from the one-shoulder dresses and elegant draping, from the updos to the long casual curls. Loved Mulligan's cheeky cutlery dress, Streep's snowy white, Parker's quirky retro gown. Vera Farmiga's ruffled mess was just that, and Bullock is the best-dressed of the night.
And the colours of the night? Bold and beautiful. For the women, Avatar blue and red, red, red. Oh, and black and bowties for the boys, natch. Because it's Oscar night and high style never goes out of fashion.
That's the headline, at the least the first part of it, from an article published today in the venerable and usually reliable Los Angeles Times, which is reporting that Aussie ruffian Russell Crowe and bootylicious Beyonce are teaming up for a remake of A Star is Born, the story of a burned-out superstar who falls in love with a beautiful and much younger up-and-comer.
This would be the fourth remake of the movie -- the 1954 version starred Judy Garland -- and the first since its most famous incarnation released in 1976 and starring Barbra Streisand and Kris Kristofferson, a movie that was not only boffo at the box office but produced one of the best-selling movie soundtracks ever.
The internet's burning up with the big news, much of it focusing on the issue of whether there should be remake at all, as well as the whole interracial pairing -- still a relatively rare occurrence on the big screen and slightly reminiscent, at least in the story line, of Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard. Cyberspace is also aTwitter with talk of how audiences will react to the pairing of 45-year-old Crowe, who's next up in Robin Hood, and the 28-year-old Dreamgirl. Other male leads said to be in the running include Sean Penn and Robert Downey Jr.
Beyonce. Crowe. Canoodling. Yech.
There's no question that the most interesting battle of the evening, come the 82nd annual Academy Awards ceremony on March 7, will focus on Kathryn Bigelow and James Cameron.
She's nominated for best Director and for Best Picture for her powerful The Hurt Locker, and he's nominated for Best Director and Best Picture for his blockbuster Avatar.
No surprise that, but the hitch is that they were once married. To each other, from 1989 to 1991.
And in a lovely turn of destiny, both of their 2009 films have received nine Oscar nominations each, announced today.
Bigelow's much-lauded film, about an Army bomb squad unit in Iraq, is a critical favorite, and is the kind of movie the Academy likes to acknowledge with its golden nod.
But it will be hard to ignore the sheer force of Avatar, the 3D sci-fi depiction of a place called Pandora populated with the blue-hued Na'vi, which has now surpassed Cameron's other epic, Titanic, at the box office, closing in on $2 billion in domestic and international receipts in little more than two months since its release.
Both are up against crowd-pleaser Sandra Bullock's The Blind Side, as well as the sci-fi District 9, A Serious Man, Up in the Air, Up, Inglorious Basterds, Precious and An Education, making it a somewhat crowded and eclectic Oscar mix with 10 films vying for gold.
Also tapped for Best Director Quentin Tarantino (Inglorious Basterds), Lee Daniels (Precious) and Jason Reitman (Up in the Air).
No woman, by the way, has ever won an Oscar for Best Director.
Bigelow, in fact, is only the fourth woman ever nominated – and only one of two Americans, Jane Campion being the other, for The Piano in 1993 – but she's on a winning streak, including taking home the 2009 Directors' Guild of America award for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Motion Pictures, along with another dozen or so other awards for her direction of the movie.
Bigelow has written or directed nine films since her first in 1982, The Loveless, and most of them are off the mainstream radar.
The Hurt Locker, though, isn't.
For that reason alone – and because it's about time a woman gave that acceptance speech -- our money's on her.
Check out the full list of the 2010 Oscar nominations.
SHERLOCK HOLMES
SilverCity Metropolis
Jan. 31, 2010
12:15 p.m.
If you're a Guy Ritchie fan, which is to say that Snatch is in your DVD collection, you'll be looking for the British movie-maker's distinct directorial touch within seconds of the opening credits of this, his latest. (Yes, we know Sherlock Holmes has been in theatre for a month already, but we've been busy.)
No worries. You'll get your Ritchie fix within seconds of the opening credits as the camera jostles sickeningly behind a horse-drawn carriage on a rollicking roll through the dank, cobblestoned streets of 19th-century London. Before you can say Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels you'll be sucked into the Ritchie vortex, two hours of scatter-gun action and sharp-tongued dialogue, of duelling egos and flying fists and bulging villains and slight heroes, of blood and sweat, if not tears, for as you might know Mr. Ritchie is not all that big on the rom-com (for which we blame Madonna) which means there's not a lot of boy/girl liplocking.
In fact, if there is a love story in Sherlock Holmes, and arguably there is, it's between best buds Robert Downey Jr., as the eccentric brilliantly deductive detective, and his erudite long-suffering sidekick Dr. Watson, played by Jude Law.
You don't have to be a Sherlock Holmes fan or aficionado – and many have blasted the movie for inaccuracies and the licence it takes with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's beloved fictional sleuth – to revel in the clever bonding banter between the two accomplished actors, whose whodunit is set against a gritty industrialized hooligan-run London and fashioned by Ritchie as a careening cartoonish shoot-em-up with black magic villains, smelly chemistry, fabulous period fashion and mind-bending problem-solving. Like so much of Ritchie's work, this is a man's movie, though the camp feyness of Downey and Law lend it a somewhat cartoonish air, and it does seem to go on a tad long.
That said, Downey, who like Hugh Grant and Jeff Bridges, always makes a movie, is at his cerebral smart-alecky best (and his accent isn't even that distracting), while Jude is a terrific foil, all handsome and bothered. Rachel McAdams, as Sherlock's love interest, is a bit player in a pretty bustle, and does her best to keep up. Be nice to see Ritchie switch it up a bit in the sequel -- of course, there's a sequel, what with the mysterious Moriarity and the chalk on his lapel and all that chemistry between the blokes -- and give us a story line with some distaff depth. If McAdams, who plays Watson's muse Irene Adler, is indeed his sly intellectual match, then let's get them sparring. And Watson's comely fiancee Mary, played by the freckled Kelly Reilly, seems to be harbouring some dark mystery behind all that beaming goodness and we suspect evil lurks within.
We're not likely to see Ritchie getting any Oscars for this one, but it's a good weekend romp to distract one from the chores of the day, and likely won't be at the local cineplex much longer.