Academy Awards:
Best Picture
In the back pages of the press notes for the Coen brothers' "A Serious Man," where filmmakers always tell you how environmentally sensitive they've been in the course of making the movie, we learn that "No Jews were harmed in the making of this motion picture." OK, it's always good to hear that no one was physically harmed. But when it comes to being subjected to often merciless satire, there are a lot of Jews in this vaguely autobiographical account of the travails of a downtrodden, 1960s-era Jewish physics professor who takes it on the chin.
Seriousman
After seeing the picture myself last night, I'm betting that we won't see many rabbis using the movie as a starting point for any Yom Kippur sermons. Focus Features, which is opening the movie Oct. 2 in New York, L.A. and Minneapolis (the Coens' hometown), doesn't want any reviews of the film up yet. So consider what I have to say as an appreciation, not a critique. I can certainly reveal this much: The rabbis in "A Serious Man" take their lumps from the Coens, who seem to have saved up all the sarcastic remarks and deadpan dismissals they came up with as kids in Hebrew school and worked them into this movie's comic portrayal of empty-headed rabbinical authority.
I'm no expert on Judaism, but as someone who's pretty familiar with Jewish filmmaking, I'd have to say that the Coens are in a category all of their own. Over the past half-century, we've seen all sorts of Jewish sensibilities grafted into our movies and TV shows, from the Borscht Belt mugging of Mel Brooks to the sleek one-liners of Neil Simon to the frat-boy raunch of Adam Sandler and the cranky self-involvement of Larry David. But the Coens are originals. "A Serious Man" offers the occasional whiff of Woody Allen (from his "Deconstructing Harry" era) and a definite kinship with Philip Roth (the movie has a bored, slit-eyed Jewish sexpot housewife who could be right out of "Portnoy's Complaint").
But the Coens are sui generis Semites. They practice the comedy of Jewish alienation. Having grown up in 1960s suburban Minneapolis, the offspring of two college professors (hence the whiff of autobiography in "Serious Man"), their attitude toward alienation is entirely different than if they'd come of age in Westchester or Woodland Hills. Although the film is ostensibly about a beleaguered professor whose life is falling apart (his wife is leaving him; his son owes money to a pot dealer; his daughter wants a nose job; his wonderfully weird, unemployable brother has set up camp on the living room couch), the character the Coens clearly identify with the most is the professor's 13-year-old son, who seems uncannily like a 13-year-old version of Joel Coen (who would have been roughly the same age in 1967, the year in which the movie is set).
Bored and stoned most of the time, the kid bugs his dad to fix the TV antenna so he can watch "F Troop" and passes the time in Hebrew class listening to the Jefferson Airplane on the earpiece of his transistor radio, which sets up one of great jokes of the movie, which I won't give away, except to say that it somehow involves Grace Slick and an ancient, wonderfully inscrutable bearded rabbi. In "A Serious Man," we learn -- and I suppose you could call this one of the fundamental tenets of alienation -- that if you desperately look to wise men, in this case your local rabbis, for answers to the big questions in life, you're bound to be disappointed. It's a lesson the Beatles discovered at nearly the same time as this movie occurs, when they went to India to study with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who ended up being such a disappointment that he was roundly mocked in the White Album's song, "Sexy Sadie."
According to the Coens, "A Serious Man" grew out of a story they wanted to tell about a bar mitzvah boy and a rabbi who was loosely based on a rabbi they knew as kids. As Ethan Coen described him: "This rabbi we knew was a sage, a Yoda. He said nothing, but he had a lot of charisma."
In other words, he was the Coen brothers' perfect idea of a spiritual leader.
An Education' director Lone Scherfig doesn't go by the book
PARK CITY, UTAH — To see Lone Scherfig's "An Education" is to wonder how a film could have such an unerring instinct for human nature with all its foibles and quirks. To meet the engaging, empathetic Danish director at the Sundance Film Festival, where "An Education" had its premiere Sunday, is to have all those questions answered.
Like its predecessors on Scherfig's resume, "Italian for Beginners" and "Waldo Wants to Kill Himself," "An Education" is a keenly observed film whose log line -- the relationship between Carey Mulligan's 16-year-old British schoolgirl and Peter Sarsgaard's older man in 1961 London -- gives no hint at all about the nuanced and unforeseen pleasures it presents.
Good as is, "An Education" was originally intended to be made by British director Beeban Kidron ("Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason"). When Kidron moved to another project, Scherfig got the call -- with costar Sarsgaard already cast -- because she shares both a sensibility and the same London agent with screenwriter Nick Hornby ("High Fidelity"), who adapted this from a memoir by British journalist Lynn Barber.
"Both Nick and I are quite shy, and we are about sharing the humor and the love for people who are like that with the audience," Scherfig says.
"We want to make people understand them and smile at moments seen in a loving way."
To bring this familiar-sounding story to life in a completely unfamiliar way, Scherfig utilized the aesthetic principles that have always guided her. "I avoid things that are too pretentious, too sugar sweet," she says. "Sentimentality never suits anything."
More than that, Scherfig thinks about the relationship between moviegoers and movies in an unusual way. Cinema, she says, is "an interpretive engine between the filmmaker and the audience. Audiences want to feel that the film sees them rather than the other way around. They want to feel understood by the film."
Scherfig also trusts her instincts. Costar Mulligan, who is exceptional as a young woman eager to "talk to people who know lots about lots," had auditioned and been put on tape by the previous regime but was not among the leading contenders before Scherfig viewed all the tapes and said, "How about this one?"
"She moved me," Scherfig says simply when asked to explain her choice for the role of Jenny. "It was more something I felt than something I saw. I liked her as a person, she had timing, humor, she was hard-working and strong enough to go through this process, and she looked like someone you would want to keep looking at."
AVATAR
EXCLUSIVE: PART 1 of the HERO COMPLEX interview
“Go ahead, fire away, I’m your guy.” That’s the first thing James Cameron said to me, and I had to smile – I certainly had plenty to ask him about. I had just sat down and watched about 35 minutes of footage from “Avatar” and, to put it bluntly, I was dazzled. I saw more footage than fans at Comic-Con International (I saw, for instance, a tense scene toward the end of the film as Sam Worthington’s character, Jake Sully, is made a prisoner on the alien world of Pandora) and even found out how the film ends (don’t worry, no spoilers here). But let's get to it -- this is Part 1 of the Hero Complex interview with Oscar-winner Cameron, the 54-year-old Canadian filmmaker whose 20th Century Fox sci-fi epic "Avatar" reaches theaters on Dec. 18.
GB: Jim, congratulations on the film, it’s very, very compelling. I'm excited to see it in its entirety and even more excited to talk to you about it.
JC: Well, thanks; I’m really glad you liked it. And that’s what we were hoping for. We’ve been working like crazy on this for a long time. And what we want is for people to like it, so that’s nice to hear.
GB: I have to say it was refreshing to see a big, special effects film that was not based on a bestselling novel, a comic book, toy, old television show. That’s rare these days, and it’s a treat to go in, sit down and have no idea where the plot and the characters were going to go.
JC: It’s simultaneously one of the great strengths and one of the potential weaknesses. We have no brand value. We have to create that brand value. “Avatar” means something to that group of fans that know this film is coming, but to the other 99% of the public it’s a nonsense word and we have to hope we can educate them. Well, I shouldn’t say a nonsense word – it doesn’t mean anything specific in terms of a brand association. And in fact there may be even a slight negative one because more people know about the Saturday morning cartoon, the anime, than about this particular film. We’ve got to create that [brand] from scratch. On the other hand, ultimately, it is probably the film’s greatest strength in the long run. We’ve had these big, money-making franchise films for a long time, “Star Trek” and “Star Wars,” you know, “Harry Potter,” and there’s a certain sort of comfort factor in that; you know what you’re going to get. But there’s no kind of shock of the new that’s possible with that. It’s been a while since something that took us on a journey, something that grabbed us by the lapels and dragged us out the door and took us on a journey of surprise.
GB: “The Matrix” immediately springs to mind…
JC: Yes, yes, that’s a very, very good example. That’s something where we had no real way of knowing what that film was going to be about and it really just took us on a great ride.
GB: And like “The Matrix,” this movie presents this immersive experience. The alien world and the technology you’re using to tell the story, it’s a big movie .
JC: The story is told very much from character. You go on Jake’s journey with him. It actually starts quite small. It starts close to him, in his apartment with him, and it just expands and expands in scope as it goes along.
GB: I smiled at the “You’re not in Kansas anymore" line when the main character reaches the alien world. There really is this “Wizard of Oz” sense of transportation when the story reaches the planet of Pandora.
JC: Yeah. It’s my favorite movie; I had to get it in there somewhere. The production designer was Rick Carter, who actually played that out. He thought how it was, in some ways, like Dorothy’s journey. I didn’t quite get as much of that [when I first wrote it]. You do things sometimes as a writer subconsciously, things you’re not even aware of. I’m always comfortable doing things instinctively because I see it as taping into this vein of archetype that works for a broader audience base. I don’t question what I’m doing if it feels right. There might be some other references there I might not be aware of.
GB: You wrote the first script for this film almost 15 years ago. While you were waiting for technology to reach the point where it could be made, I’m curious how much of that very earliest story remained intact.
JC: I had to rework to make it possible. My treatment was so expansive and novelistic that it needed to be necked down just to make it something that could be done on the screen. This film is done on an epic scale, but it's done within the parameters of a Hollywood movie. What I found is that instead a script I had written the outline of a novel, and it was just too much story, too much back story, too many secondary characters … but look, sometimes lightning just strikes; you have write everything down, get it done. Better to weed it out later and not miss an idea. It was essentially the longest script, in terms of the amount of time it took me to get a workable draft. The first time I tried, it ended up being more than 200 pages, so I had to go back and throw out big chunks, a lot of ideas went out. But I have to say the essence of all the big ideas stayed and I felt pretty good about that.
GB: The heritage of the project and the mystery of it, since it’s not an adaptation, have created this fairly intense interest among the fanboy sector. That was obvious with the interest leading up to Comic-Con International. Do you feel you have to win fans over now to create the sort of success you want for this movie?
JC: I think there are no real negatives because we aren’t going to get prejudged like “Watchmen” or even a Batman or Spider-Man movie because you don’t have all that history and that huge, brand-based mythology that you have to live up to. We aren’t going to piss anybody off because they don’t know what this thing is. Nobody read the novel, nobody read the graphic novel, we’re not going to be playing against expectation. They aren’t going to be viewing us as a disappointment or letdown before the movie even starts. This is a doorway and they don’t know what’s on the other side. We’re going to open it for them.
There are a lot of fans of this kind of science fiction and fantasy film, and I think it's pretty fertile soil for us. I don’t want to sound like, you know, ‘Pride goeth before the fall,” or too much hubris, but I think we get those fans to support this. I think our greater challenge is the wider public, which isn’t as predisposed to embrace the movie like those fantasy and sci-fi fans. We need to talk to that audience and make them believe that this is a must-see even if they aren’t sci-fi fans. And I’m not putting down Comic-Con fans. When I go down there I’m among my peeps. It’s a great place to unveil “Avatar.”
The making of 'Blind Side' a real-life drama
The saga behind the film is one of rejection, luck and coincidence. But writer-director John Lee Hancock overcame the hurdles.
After Julia Roberts turned down the starring role, executives at 20th Century Fox met with writer-director John Lee Hancock with a plan for "fixing" the script for his proposed movie "The Blind Side": Why not change the leading part from a pistol-packing Southern supermom to a man and redraft the film as a father-son story?
It didn't matter that the film was based on the life of Leigh Anne Tuohy, a white Memphis interior decorator who along with her family adopted a 350-pound, homeless African American teenager, Michael Oher, and helped him become an academic success and football phenomenon who today starts for the NFL's Baltimore Ravens. If Roberts didn't want to do the movie, they would only make it with a male lead.
Hancock relates this story, which Fox denies, and says it was the nadir of his long struggle to get the film made, but that he understood the studio's unease. "The Blind Side" was "a feathered fish" that didn't fit their marketing pigeonholes. "It's not really a sports movie, although it's got sports in it. It's also not a chick flick," though it was written for a female star. "My take on it was . . . there was something for everybody," Hancock said. "That's a suspicious thing for people to hear. They don't trust that."
Hancock, of course, turned out to be right, beyond even his wildest expectations. With a box office gross of $220 million and counting, it is a surprise hit, a potential Oscar contender and the envy of studio execs all over town. It has helped reignite Sandra Bullock's career and made Alcon, the tiny independent production and finance company that made the movie after the majors rejected it, look like the smartest kid in class.
The perceived box office weaknesses of "The Blind Side" turned out to be its strengths. The film is attracting a diverse audience, people who might live together but rarely attend the same movies: football fans, older women, infrequent filmgoers and that huge swath of the American public that attends church every Sunday.
Hancock, 52, thinks there is a lesson here for a film industry fixated on "event" movies and multi-film "franchises."
"To the studios, it's an anathema. It can't be a real movie unless it cost hundreds of millions of dollars and has to have all the effects, and 16-year-old boys need to want to see it to be successful. That simply isn't true."
Neill Blomkamp's 'District 9' wins over fanboys and Peter Jackson
The science fiction film is about aliens who get stranded in South Africa.
In the docu-style, sci-fi thriller "District 9," which arrives in theaters Aug. 14, hundreds of thousands of aliens become stranded in South Africa after their massive spaceship comes to a standstill above downtown Johannesburg.
Unable to fix the craft, this massive population of tentacle-waving, exoskeleton-sheathed aliens eventually outstays its welcome; they become reviled by humans for burdening the country's welfare system even though all they really want to do is go home. Corralled into District 9 -- a rubbish-strewn refugee camp that calls to mind Mumbai's septic squalor, captured to striking effect in "Slumdog Millionaire" -- they are segregated from the general populace by barbed wire. There, the film's sentient yet excitable aliens are denied such basic necessities as running water and are denigrated by native earthlings as "prawns" for their resemblance to Sasquatch-sized shellfish.
Given the film's real-life setting amid Soweto's teeming townships and its segregationist signage -- "For humans only! Non-humans banned!" read placards in the movie -- it's impossible not to correlate the aliens' predicament with recent South African history. And that's no accident. Call "District 9" the world's first autobiographical alien apartheid movie
Writer-director Neill Blomkamp grew up in Johannesburg during an era of white minority rule; later, memories of the apartheid government's social divisiveness and authoritarian control became "the most powerful influence" in shaping his creative vision.
"It all had a huge impact on me: the white government and the paramilitary police -- the oppressive, iron-fisted military environment," Blomkamp said over breakfast recently in a Santa Monica hotel. He appeared boyish, fresh-faced in jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair spiky with product, while exuding a preternatural sense of focus. "Blacks, for the most part, were kept separate from whites. And where there was overlap, there were very clearly delineated hierarchies of where people were allowed to go."
He continued: "Those ideas wound up in every pixel in 'District 9.' "
Arriving as one of the hottest properties at San Diego's recent Comic-Con, the movie wowed its fanboy premiere audience and set the TweetDeck alight with reports that "District 9" is the real deal: one of the most original sci-fi films to come along in years.
The Iraq war -- from the troops' point of view
A bomb disposal squad is at the heart of 'Hurt Locker,' which was inspired by its writer's experience, embedded with a similar unit.
Much has been made of the lack of success -- both at the box office and artistically -- of the topical movies that have come out since the American invasion of Iraq.
"The Hurt Locker," a full-tilt action picture directed by Kathryn Bigelow that also ruminates on the psychology of combat, is looking to buck that trend.
The people behind the film, which screens today at the Toronto International Film Festival, feel that their picture has some major differences.
"The most important distinction that was in our minds is that none of the movies that have come out so far, or were in development when we were in development, were combat movies," said writer Mark Boal. "They were all either political polemic, or they were home-front, domestic dramas. And we felt what distinguished us was nobody was really doing the in-the-trenches, soldier's-point-of-view kind of classic war film. To me, that's a big point of difference."
"The Hurt Locker," Boal said, is a soldiers' term for "a place of ultimate pain."
The film follows a three-man explosive ordnance disposal team as the trio finish their tour of duty in Baghdad, dismantling bombs in combat conditions day in, day out. Two of the soldiers (played by Anthony Mackie and Brian Geraghty) have worked together for some time, and they are immediately put off by what they see as the needlessly reckless and dangerous behavior of a new bomb technician (Jeremy Renner).
'This is the war'
Improvised explosive devices "are the centerpiece of the war. They are the key weapon of the insurgency," Boal said. "So, to me, the bomb squad is right at the heart of the war. To not make a movie about the bomb squad would be like making a movie about Vietnam that doesn't take place in the jungle. This is the war."
Bigelow and Boal first met when they collaborated on the short-lived television series "The Inside." When Boal told Bigelow -- best known for her sharp, smart action pictures such as "Point Break" and "Strange Days" -- that he was going to Iraq to be embedded as a journalist with a bomb disposal team, her initial response was simply to hope that he got home safe. When he returned and told her what he had seen, she thought of something else: a film.
"Mark had such incredible firsthand observations," Bigelow said. "The opportunity to make this movie as realistic as humanly possible became not only a challenge, but a personal directive.
Famous faces
Although the main trio of actors may look familiar to audiences even if they are not yet exactly stars -- Bigelow calls them "stars in the making" -- there are a few who pop up along the way who are definitely well-known, including Ralph Fiennes, David Morse, Evangeline Lilly and Guy Pearce.
As characters come and go, and the most recognizable faces don't always stay on-screen long, a sense of unease creeps across viewers' minds, a feeling that in this environment anything could happen.
"I wanted to early on create the ground rules for this film, to basically create as much tension as possible," Bigelow said of the casting choices. "You don't immediately have a response as to who will live and who will die. And I think there's an interesting tension that comes from that alone."
The film was shot over 44 days from July to September 2007. Working with "United 93" cinematographer Barry Ackroyd and four camera crews often shooting simultaneously, Bigelow ended up with more than 200 hours of footage. (The film's final running time is just over two hours.)
Kathryn Bigelow and the making of 'The Hurt Locker'
Kathryn Bigelow aims to make 'entertaining and substantive' movies. She's scored on both counts with 'The Hurt Locker.'
Hurt Locker" screenwriter Mark Boal remembers running around the Jordanian desert with director Kathryn Bigelow, watching her scale hills in 115-degree heat to set up shots for their modestly budgeted film. By the end of the day, when everyone else was exhausted, Bigelow would look like she was just beginning her morning, raring and ready to go shoot the next scene.
"She's got those Viking genes," Boal says. "I'm serious. They live forever, those people. It's the Viking genes and a whole lot of salmon."
Bigelow celebrated her 58th birthday last month but looks at least 20 years younger. She's clearly not someone you'd want to challenge to any kind of endurance test. Boal once joked that in her spare time, Bigelow liked to "make quilts and plant daffodils." When told of Boal's remarks, Bigelow laughs long and appreciatively and says, "That's a good one."
No, she doesn't belong to the Friday Night Knitting Club. Her movies aim to put you smack in the middle of intense experience, be it robbing banks ("Point Break"), cavorting with vampires ("Near Dark") or defusing bombs ( "The Hurt Locker"). Her 1995 virtual-reality film, "Strange Days," addressed this obsession head-on, with Ralph Fiennes jacking addicts into any experience they could imagine.
"It's definitely a style of filmmaking I respond to," Bigelow says over shots of espresso (what else?) in Beverly Hills. "It just seems to be a really engaging use of the medium. Cinema has the capacity to be so physiological. Prose can be reflective. I'm not sure cinema can be as reflective as that, but it can definitely propel you into an event and cause your heart to race." She pauses, laughing. "If that's the desired response."
You get the feeling that for Bigelow, it's the only response. Pinning her down on influences is tough, but eventually she'll cop to a love for the movies of Sam Peckinpah (She's hosting a screening of "The Wild Bunch" in January) and Don Siegel ("Dirty Harry"), whose work, she says, possesses a "muscularity that comes with formidable and surprising intelligence."
"Those movies sweep you away, and you're incapable of resisting," she enthuses. "They're entertaining and substantive. That's always what I'm trying to do too."
Black viewers are divided on film's 'Precious'-ness
Though it has been adored in some quarters, the film has its detractors. One critic has dubbed it 'a Klansman's fantasy.'
MY FAVORITE
'Precious': An article last Sunday about reaction to the movie "Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire" referred to the comments of a blogger named Tiffany on the website Racialicious.com.
Verdicts about high-pitched movies from black viewers and public figures are usually swift and decisive -- "Do the Right Thing," "The Color Purple," and the recent Robert Downey Jr. performance in "Tropic Thunder" come to mind. But that's not what happened this time out. That's partly because the embrace of "Precious" by the white film establishment has been a bit disorienting for black folk, even off-putting. But it's also because the tough stuff in "Precious," whether you like the movie or not, is striking chords of recognition for many black people that are making them not angry or enthusiastic, but uncertain. That's new territory.
The many issues raised in the course of this one story -- class tensions, self-image, racial progress, how Hollywood bears on all of the above -- have hit black viewers squarely in the gut, rendering the usual right-brain arguments about stereotypes inadequate. For black filmgoers, assessing black-themed films is generally a political process; "Precious" has made it emotional.
That discomfit was evident recently in a packed theater with a largely black audience in Marina Del Rey. The viewers were characteristically vocal at first -- gasping, clucking tongues, even tittering at the initial haplessness of Precious (Gabourey Sidibe) and the villainy of her mother, played by Mo'Nique. But as the film got more intimate, zeroing in on issues such as Precious' illiteracy, the repeated rapes by her drop-in father and her casual wish to be white with "good" hair, people fell silent; it was as if they were no longer viewers, but participants.
They applauded at the end, but filed out of the theater much more soberly than I've ever seen a black audience file out of any performance, especially one that had a clear impact. It's quite a contrast to reviews and commentary that ranged from supportive to effusive on black-oriented websites including The Loop21.com, Racial icious.com and thegrio.com. But even the praise has a bit of apology about it, as if to allow for the fact that blacks can -- or perhaps even should -- admire "Precious" without necessarily liking it.
Not everybody is buying into the nuance. The unrelenting inner-city misery that frames "Precious," including a foul-mouthed welfare mother and an absentee father, has raised plenty of alarms among blacks, notably film critic Armond White. In his review for the New York Press, the famously curmudgeonly White excoriated "Precious" for being an "orgy of prurience," "a Klansman's fantasy," racist propaganda cast from the infamous mold of "Birth of a Nation." For White, "Precious" is bad art because it is a bad representation, a reminder that for black people, art and politics are inseparable.
Yet one of the unusual things about "Precious" is that it doesn't try to separate those things, and so forces us to think beyond the negative/positive binary that often keeps discussions about movies like this airless and superficial.
Certainly other black people share White's condemnation. But that condemnation has dimensions: C. Jeffrey Wright, writing at UrbanFaith.com, a conservative Christian site, fretted less about the images in "Precious" than about the fact there are too few black films released to provide a diversity that would make the movie less controversial. That's a fact nobody on any side of the discussion would disagree with.
Nonetheless, Wright decries the movie for its lack of what he calls "achiever values." And here we get into the thorny issue of class. For black people that means not solely money and education, but a concern about how we are being represented in public. How blacks are represented in movies always galvanizes such concern, and "Precious" is no exception.
"We just don't want to see black pathology on screen," says T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting, a professor of critical race studies and hip-hop at Vanderbilt University. "There's clearly a segment of us that worries about what white people think."
That worry, she says, is usually about representations of the black poor, a group that's long been an anathema to whites -- and to some blacks as well. "Precious" exposes that unflattering divide. "Americans despise poor people, and they really despise poor black people," Sharpley-Whiting says. "Unfortunately, we [black people] buy into it."
Widespread debate
The good news is that the Internet encouragesa broader discussion of these complexities than black people have had in the past. At thefreshx press.com, a site geared to young African Americans, one blogger who had read White's review but hadn't seen the movie wrote that he was leery of incest being portrayed as a "black" thing, but he supported a filmmaker's right to tell his own story.
Another objected to White's comparing "Precious" to "Birth of a Nation," saying that missed the real critique the film was making about the troubled internal dynamics of black communities. "We've made a lot of strides, but what are we really doing to bring those who haven't been as fortunate as our college-educated selves out of the gutter?" she wrote. "This is a very real opportunity to bring a very real problem into the mainstream where it belongs."
At Racialicious.com, a blogger named Tiffany grumbled that she was "tired of the black aristocracy getting up in arms about anything that isn't 'The Cosby Show.' " Ironically, White himself bolsters that point: When he huffs in his review that " 'Precious' hyperbolizes the class misery of our nation's left-behinds . . . the Obama-era unreachables," he's at least acknowledging those unreachables and their plight.
But how can that plight be authentically represented? Is it ever possible for a black character -- dark, light, poor, privileged, whatever -- to vault above, or through, the stereotypes and emerge chiefly as a person and not a trope? Rarely. "Precious" breaks that ground, but it feels like alien terrain because blacks have been defined by extremes for so long. In an interview with Essence.com, director Lee Daniels says the harsh themes of "Precious" should be taken at face value. "Life is life," he said. "Life is what it is."
But grim subjects such as institutional poverty, illiteracy, child rape and incest are reasons enough to stay away from any movie, and many black folks say they will bypass "Precious" for that reason -- too much of that trouble in real life, they say.
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'Up' is Pixar at its most ambitious
The film began with an image of a grouchy man holding balloons. A story developed out of that -- slowly. More than four years later, it's ready.
SAN RAFAEL, CALIF. — The 100 or so Pixar Animation Studios employees had good reason to be giddy, and you could understand why they were more than a little nervous too. For more than four years, the animators, sound designers, editors and artists from every other Pixar department had plugged away on "Up" and on an early morning in April, they were finally about to see how their animated movie had turned out.
The movie itself -- Pixar's 10th animated film -- is narratively ambitious, a story about a 78-year-old widower's highly unusual road trip with a chubby young boy that, throughout its making, teetered on becoming sentimental and episodic. Although the movie is filled with comic bits, "Up" also features scenes of complex human emotion -- including the grief of a miscarriage -- that are rarely explored in family films. Parent studio Disney really needed the film to work commercially too: In earnings released last week, Disney's profit fell 46%, largely because of underperforming movies such as "Confessions of a Shopaholic" and "Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience."
To add one more level of pressure to the Pixar team, just a few days before that April screening at George Lucas' bucolic Skywalker Ranch, the Cannes Film Festival had selected "Up" to launch this week's prestigious festival, a first for an animated film.
If producer Jonas Rivera and writer-director Pete Docter, two of Pixar's earliest employees, were sweating bullets when they introduced "Up" to their Pixar colleagues, they didn't show it. "This is the first time that we've got everything together," Rivera said. Added Docter just before the house lights dimmed: "Thank you guys for making the movie."
Despite all the end-of-the-journey gratitude, "Up," which premieres in Cannes on Wednesday and arrives in theaters May 29, wasn't quite finished.
As soon as the screening ended, Docter, Rivera, composer Michael Giacchino, executive producer John Lasseter and a dozen members of Pixar's brain trust met over lunch in a Skywalker conference room to discuss what they had just seen. By the time the team finished dessert, they had decided "Up" needed a new piece of music, and the choice they made with Giacchino revealed much about the film's creative ambitions.
As "Up's" poster and trailer make clear, the film's central image is a house, tethered to thousands of balloons, soaring into the sky. When septuagenarian Carl Fredricksen's (Ed Asner) residence took flight at the Skywalker screening, Giacchino's score was big and dramatic, the kind of music that typically accompanies an action sequence.
UP IN THE AIR!!!
In Michael Tolkin’s script for the 1992 Hollywood satire “The Player,” studio executive Griffin Mill (Tim Robbins) strangles a screenwriter he believes is trying to blackmail him.
It hasn’t gotten that gruesome in Hollywood. But for some involved in the script business these days, the movie’s arc may feel a little too familiar.
Screenwriters on some of the season’s biggest movies have seen acknowledgment for their work, if not choked off, then certainly minimized -- a group that includes, as fate would have it, Tolkin himself. So when the Golden Globes are handed out on Sunday, the names that viewers associate with the most lauded films may not quite include all the people who drove those movies forward.
That could be particularly true for three of the movies that lead nearly all others in Globes recognition — “Up in the Air,” “Nine” and “Avatar,” which have collectively amassed 15 nominations.
The issue cuts to the heart of contemporary Hollywood, where screenwriters are abundant but successes are rare, leaving a lot of people to scramble for a little bit of glory.
To those removed from the rituals of Hollywood, the fierce debate over credit can seem like arguing over who rides shotgun on a weekend road trip — arbitrary and, in the end, not very consequential. But for writers, credit can mean the difference between getting and not getting future gigs, higher paychecks and the acclaim and envy of peers. And credit issues can extend beyond how the Writers Guild of America arbitrates who did what on a script to shape the public (and media) consciousness about a writer's standing.
All of this comes against the backdrop of writer concerns that they are not given the same respect as their peers, particularly directors. “These things just seem to be messier lately. Everyone wants credit and nobody seems to be able to figure out the truth,” said an agent for several high-profile screenwriters who requested anonymity because the agent may yet work with some of the writers.
Many in Hollywood are reluctant to comment publicly on this issue while in the thick of an awards campaign, scared of chasing away votes. But sources familiar with back stories on these three scripts -- a broad group of agents, writers and producers -- privately offered insight into how these films came together and how work was truly divided up.
The genesis story that Jason Reitman tells is by now well-honed. He discovered Walter Kirn’s novel “Up in the Air” in the independent bookshop Book Soup and spent a long time whipping a script into shape before getting behind the camera. “When I started writing this screenplay,” Reitman told NPR, “we were in the midst of an economic boom, and by the time I was finished we were in one of the worst recessions on record.”
What he hasn’t been saying as much was that the script was actually already in development for several years, first as an independent project and then at Fox, before he became involved, and screenwriter Sheldon Turner wrote an entire draft before Reitman put pen to paper. Turner’s draft would be recognizable to anyone who’s seen the finished film; significant elements from it, sources who read it say, appear in the finished movie.
The invention of George Clooney’s whippersnapper partner played by Anna Kendrick, for instance, came from Turner (in Turner’s version it was a man; another writer who wasn’t Reitman later changed it to a woman). A key plot point about a laid-off worker committing suicide came from Turner. And while Reitman invented many memorable lines, sources noted Turner made his mark too: he was responsible for the trademark line from George Clooney’s character to laid-off workers about founding an empire. Turner and Reitman separately declined to comment.
This all could have been fairly typical; Hollywood films, after all, often are the result of people drafting off predecessors' work. Except when it came time to allot credit, Reitman maintained that the substantive work on the movie was his and that he shouldn’t share credit with Turner. The two went to arbitration in front of the Writers Guild, which ruled in favor of Turner and handed him a credit. Turner is also nominated for an adapted screenplay Golden Globe, where, if he wins, he will share the podium with Reitman.
Still, Turner has mostly stayed out of sight on the awards circuit, and it’s rare to hear Reitman, who has been ubiquitous on that circuit, mention him at all. [UPDATED 10:07 PM: Reitman and Turner just won the Critics Choice prize for best adapted screenplay. They both came to the stage but, in what could only be described as an awkward moment for Turner -- who trailed Reitman by about five seconds in coming to the podium -- only Reitman spoke, thanking several people but failing to acknowledge the credited writer standing next to him. Turner looked like he wanted to speak, but Reitman finished and began walking off the stage, the exit music began playing and Turner again trailed behind Reitman, not having said anything.]
The situation on “Nine” was thorny in a different way.
The screenwriting credits on the Italian-themed musical would have been tricky enough given that Anthony Minghella, who wrote a draft after Tolkin, died right after turning in his script (just before the 2007-2008 writers strike hit). But it comes with an even more complicated back story, featuring a man often at the center of awards-season drama: Harvey Weinstein.
Ming Tolkin was brought on several years ago by The Weinstein Co. and director Rob Marshall to adapt both the Italian classic “8 1/2” and the Broadway musical “Nine” that's based on it. He spent several months writing his draft, including a number of weeks just with Marshall and nearly two months with Marshall and composer-lyricist Maury Yeston. Minghella later came on for roughly six weeks of work writing a new draft.
It’s impossible to quantify the exact contribution of each, but people familiar with the scripts say Tolkin’s draft established plot and structure while Minghella concentrated on areas like dialogue and giving the movie an Italian flavor. The combination of Tolkin's drafts (he did two passes) and Minghella's version, which became the shooting script, would seem to have paved the way to a smooth ending.
But shortly after production last year, the relationship between Tolkin and Marshall went south, for what sources say were personal and creative reasons. The pair have not been on speaking terms since.
In the meantime, another drama was brewing: Weinstein and Tolkin were in a complex dialogue over credits. Weinstein wanted Minghella to get sole credit, leaving Tolkin out. (An early trailer of the film, in fact, featured only Minghella's name and not Tolkin's.)
Complicating matters was the fact that Weinstein and Minghella were close friends and collaborators (they worked together on movies such as "The English Patient" and "The Talented Mr. Ripley"). Also, to more cynical minds involved in the project, having Minghella as the single credit on the film would benefit the Weinstein Company film by providing a more poignant subplot for awards pundits, since the film could more easily be sold as Minghella's final work.
Tolkin pushed back at Weinstein's request, but rather than try to arbitrate right away (which would have meant, among other things, the specter of fighting a Writers Guild battle against a dead man), he went directly to the Minghella family. The two sides soon came to an agreement that they would go to the Writers Guild with a joint statement seeking credits that would not only include Tolkin but put him in first position (Hollywood shorthand for the writer whose work figures most into the film) followed by Minghella. The WGA read the statement and agreed.
But the Writers Guild wasn't the only battleground for "Nine." As the publicity rollout for the film began last month, members of Weinstein’s and Marshall’s camps quietly downplayed Tolkin’s involvement. Those working to promote the film, meanwhile, were keen to make Marshall available but, outside of one junket appearance, discouraged stories about Tolkin.
Tolkin, in a carefully worded statement to The Times, recounted his involvement and defended his credit. It read, in part, “I went to New York in July [2008] and spent seven weeks, almost daily, working with Rob Marshall. I came back to California, followed by Rob and Maury Yeston and worked with them for another eight weeks,” adding “I’m proud of the work I did.”
Weinstein could not be reached for comment, though a Weinstein Company rep did make available producer Marc Platt, who noted that "to be fair, these were unusual circumstances because of the deference everyone felt toward Anthony. But Michael did a fine job, and was entitled to get what he deserved."
Murkiness over credits also points up one of Hollywood’s most basic truisms: For every high-profile success, there is usually a lesser-known name at least partly responsible for it.
Kalog That’s especially applicable in the instance of Fox's “Avatar.” Most people believe — and, indeed, facts bear out — that James Cameron spent years developing the story.
But a writer protege of Cameron’s named Laeta Kalogridis — who is credited as a writer on the upcoming sci-fi film “Battle Angel” that Cameron will produce and possibly direct — was developing the story closely with Cameron and is believed to have contributed portions of the script.
One wouldn’t know that from the credits, however, where Kalogridis is listed simply as an executive producer — a minor credit even by producing standards, and certainly one that does not suggest writing involvement. A request for an interview with Kalogridis on the subject met with quick and efficient response from both a personal publicist and a Fox publicist, each declining to comment or make her available.
The issue is clearly a hot-button one for studios, which in many cases not only want to please an A-lister but also craft the most appealing narrative for media and awards-season consumption, and the Cameron story provides just that. When you’re trying to sell something, after all, it helps to have a marketable concept. Griffin Mill could tell you that.
Best Director:
Kathrym Brigelow-The Hort Locker
James Cameron-Avatar
Lee Daniels -Precious
Jason Reitman-Up in the Air
Quentin Tarantino-Inglourious Bastards