Today I wrote Noah director Darren Aronofsky, whom I’ve long considered to be something of an industry pally. Okay, an acquaintance. He and his editor peruse the column, he told me during the Black Swan days. I told him about my plan to drive down to old Tijuana to see Noah on Friday, 3.21 (i.e., the day it opens in Mexico, which is five days sooner than the L.A. all-media on 3.26), and asked him for a phone interview if he’s so inclined. He’ll probably defer to Paramount p.r.’s decision to blow me off because of my anti-Christian rants. The Noah marketing drill is probably something along the lines of “sell the awe and the spectacle and the Aronfsky integrity factor, and don’t alienate the nutter Christian right.”
Slashfilm’s Peter Sciretta and Noah director Darren Aronofsky sometime before or after last night’s premiere screening in Mexico City.
This is one of my all-time favorite New Yorker cartoons. I just re-upped my subscription and saw it online only a day or two ago. It’s lame to just post a cartoon without comment or counterpoint but this has been one of those days.
Clint Eastwood‘s Jersey Boys (Warner Bros., 6.20), a film version of the hit Broadway jukebox musical, is being research-screened this evening in the San Fernando Valley. I’m not going to say where and I’m not going to post or discuss reactions, but I would like to hear, privately, what people think. I don’t have a lot of faith or interest in a movie musical about the Four Seasons, but Eastwood knows what he’s doing and the respected John Logan wrote the screenplay so no pre-judgments. I’m just curious.
“This sounds like a weird thing to say, but I remember thinking Robert Redford wasn’t that great an actor, but that he’d had an unbelievable career because he knew how to use himself well. He has incredible taste, a literary development. Is he one of the greatest actors of his generation? No. But he’s certainly one of the greatest filmmakers of his generation. Butch Cassidy, The Sting, The Candidate, Downhill Racer, Ordinary People, The Natural, Out of Africa. He had a great ability to use whatever modicum of talent he had to its absolute uttermost.” — Boyhood‘s Ethan Hawke speaking to Indiewire’s Nigel M. Smith during a just-posted SXSW interview.
Isn’t this what all successful actors do? Or all successful people for that matter? It’s not how gifted or brainy you are as much as how you use what you have. The trick is to find your voice and your style, then work it within the range that you’ve been given or have been able to develop to its utmost, or the realm in which you feel the most planted and comfortable. (more…)
Very few people come off well when they’re being hammered by a contentious interrogator, but the way a person responds to this kind of duress always tells you a little something about them. On one level I feel sorry for Justin Beiber during this hours-long deposition, and on another level he seems like an entitled little dick. The footage also vaguely reminds me of the deposition scenes in The Social Network.
Everyone loves to see bullies slapped down. It’s a perfect, wonderful thing…God smiles and the universe hums with song. On the other hand it’s a tough thing to acknowledge that Peter Weir‘s Witness is on the verge of being 30 years old. (It was shot in the summer of 1984 and released in February 1985…obviously an era in which a February release wasn’t necessarily regarded as a throwaway.) Whatever happened to thematically interesting action films with upscale stars and good scripts? Today Witness would be a Jason Statham film, and nowhere near as good. There’s a region-free Witness Bluray available in France and another coming out in Germany in early April, but a high-def/HDX version (which vary in quality but are often just as robust and detailed as Blurays) is available right now on Vudu so why wait and what’s the point anyway?
I’m sorry but I feel completely blocked and gunked up and tormented by stomach acid whenever I think about Divergent (Summit/Lionsgate, 3.21), a futuristic sci-fi adventure milkshake that’s trying to ape the success of The Hunger Games and Twilight. I’m throughly sick of dystopian post-apocalyptic anything. I hate the young-adult-fiction poster (i.e., Shailene Woodley and Theo James atop a Chicago skyscraper with dawn breaking over the horizon). And it just smells like another corporate hustle. I’ve been calling it Detergent. Obviously another greedy attempt to launch a youth-market franchise (or at least a trilogy that follows Veronica Roth’s three Divergent novels) so everyone can get rich. Maybe it’s just me but the metaphor within the basic hook, a futuristic society divided into five distinct personality groups, feels a bit underwhelming. I understand how it could resonate with under-30s (in the same way that The Hunger Games obviously has and is) but it looks like fucking torture to sit through.
Over the last day or so, the strange disappearance of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 has evolved from a tragic mystery into something profoundly odd if not creepy. It’s been four days now (the Boeing 777 aircraft took off from Kuala Lumpur last Saturday, heading for Beijing) and nobody has clue #1 what happened except that it disappeared about an hour into the flight. 227 passengers, 12 crew members…engulfed. No clues, no explanations, no bombs, no oil slick…nothing. It seems particularly eerie if you’ve meditated upon two landmark films about inexplicable vanishings — Michelangelo Antonioni‘s L’Avventura (in which a jaded Italian rich girl morphs into thin air on a rocky island off Sicily) and Peter Weir‘s Picnic at Hanging Rock (in which three or four Australian schoolgirls are swallowed by the void during daylight). The essence of the unease that some people are feeling right now, I think, is a hazy notion that there might be some kind of strange dimensional trapdoor or cosmic manhole opening that very randomly erases people and things. Each year and in every corner of the globe there are many, many, many instances of completely unexplained disappearances (I’ve lost hundreds of socks that were seemingly vacuumed up by some kind of space-time continuum wormhole), but never has a massive, electronically connected superjet flown into the void like Rod Serling‘s The Odyssey of Flight 33. Eventually, one presumes, the facts will come out but right now it feels…oddly troubling?
Presumed High-Pedigree: Paul Thomas Anderson‘s Inherent Vice, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu‘s Birdman, Christopher Nolan‘s Interstellar, J.C. Chandor's A Very Violent Year, Ridley Scott‘s Exodus, Bennett Miller‘s Foxcatcher, David Fincher‘s Gone Girl, Angelina Jolie's Unbroken. Jean Marc Vallee's Wild (i.e., the Reese Witherspoon hiking drama), Noah Baumbach's While We're Young, Matt Reeves‘ Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Jeff Nichols‘ Midnight Special, Tim Burton‘s Big Eyes, Saul Dibbs' Suite Francaise, Michel Hazanavicius' The Search; Jason Reitman's Men, Women & Chidren; Phillip Noyce's The Giver, Sarah Gavron's Suffragette (Carey Mulligan, Meryl Streep); Mike Leigh‘s Mr. Turner. (19).
Special Wackadoodle: Nobody knows if Terrence Malick's Knight of Cups or the "intersecting love triangles" Austin-based film (formerly known as Lawless) will be unveiled this year, or perhaps one this year and the other in 2015. The flaky, hermit-like Malick usually requires a minimum of two years to edit his films, but he might need three.
Respected Festival Leftovers: John Curran's Tracks (Mia Wasikowska-Adam Driver Australian trek film); Steve James‘ Life Itself.
Respectable Second Tier: Clint Eastwood‘s Jersey Boys, Maya Forbes' Infinitely Polar Bear, Rupert Goold's True Story (Jonah Hill, James Franco), Noah Baumbach's Untitled Public School Project; Steven Knight's Locke, Dan Gilroy's Nightcrawler, Thomas Vinterberg‘s Far From The Madding Crowd, David Gordon Green's Manglehorn, Tommy Lee Jones' The Homesman, Woody Allen's Magic in the Moonlight, Charlie McDowell‘s The One I Love, Tate Taylor's Get On Up (Chadwick Bozeman as James Brown); David Cronenberg‘s Maps to the Stars, Thomas McCarthy's The Cobbler, Theodore Melfi's St. Vincent de Van Nuys, Justin Kurzel's Macbeth, Anton Corbijn's A Most Wanted Man, David Dobkin's The Judge, Untitled Cameron Crowe, Ama Asante's Belle, Craig Gillespie‘s Million Dollar Arm, Richard Shephard‘s Dom Hemingway, Nick Cassavetes‘ The Other Woman; Todd Haynes‘ Carol. (24)
Possible Cannes 2014 Highlights: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu‘s Birdman [see above]. Tommy Lee Jones' The Homesman [see above], Fatih Akin's The Cut, Mathieu Amalric's The Blue Room, Olivier Assayas' Clouds of Sils Maria, Bertrand Bonello's Saint Laurent, Nuri Bilge Ceylan's Hibernation, Dardennes brothers' Two Days, One Night, Laurent Cantet's Retour a Ithaque, Michel Hazanavicius' The Search [also among Respectable Second Tier]. (10)
Third Tier (i.e., Possibly Respectable Megaplex Movies): Darren Aronofsky‘s Noah, Doug Liman's Edge of Tomorrow, Wally Pfister's Transcendence, Gareth Edwards' Godzilla, Evan Golderberg and Seth Rogen's The Interview, David Ayers' Fury, Antoine Fuqua's The Equalizer, Joe Carnahan‘s Stretch, Ivan Reitman‘s Draft Day (beware-of-Reitman factor), Luc Besson‘s Lucy (probable crap), David Michod's The Rover, Shawn Levy‘s This Is Where I Leave You, Phil Lord and Chris Miller‘s 22 Jump Street, Seth McFarlane‘s A Million Ways to Die in the West, Andy and Lana Wachowski‘s Jupiter Ascending, Spike Lee's Sweet Blood of Jesus, Ryan Gosling‘s How To Catch A Monster (aesthetic judgment in question after starring in The Place Beyond The Pines, The Gangster Squad, Only God Forgives). (16)
President Obama‘s bizarre-sounding decision to appear on Zach Galifianakis‘s never-funny Between Two Ferns turned out to be a sage one. The apparent idea was to talk to the target audience (under-40 couch potatoes) about Obamacare, but the surprising offshot, for me anyway, is that this was was the only Between Two Ferns interview that I’ve ever laughed at. Entirely scripted, I presume, but still. From my perspective no “funny guy” on the face of the planet has inspired less in the way or mirth or laughter than Zach Galifianakis, but this was different.
Paramount has flown a group of devoted Darren Aronofsky acolytes (First Showing‘s Alex Billington, Badass Digest‘s Devin Faraci, Slashfilm‘s Peter Sciretta, etc.) down to Mexico City for tonight’s world premiere of Noah. Now, it may be that Noah is a grade-A Aronofsky experience (I’m expecting a good effort, being a longtime Darren fan myself), but if it’s not…well, we’ll see. They’re down there because Paramount figured they’d be reliably supportive and perhaps even good-buzz spreaders, just as Fox Searchlight flew me to Berlin with the knowledge that I’m a Wes Anderson devotee. I’ve been told by a Paramount publicist that the studio won’t be showing Noah for yours truly until the Los Angeles all-media on 3.26 (i.e., two days before it opens commercially) but it’s opening in Mexico on 3.21 so I’ll just drive down to Tijuana and review it from there.
Four months after a Russian-subtitled trailer appeared for Jim Jarmusch‘s Only Lovers Left Alive (Sony Classics, 4.11), an English-language version has finally popped up. This is a very droll, no-laugh-funny vampire movie about middle-aged goth hipster musician types — a nocturnal lifestyle movie that Lou Reed would have loved. (Maybe Jarmusch showed it to him before he died?) After seeing it in Cannes I called it “a perfect William S. Burroughsian hipster mood trip…I sank into it like heroin.” Tilda Swinton, Tom Hiddleston, Mia Wasikowska, John Hurt, Anton Yelchin, Jeffrey Wright.
Roadside Attractions and Black Label Media have acquired U.S. rights to Yann Demange‘s ’71, a Belfast-set period thriller that everyone was talking about during the Berlin Film festival (and which I reviewed on 2.7.14). But Roadside reportedly plans to open it sometime in 2015, presumably because it doesn’t believe it’s strong enough to compete as a summer counter-programmer or award-season contender. Which seems odd as there’s nothing opaque or arty-farty about ’71 — it’s a chase thriller and a suspense film start to finish.
Alexander Payne and other mature, quality-minded directors will be pleased to hear about a plan by producer Robert Simonds to create a new movie studio dedicated to making $40 million movies with big stars that are aimed at semi-adult audiences — the kind of film that big studios don’t make any more. But Simonds has never been into funding Alexander Payne-type films, and he probably never will be. His new studio will most likely wind up making films with a glossier, more commercial sheen (i.e., Nancy Meyer comedies).
I was thinking this morning about Tad Friend’s just-published New Yorker article about the conflict between Noah director Darren Aronofsky and Paramount Pictures about trying to appeal to the Christian community, and the more I kicked it around the more Paramount’s position (i.e., the one more or less voiced in Friend’s article by Paramount vice-chairman Rob Moore) seemed reasonable to me. If I was running the show, I too would have tried to assemble a pandering, vaguely dipshitty Christian-friendly version of Noah — a version that would have blatantly kowtowed to Christian values. But — this is important — I would only show it in the hinterland territories where most Christians live.
I would give this version of Noah a special rating — C for Christian. I would then open the real Noah — the Aronofsky version, the artistic-integrity cut that was more or less intended all along and is true to itself and doesn’t pander to simpletons — in the cities and their suburbs and other semi-educated areas.
Christians live on their own planet, they want what they want, and they’ll never come down to earth. I don’t see the problem in making and trying to sell them the kind of cereal that they want to eat. And then you could include both versions on the Bluray/DVD.
That, to me, sounds like a sensible business plan for the film’s release, and one that would totally respect Aronofsky’s vision. From Paramount’s perspective, releasing a C-rated version wouldn’t be any kind of dismissal of the Aronofsky cut. It would simply be a practical acknowledgement that Christians want what they want, and that they don’t care about real filmmaking or artistic intent as much as others do. They want and have always insisted upon having a certain kind of spiritual heroin in their lives, and that’s their game — take it or leave it. (more…)
Last week Edge of Tomorrow director Doug Liman explained its appeal to London journos, who had been shown a teaser reel of the Warner Bros. sci-fi thriller, to wit: “If you love Tom Cruise, you see him giving a genius performance, and if you hate Tom Cruise he dies like 200 times [in this thing]. Here, he is a total coward. The amount of times he squeals in this movie — he’s an amazing squealer! Other movie stars would have been more hesitant about being that vulnerable.”
Of course Cruise is “that vulnerable.” Joel Goodson is now 51 years old (52 on 7.3.14). He looks healthy and is obviously in great shape, but the fact that he more or less looks his age means he can now use that faintly haggard, vaguely weathered look to his acting advantage. If they last long enough, all good-looking actors are in a kind of golden period when they hit their late 40s and 50s. The natural expressiveness that comes with being older (and having acquired a few scars, bruises and regrets along the way) deepens their game.
If they were to remake The Firm (which came out 20 years ago) Cruise could now play Gene Hackman‘s role, the spry but corrupt mafia attorney with a weakness for the ladies. Cruise is roughly where Burt Lancaster was when he was on his last lap as an action star in his early to mid 50s, making The Train and The Professionals and The Scalphunters. (more…)
The New Yorker‘s Tad Friend has written a fine, fascinating, first-hand, notepad-and-shoe-leather tale of Darren Aronofsky‘s making and editing of Noah, and the subsequent pushbacks from Paramount executives who have wanted all along, naturally, like all studio guys, to simply maximize profits. The article appeared Sunday night. Required reading, very good stuff, makes you hungry to see Noah, which opens on 3.28. “I don’t give a fuck about the test scores!,” Aronofsky tells Friend. “My films are outside the scores. Ten men in a room trying to come up with their favorite ice cream are going to agree on vanilla. I’m the Rocky Road guy.”
The $800K weekend gross and $200K per-screen average by Wes Anderson‘s The Grand Budapest Hotel means, of course, that Anderson fans came out in strength. “What’s happening with Wes Anderson is he’s entered into Woody Allen territory,” Boxoffice.com’s Phil Contrino (a longtime HE pally) toldTheWrap‘s Brent Lang yesterday. “He’s established a brand and…audiences show up in droves because they know it’s a good break from typical blockbusters.” But next weekend’s haul will depend, of course, on what Average Joes (i.e., viewers who like or respect but don’t necessarily worship Anderson’s signature style) are saying. I don’t mean to insult HE readers by suggesting they’re motley normals, but could I get some Budapest reactions?
For much of my life I’ve cherished the ritualized reading of the Sunday New York Times, which Tom Wolfedescribed in 1974 as “that great public bath, that vat, that spa, that regional physio-therapy tank, that White Sulphur Springs, that Marienbad, that Ganges, that River Jordan for a million souls.” Well, the print version of that vat, that spa, that River Jordan for a million souls has been arriving on my doormat since I signed up for Sunday morning delivery, which is the cheapest deal that allows for full digital access to the Times. And the truth is that I almost never take my Sunday edition to the cafe next door and order breakfast and, as Wolfe wrote, “slip into it like a warm bath.” I just don’t want it around for the most part. The bulk of it, the ink smudges, the folding and re-folding the paper, etc. That said, the daily issue is cool. And I still like reading newspapers in Europe. Somehow different over there.
The final episode of Cary Fukunaga and Nic Pizzolatto‘s True Detective (titled “Form and Void”) airs tonight. Yesterday’s plan to marathon through the six episodes I hadn’t seen (#2 to #7) didn’t pan out — I only watched #2 and #3. I could, of course, sit down and watch #4 through #7 today but…all right, I might do this. #4 and #5 anyway. I just bought another bike yesterday (my third — two previous bikes were stolen) and I feel like roaming around today. Eff it — I’m just going to read the synopses on the Wiki page. Update: Up on everything. Have now seen episode #6.
I slightly know a woman who paints all day long and sometimes into the night. She doesn’t recognize weekends or weekdays. She just gets up and paints like a fool. Under the usual circumstances this in itself would make her, in my eyes, a fairly serious artist, regardless of her talent. Unfortunately she’s also a devout Christian who believes that God is guiding her every brushstroke. In a sense He/She/It is doing that, but by speaking literally of God as her co-pilot, this woman somehow makes Herman Melville‘s famous theological rumination, spoken by Captain Ahab in Moby Dick, seem banal: “Is Ahab Ahab? Is it I, God, or who that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself but is an errand boy in heaven, nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power…how then can this one small heart beat, this one small brain think thoughts, unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I?”
The likeliest Best Picture contenders of 2014 will, as usual, be made by respected people with strong resumes and, as usual, contain strong, socially resonant material that will probably push mainstream buttons. Particularly among over-25 women. Two of the likeliest will be directed by women, and four will primarily be about women. Plus a couple of dramedies, a crime drama, an epic Biblical drama, two World War II dramas, a more-or-less modern war drama and so on. In a word, varied. Nobody knows anything and I’m obviously just guessing at this stage, but here are the films I’m presuming will be among the final picks:
1. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu‘s comedic Birdman (seen in a rough version by a friend last July and described as AGI’s “best, most humanistic work!”); 2. J.C. Chandor‘s A Most Violent Year (’80s-set, Sidney Lumet-ish Manhattan crime drama); 3. Ridley Scott‘s Exodus (Ridley Scott/Kingdom of Heaven treatment given to Biblical tale of Moses, Egyptians and Hebrew slaves); 4. Angelina Jolie‘s Unbroken (World War II survival saga, All Is Lost/Life of Pi + Japanese prison camp); 5. Jean Marc Vallee‘s Wild (makeup-free Reese Witherspoon discovering herself and the American character on a long-distance hike); 6. Saul Dibbs‘ Suite Francaise (married rural-residing French woman has affair with German solder during World War II); 7. Michel Hazanavicius‘ The Search (remake of Fred Zinneman‘s same-titled 1948 film, relationship between a woman and a young boy in war-torn Chechnya, Berenice Bejo and Annette Bening costarring); 8. Jason Reitman‘s Men, Women & Chidren (ensemble social-sexual dramedy with Adam Sandler, Jennifer Garner, Judy Greer, et. al.) ; 9. Sarah Gavron‘s Suffragette (British-set, turn-of-the-century drama about female voting-rights struggle, script by The Queen‘s Abi Morgan, costarring Carey Mulligan, Helena Bonham Carter and Meryl Streep).
I’ve read two South by Southwest reviews of Jon Favreau‘s Chef (one by Indiewire‘s Eric Kohn, another by Variety‘s Joe Leydon) and the general response is that Favreau has made a likable, agreeable, indie-styled dramedy. My problem is that I’m reluctant to settle into a film about an overweight chef. We all love to nibble down on tasty dishes but we don’t want to pay the price. Nobody does. Only teens and 20somethings can get away with eating like a pig, and sometimes not even them. I’m sorry but the metaphor of Favreau’s girth (he wasn’t in one of his slim-down modes when he shot the film and he still isn’t, to go by recent photos) speaks for itself. I don’t ever want to go there, and so I don’t feel that keen about seeing Chef. (Although I’ll see it for sure.) If Favreau was slim and trim I’d feel a whole different way. Sorry but that’s what it boils down to. Well, that and the reviews.
I seem to recall Glenn Kenny and Steven Gaydos taking issue with a statement in my initial Grand Budapest Hotel review that it feels “like Ernst Lubiitsch back from the dead.” In fact they sneered, pooh-poohed and put that comparison down but good. Now along comes Salon‘s Andrew O’Hehirdescribing Anderson’s latest as a “frothy Ernst Lubitsch-styled comedy.” This doesn’t mean that Kenny and Gaydos are dead wrong, but their harumphy dismissals of the Lubitsch connection have now been called into greater question. I’m not saying Kenny and Gaydos are running for tall grass, but they have to be thinking about that. Especially with Anderson having said the other night at the Aero was Lubitsch was an influence.
Lyttleton acknowledges that Beasts contains “material that threatens to be difficult to watch, but prognosticators worrying about that sort of thing have been proven wrong more than once of late (nominations for Amour and 12 Years A Slave winning), and a supporting role for Idris Elba should help bring in some eyes, plus this year’s race (so far) is rather lacking in ‘important fare.’”
With all the sudden whackings and the rolling of heads over the past three or four years at the Film Society of Lincoln Center (Mara Manus hired and fired, Kent Jones departs and returns, Scott Foundas ascends and leaves, Rose Kuo takes over only to get whacked like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas), the 65th Street organization has resembled a cross between the House of Borgia and House of Cards. So reactions to Lesli Klainberg‘s appointment as Executive Director and Eugene Hernandez as Deputy Director have been something along the lines of “okay, let’s see how long they last before the next palace coup or mafia-styled garroting.” Seriously, best wishes to them both and particularly Eugene. (Note: Klainberg’s decision to re-create her first name, which was almost certainly “Leslie” when she was a kid, means…I don’t know what it means but “Lesli” feels a bit affected on some level.)
Make no mistake, don’t kid yourself — the billboard for Jason Bateman’s Bad Words is like a collossus of Rhodes in Hollywood, towering over all objects and living things. That was my honest impression as I drove down Cahuenga the other day.
I have this nagging feeling that six remotes aren’t enough. I think I need seven. (l. to r.) Time Warner cable station switcher, Sherwood Bluray remote (Region Two only), sound bar control and Apple TV remote, Samsung 60″ high-def remote, Oppo Bluray remote.
65mm digital scanner at Fotokem in Burbank, which I visited last Monday afternoon. With Deluxe soon to close Fotokem is about to become the only North American company that processes and digitizes 35mm, 65mm and IMAX film. There’s a similar outfit in Paris and another near Munich.
Everybody knows Wes Anderson‘s The Grand Budapest Hotel (opening today, Fox Searchlight) is presented in three aspect ratios — 1.37, 1.85 and 2.39. This 3.6 Slate piece by David Haglund and Aisha Harris explains the whys and the particulars. The question is whether or not commercial “projectionists” (I use that term loosely as most theatres have senior ushers working the booths) will project it correctly or not. When Budapest goes to 1.37, mind, the image goes higher and deeper — it doesn’t just become a narrow windowbox image. The high-end projectionist on the Fox lot screwed this transition up (albeit briefly) when I first saw it with the trade reviewers, so what are the odds that average projectionists might do the same? I’m planning to visit two or three of the best LA theatres playing The Grand Budapest Hotel and see if they’re managing it properly. If anyone notices any a.r. problems anywhere, please inform.
Stanley Kubrick used to check projection standards in the ’60s and ’70s, as I recall. Particularly with A Clockwork Orange (1.66, not 1.85) and Barry Lyndon (which he also wanted shown at 1.66 and not 1.85). I can hear the grinding of teeth from the 1.85 fascists, particularly those who reside in the New York area, but they’re just going to have to accept the way things are now.
“If the question is, am I actively right now organizing and raising money and so forth for a campaign for president, I am not doing that. On the other hand, am I talking to people around the country? Yes, I am. Will I be doing some traveling around the country? Yes, I will be. But I think it’s premature to be talking about (the specifics of) a campaign when we still have a 2014 congressional race in front of us.” — U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders (Vermont) speaking to Truthout’s John Nichols in an interview published today (3.7).
Two weeks ago I mentioned the necessity of being able to see a high-def version of Ken Russell‘s Women in Love (’69), which is only viewable now as a 2003 MGM Home Video DVD. Ditto Russell’s The Music Lovers (’70), his tortured-Tchaikovsky biopic with Richard Chamberlain as the closeted Russain composer. Viewable only as a DVD — no Bluray and not even a Vudu high-def version. The Music Lovers was the third of Russell’s five biographical films about classical composers. Elgar (’62) and Delius: Song of Summer (’68) came before it, and then Mahler (’74) and Lisztomania (’75).