Last night a friend wrote to complain about a line in the intro copy for the latest Oscar Poker podcast, to wit: “Sasha admits that Donald Trump MAY be a sociopath, but still thinks democrats are worse.”

My friend was mostly enraged by the “may” qualification apparently. Sasha and I have long agreed about many, many things, but not about The Beast. When she mentions him I usually just sidestep or change the subject. Yesterday, however, was a breakthrough moment when she acknowledged that he’s a sociopath.

I don’t dictate opinions to Sasha, I replied. I can only say what I think, which generally falls in the realm of sensible center-left territory. I thought it was a significant thing, however, when Sasha allowed that Trump is a sociopath, which she’s never admitted to before. The next step is admitting that he’s basically a crime-family felon — an authoritarian, uncivilized, intolerant, anti-Democratic ruffian.

She added the “and Democrats are worse” part to the intro copy. I’ve never tried to instruct Sasha about what to think or write. It’s not my style. Anyway…

“Sasha was a progressive pro-Hillary lefty before the pandemic,” I explained. “And it’s fair to say, I think, that not all right-of-the-spectrum types are necessarily evil. Position-wise and sensibility-wise Sasha isn’t all that different than Bill Maher or Dave Chappelle. Recently the pro-Israel Sasha has also express disgust about some of the more adamant pro-Hamas sentiments on the left, but who isn’t on that page?

“And you know what else? She hates it when Hollywood wokesters gang up and vote to purge and destroy iconoclasts like me, and for the last few years she’s long been an excellent friend and devoted ally in this regard.

“All in all I’m guilty of nothing worse than being an alleged ‘asshole’ of sorts…of venting opinions that the Stalinists don’t approve of…being a nervy, big-mouthed devotee of a certain late 20th Century and early 21st Century liberal aesthetic, and of being devoted to hundreds upon hundreds of great films. But there’s a whole Millennial-Zoomer gender-pronoun sector out there that wants me shunned and dismembered because they want anyone who doesn’t parrot basic woke-think doctrine…not that bad if you don’t listen to guys with H.R. Geiger Alien acid in their bloodstream like Glenn Kenny.

“Part of this animus, I’m imagining, is due to my admiration of Woody Allen and Roman Polanski.

“You should try being un-person-ed by the woke crazies and go-along cowards. It’ll have an effect upon your thinking, trust me.

“Tell me you haven’t predicted Best Picture status for The Battle of the Sexes,” I texted a friend this morning. “Or called it the leading Best Picture contender out of Telluride. 

“It’s an acceptable, good-enough film with five or six good scenes. But it’s no more than that, or certainly not in the view of the Telluride chattering class. It’s fine as far as it goes and sufficient for what it tries to do, but nobody I spoke to last weekend was over the moon about it, and a few were underwhelmed.”

The person I texted replied that she hadn’t called The Battle of the Sexes the leading Best Picture candidate out of Telluride, and only that it could (as opposed to would or should) win the Best Picture Oscar. 

Trust me, that’s a very flimsy possibility.

In the HE realm the definite contenders right now are Dunkirk, Lady Bird, Call Me By Your Name, probably The Post and possibly Darkest Hour. 

As acceptable and moderately satisfying as The Battle of the Sexes is, it doesn’t begin to possess those X-factor attributes that often or usually propel a film into Best Picture contention.

And you can probably forget The Shape of Water also. I’m starting to think that the raves out of Venice are going to gradually subside and that more level-headed voices (i.e., fewer fanboys) will start to dominate the conversation. The great Sally Hawkins will almost certainly land a Best Actress nomination, but the film…well, we’ll see.

Other Best Picture potentials: Mudbound, Phantom Thread, Roman Israel, Esq., The Big Sick. Not happening: Downsizing, Wonder Woman, Wonderstruck, Star Wars: The Last Jedi.

As one who was nearly euphoric about that ten-minute clip from Alexander Payne‘s Downsizing that I saw five months ago at Cinemacon, it breaks my heart and drains my soul to report that this portion of Payne’s film is far and away the most engaging, and that the rest of it is…well, certainly original and fascinating and intriguing as far as it goes. But the film as a whole doesn’t score on a jackpot level.

Downsizing (Paramount, 12.22) came into Telluride like Leo the lion, fed by those high aggregate review scores out of the Venice Film Festival and those highly admiring reviews from Todd McCarthy and Owen Gleiberman, but things quickly turned quiet and gulpy after yesterday’s 2 pm screening at the Chuck Jones theatre. 

Right now I would call Downsizing a respected lamb that no one I’ve spoken to, and I mean no one, is truly over-the-moon about. Except for Todd McCarthy, I mean.  1:05 pm update:  An older woman I just spoke to in line called it “embarrassing.”  That’s too harsh!  What it does is under-deliver.

Everyone knows the boilerplate. A futuristic setting and a dazzling, astonishing scientific discovery from Norwegian scientists that allows humans to reduce themselves to five inches tall. In so doing small volunteers live much more luxuriously and lavishly (their financial holdings are worth much more) while hundreds of thousands if not millions of carbon footprints are sharply reduced, and a far healthier environment results. Or so it seems at first.

The story is about shlumpy physical therapist Paul Safranek (Matt Damon) and his shallow wife Audrey (Kristen Wiig) deciding to get small and live lavishly inside a downsized tiny town. A controlled environment inside a plastic dome, safe from birds and cats and other predators.

The truth is that Downsizing starts off like a house on fire (loving it! yes! so great! Christoph Waltz is a hoot!) and then it starts to droop around the 40-minute mark, and then it really droops and sags when the movie moves to Norway. (No, I’m not going to explain what means, just that the film goes there during the final act. Read the McCarthy and Gleiberman reviews if you want specifics.)

I wanted a whipsmart social satire mixed with a sci-fi adventure about the exotic thrill of suddenly (and somewhat depressingly) being five inches tall and all that would entail, but what I got after the first act ended was a somewhat mopey, down-spirited love story between Damon and a spirited, peg-legged, often-hard-to-understand Vietnamese woman (Hong Chau) living in hand-to-mouth fashion and coping with total methane ruination of the planet.

I didn’t want a “love fuck” or a “pity fuck” (lines from the actual film) — I wanted a satirically funny excitement fuck, and that wasn’t what Payne was into when he wrote and directed.

I am not, however, “panning” Downsizing. It’s definitely a major, highly original, award-season release that everyone will have to see. It will be a huge topic of conversation during the late fall and holiday period. I am in no way saying “don’t see this” or “wait for streaming” or anything along those lines. 

Downsizing is smartly written, well acted, conceptually daring and dynamic and certainly an awesome technical achievement. It starts out as a kind of grandly visionary Preston Sturges-level social satire, then it downshifts into an occasionally amusing but sad-sacky relationship film, and then it turns soft and sappy and drearily humanistic in the final act. I never said to myself “I’m not admiring this” or “this is boring” — it’s definitely a first-rate film, and I’m very glad that Payne finally got it made — but I couldn’t get high off it. I tried but it wouldn’t let me.

Obviously I’ve been in the tank for Luca Guadagnino‘s Call Me By Your Name since last January’s Sundance premiere, but no more than any of the other big HE favorites in recent years — Manchester By The Sea, 12 Years A Slave, Zero Dark Thirty, A Separation, Birdman, Silver Linings Playbook, et. al. Naturally I’ve been expecting to see this landmark film play the Telluride Film Festival. Everyone regards TFF’s annual offerings as pretty much the finest distillation of early-to-mid-fall smarthouse or award-friendly cinema, so how could Guadagnino’s film not begin its award-season adventure there?

If a really good film starts its journey in Telluride or for that matter Venice (like Alexander Payne‘s Downsizing will), it will automatically radiate a special tingle vibe or savory aroma throughout the season. A Telluride debut is a gold-seal thing whereas a Toronto premiere is…well, lively and certainly welcome but without that special aromatic lift.

Which is why I went into a state of catatonic shock yesterday when I learned that Call Me By Your Name has been heave-ho’ed by Telluride’s Tom Luddy and Julie Huntsinger. Not due to a lack of admiration or respect (or so I gather) but because of organizational egos and politics. CMBYN‘s apparent sin was having had its world premiere at Sundance ’17 plus a European premiere the following month at the Berlinale. Telluride has screened only three Sundance debuts in its entire history, I’m told.

Yes, Manchester By The Sea was shown at Telluride ’16 eight months after debuting at Sundance, but that was because Telluride mounted a special tribute to Casey Affleck. The Affleck tribute, of course, was just an institutional ploy to sidestep Telluride’s own edict or disinclination to show Sundance films. Had they been so inclined Tom and Julie could have easily justified screening CMBYN by running a special Luca Guadagnino tribute.

Festival politics can be such bullshit.

Business Insider‘s Jason Guerrasio and Michael’s Telluride Blog have recently indulged in some Telluride ’17 speculation, so I might as well offer my own two cents worth of hot air. Which is not to suggest that HE’s wish picks are total bullshit. I’ve heard some things and have good insect antennae, so what I’m guessing or suggesting has at least some relation to reality.

MTB’s list has included Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris‘ Battle of the Sexes, Denis Villeneuve‘s Blade Runner 2049, Darren Aronofsky‘s mother!, Luca Guadagnino‘s Call Me By Your Name, Garth Davis‘s Mary Magdalene and Aaron Sorkin‘s Molly’s Game. (He also mentioned Paul Thomas Anderson‘s Phantom Thread, but that’s highly, highly unlikely.)

Hollywood Elsewhere is hearing for sure that Todd Haynes‘ problematic Wonderstruck is a lock; ditto Sean Baker‘s The Florida Project and Sebastian Lelio‘s A Fantastic Woman, which popped at last February’s Berlinale.

I’m strongly hunching that Battle of the Sexes, Call Me By Your Name and Andrey Zvagintsev‘s Loveless (the last two being distribbed by Sony Pictures Classics, a longtime Telluride presence) are more or less locked, and I’d love to see mother! play there also, of course.

Other apparent likelies or good fits, some of which overlap with MTB: Denis Villeneuve‘s Blade Runner 2049, Aaron Sorkin‘s Molly’s Game, Richard Linklater‘s Last Flag Flying, Martin McDonagh’s Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, Ritesh Batra‘s Our Souls At Night, George Clooney‘s Suburbicon and John Curran‘s Chappaquiddick (excellent script and apparently finished, but that’s all I know).

These films playing at Telluride would make basic sense in terms of generating buzz and marketing prowess, although I haven’t asked what’s actually going on. I’m figuring it can’t hurt to run a few flags up the pole and see who salutes. No harm in a little spitballing.

Two weeks ago I asked for reader assistance in assembling a speculative roster of 2017 releases that might wind up on the top-ten lists a year from now. It goes without saying that some of these may rank as 2017-18 award-season hotties by the blogaroos. Now we have at least the beginnings of a rundown — roughly 59 films.

Of these there are 35 that could be described as either highly promising or pick-of-the-litter, and nearly all from name-brand directors. At least five of these have the traditional earmarks of Best Picture contenders — Kathryn Bigelow‘s Untitled Detroit Riots Drama, Chris Nolan‘s Dunkirk, Paul Thomas Anderson‘s Charles James ’50s period drama, Alexander Payne‘s Downsizing and Joe Wright‘s Darkest Hour, a Winston Churchill vs. Nazi war machine drama.

Likeliest Best Picture Contenders (5):

Kathryn Bigelow‘s Untitled 1967 Detroit Riots Docudrama, written by Mark Boal, with John Boyega, Jack Reynor, Will Poulter, Ben O’Toole, Hannah Murray, Brandon Scales, Anthony Mackie, Jacob Latimore, Kaitlyn Dever, Jason Mitchell, Algee Smith, Joseph David-Jones and John Krasinski.

Alexander Payne‘s Downsizing (Paramount, 12.22), a sci-fi comedy about “a couple that has agreed to have themselves shrunk down, except the wife changes her mind after the husband submits to the process.” Matt Damon, Kristen Wiig, Christoph Waltz, Alec Baldwin, Neil Patrick Harris, Jason Sudeikis.

Paul Thomas Anderson Anderson’s ‘s semi-fictionalized biopic about legendary egomaniacal fashion designer Charles James (1906-1978) with Daniel Day Lewis in the lead role. Deadline‘s Mike Fleming reported on 9.8.16 that the film will be set in the fashion world in London in the 1950s (even though James operated out of New York City during that decade). Fleming also said that Focus Features plans to release it in late 2017.

Chris Nolan‘s Dunkirk (Warner Bros., 7.19), a partially IMAX-shot, World War II-era epic. Step back — it’s the new Nolan! Aneurin Barnard, Kenneth Branagh, James D’Arcy, Tom Hardy, Jack Lowden, Cillian Murphy, Mark Rylance.

How jazzy and spirit-lifting will the forthcoming 69th Venice Film Festival be? All we can do is spitball at this point, but you have to regard the word of regular Venice Film Festival-attending, emotionally invested critic-journos with a grain of salt. You’re probably better off listening to someone like myself, someone who’s never attended this festival and doesn’t give that much of a shit one way or the other. I’m strictly a Telluride-Toronto-New York kind of guy these days.

Honestly? The only thing that has made me snap to attention is the rumored/expected announcement that Paul Thomas Anderson‘s The Master will have its world debut on the Lido.

Otherwise it feels/looks/seems like a mid-level meh festival…to me anyway. If you want another opinion, ask Guy Lodge.

As expected, Terrence Malick‘s unrated, distributor-seeking To the Wonder, “about a couple in a crisis after returning from a pilgrimage to a holy site in Italy,” will play Venice. The drama, which or may not be laden with internal dialogue-whispers, misty dreamscapes and a tossed-salad structure, costars Ben Affleck, Olga Kurylenko, Rachel McAdams and Javier Bardem.

Brian De Palma‘s Passion, a remake of the middling Love Crime with Rachel McAdams and Noomi Rapace, will play the Lido. Unless the tectonic plates have shifted and the world has totally re-ordered itself, it will disappoint, or should I say it will meet the expectations of anyone who knows what the term “late DePalma” or “21st Century DePalma” means? The man peaked in the ’70s and ’80s, hung on to some degree in the ’90s, and is now all but over.

Also Venice-bound:

Ramin Bahrani‘s At Any Price, starring Dennis Quaid and Zac Efron, will play in compettion.

Robert Redford‘s The Company You Keep (aging ’60s radical chased around by dogged pain-in-the-ass journalist pursuing him) will screen out of compettion. As will Jonathan Demme‘s Enzo Avitabile Music Life, a doc, and Spike Lee’s Bad 25, about the 25th anni of Michael Jackson‘s Bad album (i.e., “your butt is mine”).

Harmony Korine‘s Spring Breakers, which stars James Franco as a rapper named ‘Alien’ preying on a couple of teenaged girls…forget it.

Olivier Assayas‘ Something in the Air.

Susanne Bier‘s All You Need is Love.

Marco Bellocchio‘s Dormant Beauty.

Daniele Cipri‘s E stato il figlio.

Takeshi Kitano‘s Outrage: Beyond…sure thing!

Kim Ki-duk‘s Pieta.

The Venice Film Festival will open with Mira Nair‘s The Reluctant Fundamentalist, but the phrase “starring Kate Hudson” instantly takes it down a few pegs. Hudson cannot be redeemed…ever.

Amos Gitai‘s Carmel…never dismiss Gitai!

A doc by Jury president Michael Mann called Witness: Libya.

Watch this trailer for Uli Edel‘s The Baader Meinhof Complex and tell me it doesn’t look like an exciting, tough, complex “ride” movie, and not just some dense political drama. Based on the book by Stefan Aust, it’s about the infamous German terrorist group behind all kinds of bombings, killings, robberies and kidnappings in the late ’60s and ’70s.

Martina Gedeck in Uli Edel’s The Baader Meinhof Complex

The word on the film has been iffy ever since Constantin Films and its German p.r. agency, Just Publicity, tried to threaten German and other European critics with heavy fines if they reviewed or even spoke about The Baader Meinhof Complex prior to an embargo date of 9.17.08 (for the film’s 9.25 German and Austrian openings).
And yet I’ve been told by a buyer-distributor whom I know and trust that Edel’s film is better than pretty good.
And the top-notch all-German cast, he says, is totally killer — Martina Gedeck, Moritz Bleibtreu, Johanna Wokalek, Bruno Ganz, Simon Licht, Jan Josef Liefers, Alexandra Maria Lara, etc. And yet The Baader Meinhoff Complex didn’t show at the Toronto Film Festival, and the Telluride Film Festival’s Tom Luddy wasn’t even shown it for possible consideration.
And although It’s opening in Europe this fall, starting in Germany and Austria ten days from now, Baader Meinhof has no U.S. distributor and the people at Summit Entertainment, who are said to be handling int’l (and, for the time being, domestic) sales for Constantin Films, which produced the film, haven’t returned calls all day. I spoke to Summit’s corporate spokesperson Paul Pflug, but that didn’t go too far because he’s not in the loop.

The trusted buyer, a “name” guy who saw Baader Meinhof last spring before Cannes, said “it’s amazing….a really good movie with crazy details that I didn’t know about. A huge expensive action movie with a great cast [so good that] you want to hire all of them. But because it’s in German and because of the tough lefty politics of it…and maybe because Americans won’t understand the context or because they may be turned off by the politics and the exotic ’60s climate, the buyers are skittish.
The Baader-Meinhof gang “had public support and manipulated the German government from their jail cells…they were vicious. There’s a great scene when they go to train with the early-on Middle Eastern terrorists, except the Baader Meinhof gang is very much into the ’60s commune ideals and so there’s a culture and values clash.”
All I know is that I would have made a point to see this film at Toronto, and it wasn’t even there. I would love to see it right now and write about it and maybe nudge the buzz along, but the Summit people won’t pick up the phone. Constantin’s Bernd Eichinger is said to be concerned and perplexed that he can’t sell The Baader Meinhof Complex to a U.S. distributor, but nobody stateside seems to be doing very much about it. Or at least, not so you’d notice.
Are they (Constatin plus whomever would like to distribute) planning a Sundance opening and an early ’09 opening? One can only guess.

Update: A letter from Richard Huffman, webmaster of a first-rate Baader-Meinhof site, came after I published earlier today.
“I wanted to follow up with you on your story about the Baader-Meinhof movie,” he began.I “n addition to being a major Jeff Wells fan, I happen to have the odd distinction of being one of the world’s leading experts on the group (you can visit my site at www.baader-meinhof.com). I am personally interested in seeing this film because West German terrorists targeted my dad when he was serving at the head of the US Army’s Berlin Bomb Disposal unit while the Baader-Meinhof Gang was active.
“Anyway, I can tell you that the story of this group is stunning and as cinematic as one could possibly imagine. One of Germany’s leading journalists decides to leave her kids and and life to become a terrorist. A group dedicated to violent revolution that actually had the support of up to 20 percent of the German youth, and which brought about a horrible bombing campaign that maimed and killed dozens of Americans and Germans.
“As someone who has studied this era in amazing detail; watching clips from this movie sends absolute chills down my spine. it’s like looking through a time machine.
“If you go to my homepage you’ll see a brief clip from a history channel documentary that myself and Baader-Meinhof Komplex author Stefan Aust appear in from last year about the group.”

The slate for the 34th Telluride Film Festival (Friday, 8.31 through Monday, 9.3) has been announced, and while there are many smart and stirring selections made by men of good taste, there are also no major pulse-quickeners or mind-blowers. It’s basically a bunch of Cannes stuff along with a few Toronto ’07 selections.

The idiosyncratic standouts for myself (if I were attending, that is) are a Norman Lloyd documentary (Matthew Sussman‘s Who Is Norman Lloyd?, a look at Lloyd’s 70 years as an actor-producer-writer) and a digitally remastered version of Richard Lester‘s Help!

The only thing that could save Telluride ’07 from “meh” status will be if that rumored-but-later-denied showing of a There Will Be Blood reel (as part of the Daniel Day Lewis tribute) turns out to be real.

The slate includes…

Todd McCarthy‘s Pierre Rissient: Man of Cinema, about the influential publicist, sometime film distributor and film buff who discovered talent such as Jane Campion and Abbas Kiarostami.

Lee Chang-dong‘s Secret Sunshine, which “stars Jeon Do-yeon, winner of the Best Actress prize at Cannes, as a young woman trying to adjust to a new life with her young son amidst tragedy.”

Who Is Norman Lloyd?

Rails and Ties, Alison Eastwood‘s directorial debut [which] stars Kevin Bacon and Marcia Gay Harden in a story about two families in physical, emotional and psychological collision.

Julian Schnabel‘s The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Cristian Mungiu‘s film, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days.

Eran Kolirin‘s The Band’s Visit

Wayne Wang‘s A Thousand Years of Good Prayers.

Stefan Ruzowitzky‘s The Counterfeiters.

Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Parronaud‘s adaptation of Satrapi’s graphic novel of the same name.

When Did You Last See Your Father?, David Nicholl‘s adaptation of poet-novelist Blake Morrison’s memoir, directed by Anand Tucker, tells the story of a son’s conflicting memories of his dying father.

Todd Haynes‘ I’m Not There.

Barbet Schroeder‘s Terror’s Advocate.

Sean Penn‘s Into the Wild,.

Baltasar Kormakur‘s Jar City.

Etgar Keret and Shira Geffen‘s Jellyfish.

Li Yang‘s Blind Mountain.

Sarah Gavron‘s Brick Lane.

Kevin Macdonald My Enemy’s Enemy, a documentary “that tracks Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, a.k.a. the Butcher of Lyon.”

Aleksei Balabanov‘s Cargo 200.

Noah Baumbach‘s Margot at the Wedding.

Werner Herzog’s Encounters At The End of The World, an exploration of “the vast empty splendor of Antarctica and the meaning that Herzog, with the help of physicists, biologists and volcanologists, tries to extract meaning from it.

Khuat Akhmetov‘s Wind Man.

Mark Kidel‘s Journey with Peter Sellars.

Mark Obenhouas‘s Seep!, a doc about extreme skiing.

Andrew Haigh‘s All Of Us Strangers (Searchlight, 12.22), which I had problems with due to the beard-stubble sex scenes between Andrew Scott and HE nemesis Paul Mescal, is essentially a time-travel flick.

It’s about a 40ish gay London screenwriter named Adam (Scott) retreating to his ’80s childhood so he can tell his dead suburb-residing parents (Jamie Bell, Claire Foy) that he’s gay** and to basically bring them (and himself) up to speed.

I mostly succeeded at suppressing my negative feelings about Mescal, and I genuinely went with Scott’s performance, and I especially liked Foy’s. But I was basically waiting for Strangers to come to a merciful end. And while I was sitting there in my seat at Telluride’s Galaxy Theatre I was thinking back to an Eisenhower-era Twilight Zone episode about another grown man revisiting his childhood and eventually conversing with his father. A big difference is that the Zone protagonist is straight.

“Walking Distance“, the fifth episode in The Twilight Zone‘s first season (’59 to ’60), is not about “hey, mom and dad, this is who I turned out to be sexually, and I really wanted you to know that…well, that I’m a happy heterosexual and that I more or less turned out to be Jack Nicholson‘s character in Carnal Knowledge.”

Walking Distance, rather, is about a harried man briefly escaping from the pressures of adulthood.

36 year-old Martin Sloane (Gig Young), an anxiety-ridden advertising executive from Manhattan, briefly visits a idyllic yesteryear town — a Willoughby-like, Thornton Wilder-esque hamlet with a merry-go-round in the park. Sloane soon comes to realize that he’s revisiting his own home town, and that the year is 1934, when he was 11 years old. Sloane eventually meets his wise and perceptive father (Frank Overton, who died in ’67) and has a heart-to heart about everything.

The basic message of Walking Distance is that no matter how difficult or stressed your life may seem, and no matter how desperately an older person may want to retreat to the past, you can’t go home again.

The basic message of All Of Us Strangers is that gay guys need to come out to their parents, even if the parents-in-question died in a car crash a long time ago. Which may help them to feel whole.

I guess I’m imagining Walking Distance being about a closeted Manhattan ad executive in 1959 who time-travels and confesses his sexuality to his dad. The pater familias looks at him and says “I’ll always love you, son…I’m just sorry that you won’t be able to be open about yourself until…well, frankly not until the ’70s or 80s and perhaps not even until the ’90s. By which time you’ll be well past your sexual prime and on your way to assisted living. I’m sorry…tough break.”

Or maybe I’m thinking about a 36 year-old Hollywood Elsewhere reader revisiting his childhood in the early to mid ’90s and exploring what he’d like to change or un-do on some level. Or a 46-year-old HE reader retreating back to the early to mid ’80s.

** Adam isn’t comfortable calling himself queer.

My recent Telluride viewing of Andrew Haigh’s All Of Us Strangers reminded me that I really, really don’t want to be subjected to explicit gay-male sex scenes, especially if they involve older guys with beard stubble. And double-triple especially if they involve Joaquin Phoenix…pushing 50, paunchy, salt-and-pepper, etc.

I wouldn’t want to watch Phoenix having sex with a woman either. Please.

Todd Haynes has told Variety’s Elsa Keslassy that his next film will be a 1930s-era gay love story starring Phoenix and a not-yet–cast younger guy, and that it will feature “explicit” or otherwise “challenging” sex scenes, and that during their discussions Phoenix had been “pushing it further into more dangerous territory, sexually.”

What the hell would “dangerous territory” mean? I could speculate but let’s not.

Compromise: Back in the 1950s and ‘60s producers used to shoot two versions of sex scenes — tamer, less graphic ones for the U.S. market plus racier, more explicit versions for Europeans. What about Haynes and Phoenix shooting explicit sex scenes for those who are game plus straight-friendly versions in the vein of Call Me By Your Name or Brokeback Mountain for fraidy cats like myself?

Jordan Ruimy’s version of the story: