Todd Solondz‘s Weiner-Dog, a morose and depressive slog about a dachsund passing from owner to owner and bearing the sins of mankind, screened at the Eccles tonight. It’s about futility, fuck it, banality, depression, ennui, emptiness, death, Down Syndrome and cancer. It’s definitely not about “what if?” Solondz reportedly told an interviewer today that he intended a blend of Au Hasard Balthasar and Benji. I’ve always hated Solondz and his dweeby, depressive attitude and particularly his attachment to depressive losers. I began hating this film early on, and it was agony sitting through to the end (which I was determined to do no matter what). Animal lovers…I was about to post a warning but they can fend for themselves. As Weiner-Dog began a woman sitting behind me was making that “awwuhhah” sound as the camera regarded the lovable dachshund, and I was muttering to myself or more precisely to God “please don’t make me listen to this woman make ‘awwuhhah’ sounds all through this thing.” Well, she stopped. (On this note Solondz was my ally.) At the very end an older woman sitting next to me was moaning “Why did he do that? Why did he do that?”
Keep in mind that the “whee” in former Congressman Anthony Weiner‘s last name is spelled “wei” while Todd Solondz‘s just-opened black comedy, in line with the original German spelling of wienerschnitzel, goes with “ie.” Has anyone seen the Solondz? Were there any older women going “awwww” when the dachsund was on-screen? If so, what was their reaction to the finale? From my Sundance reaction: Todd Solondz‘s Weiner Dog is “a morose and depressive slog about a dachsund passing from owner to owner and bearing the sins of mankind. I’ve always hated Solondz and his dweeby, depressive attitude and particularly his attachment to depressive losers, so it was no surprise when I began hating this film early on. It was agony sitting through to the end, which I was determined to do no matter what. It’s about futility, fuck it, banality, depression, ennui, emptiness, death, Down Syndrome and cancer.”
Is there anyone who would suggest with a straight face that Huma Abedin, special aide to Hillary Clinton, is in any way responsible for the appalling behavior of her husband, former New York Congressperson Anthony Weiner? Or that Abedin’s decision to marry a politician who turned out to be an online flasher is indicative of a character flaw on her part? Or that this episode somehow tarnishes Clinton on some level? I think anyone who would even hint that Abedin or Clinton might take a hit from Weiner, an upcoming doc that that offers an in-depth exploration of the grotesque sex scandal that forced Weiner to resign from Congress, is being tremendously unfair. Men are dogs, but a woman who stands by a dog when he’s gotten himself into trouble…well, that’s between the two of them but in my book that woman has done an admirable thing. People who don’t cut and run when the going gets rough are made of the right kind of material. And so the 1.19 N.Y. Times article by Amy Chozick and Brooks Barnes that more or less paints Anedin with a disparaging brush (“Film Shows Clinton Aide’s Own Struggle With Anthony Weiner Scandal“) is a fairly low blow. Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg‘s Weiner will have its world premiere next Sunday (1.24) at the 2016 Sundance Film Festival.
A day or two ago Variety‘s Kris Tapley and Jenelle Riley posted a piece called “22 Deserving Oscar Contenders from the First Half of 2016.” I haven’t seen some of the films discussed. No excuses — I just didn’t or haven’t yet. But I feel highly enthused about two of their suggestions — Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg’s Weiner for Best Feature Doc (I’m ignoring the Best Picture idea) and Ralph Fiennes‘ giddy, motor-mouth performance in A Bigger Splash.
Kris and Jenelle don’t appear to be seriously suggesting that the others might actually score a nomination in their categories. They seem to be mostly saying “hey, at least keep some of these in mind for a Spirit Award.” Fine, but where they got the idea that Mary Elizabeth Winstead and John Goodman merit acting nominations for their performances in 10 Cloverfield Lane…fuhgedaboutit.
Best Picture: Kriegman and Steinberg’s Weiner. HE response: For a half-second I thought Tapley and Riley were cranked about Todd Solondz‘s Weiner Dog…whoaahhh! Kriegman and Steinberg’s doc about how “Carlos Danger” destroyed the career of former Rep. Anthony Weiner is a fascinating, appalling, sometimes amusing thing to sink into. On the other hand it’s about the suffocation of a guy’s life, an execution by media and twitter dogs, and who can laugh at this level of carnage? All the guy did was make an ass of himself online — no affair, no sexual harassment, no cruelty, just stupidity. But that’s all it takes.
Best Director: Jeremy Saulnier, Green Room. HE response: Uhhmm…haven’t seen it.
Best Actor: Ethan Hawke, Born to Be Blue. HE response: Missed it at last year’s Toronto Film Festival, haven’t had a chance since. Miles Ahead, another jazz biopic with a darkish tone, is already out on Bluray while Born To Be Blue, which is more or less a portrait of the late Chet Baker, is only on DVD plus it’s not streaming on Amazon or Vudu. Why?
Best Actress: Susan Sarandon, The Meddler. HE response: Missed this also. At least it’s streaming. Tapley-Riley are claiming Sarandon’s performance “is one of the most accurate portrayals of grief seen on film in recent years.” Bill Maher said it made him choke up. Sorry for the dereliction.
I tweeted an hour ago that with the exception of Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato‘s HBO Robert Mapplethorpe doc (Mapplethorpe: Look at the Pictures), the Sundance flicks I’ve seen and heard about so far have been grueling. These first 24 hours have been so depressing that I’m almost fantasizing about going home early if it keeps up like this. Not really but, you know, it’s a thought.
“Sundance spelled backwards = depression” — a phrase I first heard back in the late ’90s.
I wouldn’t want to calculate the spiritual costs of enduring another Weiner Dog, but that’s not showing sufficient respect for Todd Solondz — no one can send you to the bottom of the mud pit with such efficiency. Judging by reviews/tweets I’m just glad I had the foresight to avoid Swiss Army Man, the “flatulent dead guy” flick that also played at the Eccles.
The 82-minute pilot (described in Sundance notes as a “two-hour” pilot) for Hulu’s 11.22.63, which I saw this morning at 8:30 am, felt to me like a typical low-rent cable thing — a cheesy and slipshod wash that riffs on the Stephen King book rather than adapts it. Why change the point-of-entry year from ’58 to ’60? What’s with the crawling bug scene? I was being hit over and over with “this isn’t as good as it ought to be.” By the end I wasn’t unhappy that this “two-hour” pilot had run considerably shorter. 38 minutes of commercials?
The team behind Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato’s Mapplethorpe: Look at the Pictures during post-screening discussion at the MARC.
“Half A Basterd,” posted on 7.11.08:
Quentin Tarantino‘s script of Inglorious Bastards seems twice as fake as the Italian village in Blake Edwards‘ What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?, and that was pure mid ’60s Hollywood bullshit. It’s faker than Hogan’s Heroes, even. If Tarantino has done any research about France, Germany or any World War II particulars other than watch World War II movies, I’ll eat my motorcycle tool kit.
He doesn’t care, of course, and that’s why he’s Quentin Tarantino. You can feel him in his element, living in his head and flaunting a clever, dumb-ass yarn that entertains every step of the way, and — this is the cool part — in a kind of oddly sophisticated fashion. Which is what he’s been doing since Pulp Fiction.
The spelling errors, I have to say, are a complete hoot. Something in me refused to believe that Tarantino is just a spelling moron. He’s either an idiot movie savant of some kind, or he sat down and decided to deliberately misspell stuff in order to give the people reading it a little tickle. Toying with them, flaunting his supposed illiteracy, but doing it to a degree that seems a wee bit insincere.
That said, the errors may be dead real, and if so it’s almost impressive on a certain level. Tarantino could have easily told a freelance editor to clean up the mistakes. The fact that he didn’t spells confidence.
Over and over he writes “heer” rather than “Herr,” the German name for mister. He writes “merci be coupe” when he means “merci beaucoup.” There’s a line that goes “the Feuhrer himself couldn’t of said it better ” when he means “couldn’t have said it better.” He tries to pluralize the French-Jewish family name Dreyfuss to great comic effect. We are told that the Dreyfuss family includes a mother named “Miram” and a brother named “Bob.” (“Hey, Bob, get me one of them there quawssaunts, would ya?”)
He spells Dr. Goebbels as Dr. Gobbles…gobble, gobble! (And then he spells it “Geobbels” later on.) Tarantino seems constitutionally incapable of typing the word “you’re” — he has to write “your” every time. We’re told at one point that “there gonna die” instead of “they’re gonna die.”
Adolf Hitler is described as a “manic” instead of a maniac. Time and again people in Hitler’s company address him as “mine Feuhrer” instead of “mein Feuhrer.” We are told that German soldiers have “brought the world to there knee’s” instead of “brought the world to its knees.” Not long after this QT uses the word “wennersitnitzell,” by which he means “weinerschnitzel.” (I think.)
This is too dumb, too hayseed. It has to be a put-on.
And then comes an American GI character from Boston named Donny who carries a baseball bat and has come to be known as…I won’t say it, but it’s genius-level. (And I’m not being snide.) The nickname for Brad Pitt‘s Lieutenant Aldo is Aldo the Apache. (Because of his penchant for scalping Nazis.) There’s a great scene with a German Sgt. Rachtman being interrogated by Aldo and his men, each one of the Hebrew persuasion, and Rachtman being asked where some nearby German troops are holed up, and he answers “fuck you and your Jew dogs!”
We’re introduced to Jewish characters named “Mr. Goorowitz” and “Mrs. Himmelstein”? These are names from a ’50s comedy skit on Your Show of Shows or The Jackie Gleason Show.
Over and over it’s “Basterds” this and “Basterds” that — why is the “b” capitalized? At one point a character is asked, “How did you survived the ordel?” (This is an exact transcription.) Tarantino even spells “gimme” wrong — “gimmie.”
A journo pally has suggested HE readers might want to (a) name a critically-acclaimed director whose films they despise, and (b) explain why in 50 to 75 words.
The only director I can think of whose work I really, really don’t like is Todd Solondz (Happiness, Welcome to the Dollhouse, Palindromes, Life During Wartime, Dark Horse, Wiener-Dog). That’s not to say I don’t respect Solondz’s “brand”, or that I would argue with anyone who might insist that he’s one of the indie greats. He’s ballsy — I’ll give him that much. Courage of his convictions, unmistakable signature, etc. And I’m saying this as one who was raised in suburban New Jersey (i.e., not Essex County but Union).
I just know that the films of Todd Solondz tend to make me feel soiled and icky and lethargic. Yeah, I know — that’s the point.
From “Hating Wiener-Dog,” posted on 1.22.16: “Todd Solondz‘s Weiner-Dog, a morose and depressive slog about a dachsund passing from owner to owner and bearing the sins of mankind, screened at the Eccles tonight. It’s about futility, fuck it, banality, depression, ennui, emptiness, death, random cruelty, Down Syndrome and cancer.
“Solondz reportedly told an interviewer today that he intended a blend of Au Hasard Balthasar and Benji. I’ve always hated Solondz and his dweeby, depressive attitude and particularly his attachment to depressive losers. I began hating this film early on, and it was agony sitting through to the end (which I was determined to do no matter what).
“Animal lovers…I was about to post a warning but they can fend for themselves. As Weiner-Dog began a woman sitting behind me was making that ‘awwuhhah’ sound as the camera regarded the lovable dachshund, and I was muttering to myself or more precisely to God “please don’t make me listen to this woman make ‘awwuhhah‘ sounds all through this thing.” Well, she stopped. (On this note Solondz was my ally.) At the very end an older woman sitting next to me was moaning ‘Why did he do that? Why did he do that?’ Go, Todd!”
In the wake of Anthony Weiner‘s latest texting scandal, his solemn-faced wife Huma Abedin — otherwise known as Hillary Clinton‘s top aide — has announced a separation. There was no other option for her. The man is a fool. Brilliant and impassioned in the political rhetoric realm, but a dude who’s unable to covertly channel his libidinal longings is an embarassment all around.
Somebody wrote this morning that if Weiner had been busted for merely having an affair with a fellow legislator or a campaign worker, he’d probably still be a New York Congressman.
The general response since the news broke is that Weiner, John Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg‘s much-praised doc about Weiner’s political implosion due to his absurdly self-destructive sexting, would have been more interesting if it had been more focused on Huma. Possibly but Huma would’ve never granted the access.
Does Huma’s decision to leave Weiner increase the chances of Weiner being nominated for Best Feature Documentary Oscar? Of course it does.
From my 1.23.16 Sundance Film Festival review:
“And poor, put-upon Huma Abedin, Weiner’s wife and Hillary’s top aide who endured a form of spousal abuse during these two scandals that has rarely been equaled in any area. The looks she gives her husband throughout the film are indescribable.
“All I felt was sympathy for Huma, just as most people felt sympathy for Hillary during the Monica Lewinsky scandal of ’98 and ’99. Almost all politicians have the same ravenous appetites, and almost all men are dogs. All the public asks is that they keep their canine urges private and discreet and consensual. Is that really so hard?”
From 1.25.16 post, titled “Deflating, To Say The Least”: “This morning I saw Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg‘s Weiner, a fascinating, constantly up-close account of the two Weiner sexting scandals — the first in 2011, the second during his 2013 run for N.Y. Mayor — that ended his political career for life. I thought I knew the Weiner saga up, down, backwards and sideways, but this doc throws a new light upon it. A darkly funny one, I mean.
“It’s mainly about grimly strategizing and growing a tough hide while your staff sits around with neutral expressions and your entire life gradually melts into butterscotch pudding. YouTube videos of wildebeests being eaten alive by wild dogs have more human compassion than many of the events and conversations shown in this film. Oh, and the third-act McDonald’s escape run is a classic.
“And poor, put-upon Huma Abedin, Weiner’s wife and Hillary’s top aide who endured a form of spousal abuse during these two scandals that has rarely been equaled in any area. The looks she gives her husband throughout the film are indescribable.
“All I felt was sympathy for Huma, just as most people felt sympathy for Hillary during the Monica Lewinsky scandal or ’98 and ’99. Almost all politicians have the same ravenous appetites, and almost all men are dogs. All the public asks is that they keep their canine urges private and discreet and consensual. Is that really so hard?
The two most important events of the 2016 Sundance Film Festival were (a) the debut of Kenneth Lonergan‘s Manchester–by–the–Sea, a masterful, Oscar-calibre drama which was acquired by Amazon (and which two days ago was already being partly dismissed by Eric Kohn and Anne Thompson for not being commercial enough for the rubes), and (b) the debut of Nate Parker‘s absurdly over-hyped The Birth of a Nation and the subsequent climate of p.c. terror, generated by comintern types who seized upon Birth reactions as a political antidote to the OscarsSoWhite brouhaha back in Los Angeles. It took two or three days before saner, less ecstatic reactions to Parker’s film began to sink in and affect the conversation.
Sundance ’16 will also be remembered (in my head at least) for (c) the two Weiner flicks — Todd Solondz‘s reprehensible Weiner-Dog as well as the first rate Weiner, a doc about the downfall of Rep. Anthony Weiner; (d) the two Christine pics — Antonio Campos‘ fact-based Christine (which contains a first-rate, Spirit-nomination-deserving performance by Rebecca Hall) about the late Sarasota newscaster Christine Chubbuck, and Kate Plays Christine, a doc; (e) the debut of the Sundance film-geek term “boner buddies“; and (f) the ultra-thin-sliced chicken episode at Fresh Farms.
There was an old rumor about the late Danny Thomas (yeah, I know — “who?”) that I used to laugh about at parties in my early 20s. The rumor was that Thomas liked prostitutes to give him “plate jobs.” (Don’t ask.) Except this was the kind of thing that needed to be left alone. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to read about in a major newspaper or, God forbid, hear discussed on TV or radio talk shows. It was one of those urban legends about a famous and powerful person that has always properly stayed “in the box.”
Ditto Mimi Alford’s icky story about having given JFK aide Dave Powers a poolside blowjob at Kennedy’s suggestion, and with the 35th President watching. I didn’t want to know any more than the basic details, thanks. It was just as well that none of the many tales about JFK’s sexual shenanigans were ever reported on during his administration. Reporters were less salacious back then, or at least more compassionate. Private, personal, nothing to do with the Oval Office…leave it alone.
Things are way different today. Public figures always need to keep things on the down low, of course, and only the morons tweet or text themselves into trouble. Former New York Congressman Anthony Weiner was one of these brainiacs — a firebrand liberal politician whose erections blocked any semblance of common sense, who wasn’t smart enough to understand the pitfalls of social media…a pathetic, self-destructive hound of the first magnitude. Bulging underwear photos, “Carlos Danger”…good God.
And the poor guy roasted himself on sexting alone. No adultery, no affairs, no Clarence Thomas-style sexual workplace harassment. All he did was behave like a total fool on his cell phone.
I do the same kind of easy-default Sundance Film Festival spitballing every December. I checkmark the titles, directors and actors I know or trust on some level and work outward from there. Per longstanding tradition, I’ll be able to see around 20 to 25 films during my nine days in Park City, depending on stamina and whatnot. (The festival runs from 1.21 to 1.31.) I’m naturally looking for tips from anyone who knows anything about potentially cool obscuros. So here goes with the boldfacing primes vs. shoulder-shruggers — so far I’ve got 20 prime titles, and that’s not including any Dramatic Competition titles:
PRIME PREMIERES:
Ali & Nino / United Kingdom (Director: Asif Kapadia, Screenwriter: Christopher Hampton) — Muslim prince Ali and Georgian aristocrat Nino have grown up in the Russian province of Azerbaijan. Their tragic love story sees the outbreak of the First World War and the world’s struggle for Baku’s oil. Ultimately they must choose to fight for their country’s independence or for each other. Cast: Adam Bakri, Maria Valverde, Mandy Patinkin, Connie Nielsen, Riccardo Scamarcio, Homayoun Ershadi. World Premiere.
Certain Women / U.S.A. (Director: Kelly Reichardt, Screenwriter: Kelly Reichardt based on stories by Maile Meloy) — The lives of three woman intersect in small-town America, where each is imperfectly blazing a trail. Cast: Laura Dern, Kristen Stewart, Michelle Williams, James Le Gros, Jared Harris, Lily Gladstone. World Premiere.
Complete Unknown / U.S.A. (Director: Joshua Marston, Screenwriters: Joshua Marston, Julian Sheppard) — When Tom and his wife host a dinner party to celebrate his birthday, one of their friends brings a date named Alice. Tom is convinced he knows her, but she’s going by a different name and a different biography—and she’s not acknowledging that she knows him. Cast: Rachel Weisz, Michael Shannon, Kathy Bates, Danny Glover. World Premiere.
Frank & Lola / U.S.A. (Director and screenwriter: Matthew Ross) — A psychosexual noir love story—set in Las Vegas and Paris—about love, obsession, sex, betrayal, revenge and, ultimately, the search for redemption. Cast: Michael Shannon, Imogen Poots, Michael Nyqvist, Justin Long, Emmanuelle Devos, Rosanna Arquette. World Premiere.
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