At the recent Provincetown Film Fest, Quentin Tarantino talks about finishing up Inglorious Bastards, his spaghetti western/World War II script. When I saw him in Cannes, he was still refining it. Easily distracted, Tarantino likes to take time between projects to let his mind breathe. But once he gets over the hump of starting something, he goes away somewhere on his own, like Amsterdam, and writes undisturbed, on yellow legal pads, longhand, in pencil.
Tarantino is one of most fortunate writer-directors in Hollywood. While other filmmakers white-knuckle their way from project to project, hoping to finance their fantasies and get them up on screen just the way they want them--which never happens--Tarantino can count on long-time mentor/patron Harvey Weinstein to be there for him. As soon as the director is ready, he gets a greenlight, and can move forward into production. He wants to get Inglorious Bastards shot and finished by Cannes 2009.
Let's just hope The Weinstein Co., which will eventually emerge from its disastrously cynical pay-TV/distribution deal with MGM, will survive-- if only to keep backing Tarantino.
This billboard installation was reportedly put up in Auckland to promote a local TV screening of Kill Bill. Seems elaborate, if it's even real. But it's cool nonetheless.
At the Adoration dinner-party on the roof of the Palais Thursday night, Sony Pictures Classics execs were huddling in the corner talking deals. But producer Robert Lantos and Cinetic Media's John Sloss were relaxed and enjoying the balmy moonlit evening.
They had approached SPC before the fest and showed them the latest opus from brainy Canadian helmer Atom Egoyan, whose work ranges from the high of Sweet Hereafter to the low of the muddled Armenian history lesson Ararat. SPC snapped up this smart, thoughtful, intense drama about a teenager trying to make sense of the death of his parents through provocative fictional theater pieces and chats on the Internet. This way Adoration came to Cannes with an experienced distributor behind it and no anxiety about having to sell.
There's something to be said for this old-fashioned approach. Pick the distrib who best suits your movie and nail down an exclusive sale in advance of a big fest. Harvey Weinstein denies that he was in that position on Steven Soderbergh's Che. French sales co. Wild Bunch is trying to unload North American rights to the four-hour, 18 minute biopic.
The word on the Croisette is that jury prexy Sean Penn will somehow coax his politically-aware jury into making a statement by awarding the Palme d'Or to Che. The movie is so flawed that I find this scenario implausible, but it would certainly make a statement. I could see Benicio del Toro deservedly winning an actor prize. On the other hand, Toni Servillo, the star of two strong Italian entries here, Il Divo and Gomorra, may beat him out.
At Thursday night's AMFAR Cinema Against AIDS benefit in Mougins Harvey Weinstein made a passionate plea to the jurors in the house to award the fest's big prize to Che. But will he put his money where his mouth is and acquire the film? He may well be the only willing stateside buyer, no matter how enthusiastic some of the film's critical supporters.
Here's a clip from Il Divo, which I enjoyed thoroughly. (Here's Variety's rave review.) Even though the movie is a densely-packed exploration of the intricacies of corrupt Italian politics, it managed to be an accessible, entertaining and perceptive portrait of controversial political enigma Giulo Andreotti. Steven Soderbergh could learn from Paolo Sorrentino.
But after saying they might leave town empty-handed (like many of their rivals), SPC moved in on a few titles after sampling more movies at the fest than ever before--they combed through the stuff that was available in the fest and market--and went on a late-fest buying spree, bidding on James Toback's Tyson and closing North American deals on Norwegian director Bent Hamer's O'Horten and the Dardenne brothers' The Silence of Lorna.
What was left of the Cannes contingent finally saw Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche, New York, long after the distribs who attended an early buyer's screening had been spreading bad word all week. The job of buyers is to assess commerciality. Not just artistic achievement. I went to see the movie Friday night and kept waiting for the supposed incoherent indecipherable parts to kick in. The movie was clear as a bell and well-executed. No problem. High-end sophisticated art-house crowds will eat this up.
Charlie Kaufman's genius has always been a crafty blend of ingenious surprise, unexpected whimsy and genuine heartfelt human emotion.
If this movie was played as straight drama it might have a problem. But this is far more clever than that. Synecdoche has a mother-lode of humor and comedy running through it. Sure, Philip Seymour Hoffman's character is sad, bereft, lonely, plagued by Job-like maladies, deluded, obsessed with achieving artistic cred etc., but Kaufman is also laughing at him, his crazy German-speaking tattooed daughter, his problems with women, and his insanely ambitious out-sized theatre installation. The actors, especially Hoffman (below, after the press conference on Friday with co-star Tom Noonan and producer Spike Jonze), are all excellent. (Not enough of Catherine Keener, sadly.)
I had no trouble following this at all. And I might add I seemed to be the only person in the Palais laughing my head off. UPDATE: Apparently, the NYT's A.O. Scott was too. Here's his elegant Cannes wrap-up.
Synecdoche is much like Memento or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or Being John Malkovich--the very thing that makes people want to see it a second time will make it worth debating and discussing. SPC's Michael Barker told me that years ago he bought a movie at Cannes after he witnessed the LAT's Kenneth Turan and me having a big debate over it. The French pic The Dreamlife of Angels turned out to be a huge hit in France and a small hit in the U.S. A movie that gets people arguing always has a chance. (Here's SPC's Michael Barker at Wild Bunch's offices with the other hardest-working man in Cannes: IFC's Jonathan Sehring.)
While some have suggested that I should cut Soderbergh some slack on Che, I will argue that as hard as he worked on the pic over many years, he did not figure out the appropriate, disciplined shape the movie should have. By contrast, equally ambitious but thought-out is Synecdoche, which is not at all self-indulgent. Audacious and bold, Kaufman wrote carefully and well and delivered something brilliantly executed as his first directing gig. Soderbergh may have a bit of John Sayles-itis. You don't have to do it all yourself. Let some professionals help you.
I had to miss Quentin Tarantino's Master Class because it was opposite yet another panel about the new distribution future that I moderated at the American Pavilion. But the night before at the Hotel du Cap, Tarantino, Marina Zenovich (Polanski: Wanted and Desired), Tim Robbins and I had a blast talking about Sam Fuller (Robbins tapped Tarantino for his doc on Fuller which has yet to be cleared for DVD, though Robbins is working on it), how hard it is to set up movies if you don't have Harvey Weinstein as your benefactor (Robbins is in town trying to push a few things through) and how if you find a great editor like Sally Menke, you stick with her for life.
Tarantino is wrapping up writing his magnum WWII opus Inglorious Bastards. Hopefully he will learn from Soderbergh and not make it too long--he got away with releasing both Kill Bill I and II but not the double feature with Robert Rodriguez, Grindhouse--unless it goes to HBO. I could also see Che go out in long cable form. Time's Richard Corliss calls both Soderbergh and Tarantino Warrior Auteurs. Agreed: listening to Tarantino talk is almost as much fun as watching his movies.
Sundance juror Quentin Tarantino, looking a bit the worse for wear, was none too pleased when a paparazzi video camera started shooting him without asking. Tarantino got a bit rough with the guy, then realized the thing would inevitably wind up on YouTube. My sympathies are with Tarantino, who had probably been up late the night before, and was putting in a grueling schedule watching not only the competition films but other stuff he wanted to see, like George Romero's Diary of the Dead. And he was just getting his first sip of morning coffee.
Quentin Tarantino, Elvis Mitchell and David Chute add commentary to the new Dragon Dynasty The Shaw Brothers Classic Collection DVD, King Boxer: Five Fingers of Death. Here's DVD Spindoctor, and Kung Fu Cinema:
Audio commentary is provided by filmmaker and Dragon Dynasty consultant Quentin Tarantino and film scholars David Chute and Elvis Mitchell. I knew this commentary would be at least interesting with the very vocal Tarantino on board, but it turns out to be even better than I could have hoped for. The trio seems to know each other fairly well and each contributes in a distinctive way that compliments the others. These guys definitely know their genre films and references come fast and hard. Young or casual listeners may be left in their dust, but fellow filmmakers and film enthusiasts will feel right at home as they dissect KING BOXER with references to old Hollywood B-movies, chambara movies and obscure kung fu classics even I haven’t seen yet like director Jeong Chang-hwa’s HEADS FOR SALE. There is also a lot of talk, particularly from Tarantino and Mitchell about the first impression this film had on them back in the grindhouse movie days. This is always fun to hear as a younger fan who missed out on this era, yet has still gotten to sample from revival screenings of Shaw Brothers classics in more recent years. The truth is that these movies have and always will be best served to a theater packed with uninhibited, hollering fanatics.
When I first interviewed Tarantino for EW for Pulp Fiction, I had a wonderful time talking with him--it was like talking to my film critic husband David, who provides commentary with Tarantino and Mitchell. He also joins Tarantino on another Dragon Dynasty collector's edition: The One-Arm Swordsman, this time with critic Andy Klein. These guys know more than you'll ever want to know about these films!
UPDATE: For more on these DVDS, listen to Christian Johnson's "Geekerati Radio" episode on July 16 on "DVD Extras," 7 to 8 PM. Catch it live, call in or find old podcasts at blogtalkradio/geekerati. If you join in on the conversation, they might might give out a free copy of a movie.
Contrary to various reports, the Weinsteins will not slice and dice the two halves of Grindhouse in the U.S. Last weekend the distributor quietly experimented with advertising Planet Terror and Death Proof's individual show times (without separating the films) in several markets including Memphis and San Antonio. The three-hour 11 minute movie is playing best in New York and L.A. and fair in the top ten movie cities, but is dying everywhere else. The experiment failed. Both movies performed exactly the same as they did in other flat markets.
From here, the Weinsteins are launching a longer version of Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof, to be enhanced by some 10-15 minutes, at Cannes next month. The two films will be released around the world in June and July. If they succeed as separate pictures, there remains a possibility that the company could consider a later limited art-house release. But the likely scenario is that they will look to recover their investment through DVD sales.
Rather than dive into the well-plowed turf of Grindhouse's dismal b.o. prospects, the NYT's Michael Cieply uses the double-feature's misfire as a hook for a story that carefully sifts through the Weinstein Co's financial situation, yet gives Bob and Harvey the benefit of the doubt. This piece is a classic example of how a major mainstream newspaper can at the same time gain access, report the hell out of a story, yet remain fair and objective enough to keep the subjects from wanting to kill the messenger. The final piece does not read, as many stories about the Weinsteins do, as though they succeeded in spinning the writer. You can be sure they tried. The NYT is taken seriously by all their Wall Street investors.
While I have been dismayed by many of the Weinsteins' moves in the past few years, I'm encouraged by a sense that they are returning to their roots as champions of films they actually care about, even as they've been distracted by trying to build a strong business to support them. (I have suspected them of being too big for their britches, a tad grandiose in their reach.) But nothing is going to work if they don't succeed at producing and distributing those films. Yes, their investment in the homevideo company Genius was a good move, but do they want to make movies that only succeed on DVD? I don't think so. They still want to win an Oscar or a Palme d'Or or two.
Now that Grindhouse will go out as two movies in all foreign markets, not just English-language territories, and likely in the U.S. as well (something the NYT story does not address), Robert Rodriguez's half, Planet Terror, will have a shot at playing to the horror crowd. And I have many cinephile friends, many of them women, who were put off by the gross-out flick and will now flock en masse to Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof. Let's see what happens.
Just because Grindhouse is floundering at the boxoffice doesn't mean it's all over. Just because it didn't work as w wide-audience commercial release doesn't mean that discerning cineastes shouldn't still FLOCK to see it, because Grindhouse is a whole lot better than all the other crap out there. (I for one, continue to be dumbfounded by the positiveattention that Paul Verhoeven's Black Book is getting. This movie is a tonally warped, over-the-top, misguided take on World War II Holland under Nazi occupation.) The photo above from Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof captures some of the great energy Grindhouse has; here's some video of Robert Rodriguez talking with ABC critic Joel Siegel about how he and Tarantino learn from each other.
Grindhouse did not, as they say, open. It came in fourth with a $11 million gross on 2624 screens with a running time of three hours and 12 minutes.
What went wrong? Let's list the ways. Grindhouse was a cult concept, with a cult following. It was the kind of movie critics praise (Metacritic gave it a very good 78) but it was beat by Ice Cube's execrably reviewed comedy Are We Done Yet? (Metacritic ranking: 39). Many audiences said: "I don't have three hours." The Rodriguez half of Grindhouse was for horror fans, and was far too gross for women, who might have liked the Tarantino half, which is a total female empowerment flick. My friend in Chicago who eagerly took a pal on opening day reported about 30 people in the theater. Not a good sign.
The whole point of this exercise was TO DO IT CHEAP! The movie probably cost far more than the Weinsteins' claim of $53 million. With total P & A costs the movie probably sneaks close to $100 million. What happened is what happens to all movie companies when name talent have the clout to hold their financeers for ransom. That is, the two directors spent beyond their combined $40-million budget because they wanted their movies to be as good as they could be. Performance anxiety trumps prudence. Rodriguez spent to make his trashy send-off of grade-B horror flix as gruesome as possible (he also melted down over the breakup of his marriage and the production had to shut down for a month; the Weinsteins ate that cost). And Tarantino shot and shot and shot to score the best possible car chase finale. Marrying those two movies into a digital internegative and final film print at the last possible minute wasn't cheap either.
Ideally, the Weinsteins would have been at the top of their game, with a lot of clout behind them, and insisted that the directors file two movies at one-hour each. Which is what they were supposed to do in the first place. Doable. The movies would have been cheaper, easier to watch and sell.
But in their current guise, without a slate of hits behind them, the Weinsteins had no choice but to let the filmmakers do what they wanted. Both Rodriguez and Tarantino gave them a lot over the years and stuck with the brothers after they left Disney. The filmmakers wanted the movie to go out through Dimension and not MGM; they wanted the Weinsteins to book and sell and market and care, deeply, about making the movie work. There was plenty of awareness of this movie. That's why it tracked so well. But on Easter Holy weekend, Ice Cube was a bigger marquee draw inside his market niche than an ensemble of stars few have heard of in a violent R-rated splatterfest homage to movies few ever saw--Kurt Russell was the biggest name of the bunch.
It's also telling that the loud internet chatter didn't translate at the box office. Young men and film fans are the easiest to reach on the web, but Grindhouse needed more. It should have opened in fewer theaters and built up an audience. But at that negative cost, the Weinsteins needed to go wide selling their brand-name directors--who were playing strictly to their core, with no crossover. The movie will plug along for a while, but the Weinsteins will have to make their money back overseas (where the films will be separate) and on DVD, where the running time won't be an issue. In the digital home movie universe, more is more. UPDATE: Femme Fatale reacts to the opening, as does everyone and their mother on The Hot Blog. Other theories, anyone?
Here's the WSJ story on the Weinstein's $53-million marketing gamble (subscription required, see paste below).
I've been waiting to read Todd McCarthy's review of Grindhouse all week. Because of various embargos, it didn't post online until last night. Here's a sample:
The 1970s exploitation movie gropes, bites, kicks, slugs, blasts, smashes and cusses its way back to life in "Grindhouse," a "Rodriguez/Tarantino double feature" that lovingly resurrects a disreputable but cultishly embraced form of era-specific film production and exhibition. A pair of pictures devoted to re-creating their progenitors' grubby aesthetics and visceral kicks, but with vastly greater budgets, higher-end actors and a patina of hipster cool, they part company when it comes to talent and freshness. The numerous marketing problems for this bizarre pop-culture artifact begin with the three-hour-plus running time and young auds' unfamiliarity with the format. But the B.O. strength of "Sin City" and "Kill Bill" alone suggests the helmers' loyal followings will produce a very potent opening frame, with fairly steep fall-off thereafter in the manner of most horror films.
The United States may be the only territory, however, where the whole shebang will come out as one feature, as each picture will be released separately in slightly longer versions overseas.
As genre rehabs go, "Grindhouse" is more daring and audacious than most, partly due to its conception as an entire program complete with two pictures, four tailor-made trailers and various for-real interstitial bits, but more so because of its stylistic fidelity to its source material. Hollywood cinema, from "Jaws" and "Star Wars" onward, is filled with B-movie material served in A-picture bottles, but Robert Rodriguez's "Planet Terror" and Quentin Tarantino's "Death Proof" mean to reproduce the shot-on-the-run look and feel of genuinely down-and-dirty pics of 35 years ago, all the way to scratchy prints and missing scenes. One certain difference: Neither early George Romero nor the original "Gone in 60 Seconds" had seven-minute end credits scrolls listing things such as director's chef and greens gang bosses.
After all the Comic-Con build-up and rumors about length, rating and rushing to the finish line, Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino delivered their salacious, leering, gross, disgusting, violent B-movie splatterfest in the nick of time to screen it Monday night at L.A.'s downtown movie palace The Orpheum. The movie hits theaters April 6.
The audience groaned and screamed and ducked in their seats with sheer pleasure throughout the three-hour running time. At the tent party afterwards the debates ranged on which trailers were best, was Rodriguez better than Tarantino, etc. It all depends on your own taste. You could argue that red-blooded males will love both, while more discerning males and women will vote for the Tarantino. But who knows?
The movie is broken into two 85-minute halves; one trailer (Machete) unspools in front of the first and three more (Rob Zombie's Werewolf Women of the SS, Edgar Wright's Don't and Eli Roth's Thanksgiving) in front of the second. Rodriguez's film, shot digitally, is a wild careening episodic crazy zombie flick with tongue planted firmly in cheek, artificially scratched and mauled to resemble the crap B-movies he and Tarantino are honoring. That the scene in which a mutating dripping gloppy Tarantino attempts to rape peg-legged femme fatale Rose McGowan (who comes off well in this flick, as does her stalwart gun-toting swain, Freddie Rodriguez) passed with an R-rating not only surprises me but Tarantino and Rodriguez as well. Check out their interviews on MTV.com. "Did you forget about the melting penis?" they ask incredulously.
As grungy and entertainingly gross as Rodriguez's Planet Terror is, Tarantino's Death Proof is sleek and 35 mm gorgeous, smartly written and paced. It delivers a satisfying female empowerment pay-off as Kurt Russell plays a bad guy who makes Snake Plissken look like a wimp and stuntwoman-turned-actress Zoe Bell (above, with the directors) delivers the goods in an extended (dangerous-looking) live-action chase sequence that leaves Thelma and Louise in the dust.
Print reviews should start breaking by week's end.
At the recent Provincetown Film Fest, Quentin Tarantino talks about finishing up Inglorious Bastards, his spaghetti western/World War II script. When I saw him in Cannes, he was still refining it. Easily distracted, Tarantino likes to take time between projects to let his mind breathe. But once he gets over the hump of starting something, he goes away somewhere on his own, like Amsterdam, and writes undisturbed, on yellow legal pads, longhand, in pencil. 
Grindhouse did not, as they say, open. It came in fourth with a $11 million gross on 2624 screens with a running time of three hours and 12 minutes. 
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