Diario de Los Angeles (Parte 5)

Por razones de tiempo --y de obligaciones profesionales...-- no puedo explayarme ahora mucho sobre los Spirit Awards (espero poder rescatarlo luego). Sólo diré que haber estado en la ceremonia fue una experiencia divertida, relajada, nada que ver con los interminables y morosos eventos similares en los que uno participa en la Argentina. Veloz --un premio tras otro--, con un guión para los presentadores no demasiado ingenioso pero ágil, y con películas más interesantes que las que compiten hoy.

Perdieron "Ballast" y "Wendy & Lucy", dos de mis favoritas, pero "El luchador" ganó tres premios, y haber visto a Mickey Rourke dar su desaforado discurso de agradecimiento en el que mencionó desde la policía de Los Angeles que no lo dejaba dormir en la calle hasta la cocaína que consumen los luchadores, se olvidó los nombres de todos, pidió "una segunda oportunidad" para otro compañero de época y reviente como Eric Roberts, volvió a calificar a Darren Aronofsky como un "durísimo hijo de puta" y mezcló un "fuck" cada cinco palabras, fue toda una experiencia. Calculo que si hoy gana el Oscar se cuidará más y hará más referencias a sus perritos que a los esteroides que consume...

Ver eso, a unos invitados robándose botellas de whisky y metiéndolas en los enormes bolsos de ridículos regalos que recibimos (que contenían, entre otras cosas, gotas para los ojos, papas fritas, vitaminas, medias, barras de cereales y... un descuento de mil dólares para una operación de la vista) y algunas otras situaciones y personajes poco usuales (que no tengo ahora tiempo de contar) hizo que las casi diez horas que duró todo el asunto --desde la convocatoria para la prensa hasta que dejé la fiesta posterior a la ceremonia pasando por la espera de la alfombra roja, la alfombra en sí, la ceremonia y la fiesta-- valieran la pena, si bien me dejaron con un estado físico deplorable para soportar otra jornada extensa como la de hoy.

Sí, recién son las siete y pico de la mañana acá...

Parker Lewis - Written And Directed By Parker Lewis (2008)

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It seems as though everyone and their mother in Sweden can churn out at least a decent song (true fact: 80% of the population is in a band), but few and far between are those who can make the gems.

The Tough Alliance, Lykke Li, Studio, the Concretes… heck, even the Cardigans deserve the highest of praise. Now, Parker Lewis has officially entered into that upper echelon of Swedish pop craftsmanship.

Lewis popped under our radar late last year with melancholic pop ballads “X-Mas, NYC” and “Dirty Dancing,” both of which he wrote during his stint in New York City. The trip seems to have been both creatively productive and emotionally lonely―ideal circumstances for composing beautiful pop song after pop song. We thought Lewis would all but disappear after being torn from the Big Apple, a city he gradually learned to love, though, and we’d be left with just a handful of lo-fi tunes.

But the young singer/songwriter apparently had bigger plans! He recently released his debut full-length on Mad For It Inc. (a digital label made specifically for Lewis’ first EP, Written and Directed by Parker Lewis), and it’s jaw-droppingly inspiring. The eight jangle-pop songs are dripping with elegant orchestration; arrangements are reminiscent of old doo-wop tunes, lullabies, the guitar work of Johnny Marr, and the twee of the 1980s; the whole thing is as calming as a light, salty sea breeze.

But don’t take our word for it! Grab a sample track below (or stream it in the media player to the right), and download the sucker when you’re thoroughly convinced of its awesome merits. anthemmagazine

Oscars: un raro combo de crisis y glamour (Clarín)

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Todos los nominados (pdf)

Crisis?, ¿qué crisis?, no es sólo el título de un viejo disco de Supertramp, sino lo que parece verse alrededor de los premios Oscar que se celebrarán esta tarde en Los Angeles (casi la medianoche en la Argentina). Uno lee los diarios norteamericanos y se encuentra con páginas y páginas en las que se cuentan historias de personas perdiendo sus hogares y sus trabajos, y con columnistas que dicen que esta crisis puede llegar a ser peor que la Gran Depresión. Pero en lo que respecta al Oscar lo que cambian son siempre las apariencias, no la realidad.

Digamos que para Hollywood lo que se recomienda es "actuar" con la discreción que pide el mal momento económico. Se lee aquí y allá que lo "conveniente" es no mostrar muchas joyas ni hacer demasiada ostentación con lo que se lleva puesto. Siempre queda bien hablar de que se donarán los regalos y si se puede hacer un comentario comprometido, mejor. Pero todo luce tan preparado, tan "puesta en escena de la moderación" -hay notas que dicen que la comida de las fiestas será más casual y no tan elegante, y hasta se dice, créase o no, que no está mal visto beber un poco más de lo habitual para olvidar los problemas por una noche- que uno no puede menos que tomarlo en broma.

Pocos hablan de cine y premios porque todo parece bastante cerrado. En una cena a la que concurrió Clarín en la que había periodistas, directores nominados, algunas leyendas de Hollywood, guionistas y productores, nadie discutía ya que Slumdog Millionaire era la gran ganadora. Ninguno parecía muy convencido de que fuera una gran película, pero eso es otra historia. Como están las cosas, una fantasía romántica acerca de cómo salir de pobre con algo de suerte, es la película perfecta en el momento indicado.

Más entretenido estuvo el debate acerca de los actores. Aquí muchos dudan de que Mickey Rourke pueda ganar el Oscar debido a su pésima reputación ("el tipo era un mal chiste", dicen) y a que aquí nunca se lo ha tomado demasiado en serio. El ejemplo que usan es fuerte: todos daban como ganador a Eddie Murphy hace un par de años pero su mala reputación le ganó y, pese a llevarse todos los premios previos, perdió el Oscar. Igual, no habría que sacarle las fichas a Rourke y tampoco habría que descontar, además de Sean Penn, claro, a Frank Langella por su papel de Nixon en Frost/Nixon.

Con poco para debatir respecto a los premios (Kate Winslet, Heath Ledger y Penélope Cruz parecen muy firmes en sus respectivos rubros, lo mismo que Waltz with Bashir en película extranjera, aunque nunca se sabe), de lo que se habla es de la misteriosa ceremonia, cuya transmisión comenzará a las 22 por TNT, con una hora de alfombra roja producida por el canal, otra media hora de "alfombra oficial" (en la que prometen inaugurar una especie de telebeam de estrellas...) y, a las 23.30, la ceremonia propiamente dicha.

Recorriendo la alfombra con un grupo de personas que trabajarán en el evento y que estaban siendo adiestrados por una mujer hablando por un altavoz, el enviado de Clarín pudo atestiguar ayer que habrá cambios en lo que respecta a la entrada de las celebridades y que no es descabellada la idea de que Hugh Jackman, el conductor, salga a la calle, bien para hablar con los fans que están en las tribunas o bien para entregar un premio allí.

Es que toda la ceremonia está envuelta en un halo de intriga.

¿Cuáles son los datos más firmes y seguros? Que Jackman -lo dijo él mismo- no hará el típico largo monólogo inicial ("no es lo mío"), que la ceremonia se desarrollará como si fuera una historia, con una suerte de cabaret como escenario y los premios como parte de la trama, que Baz Luhrmann (el director de Moulin Rouge) fue convocado por el propio Jackman para dirigir unas coreografías de películas, que la ceremonia tendrá partes dedicadas a celebrar el cine del año más exitoso (Iron Man, Crepúsculo, Indiana Jones) que no quedó nominado, y que Queen Latifah cantaría una canción en la clásica secuencia de homenaje a los que murieron en el 2008.

Tomando en cuenta que el productor es Bill Condon (director del musical Dreamgirls), el director artístico es el mismo arquitecto que construyó el Kodak Theatre, el ya citado aporte de Luhrmann y el background en musicales que trae Jackman, no sorprende que la ceremonia esté planteada como un regreso nostálgico al musical de Hollywood de antaño.

Pero como el asunto es también sumar jóvenes a la cada vez más baja audiencia, habrá un segmento dirigido por el realizador de comedias Judd Apatow (Virgen a los 40), el director musical será el compositor de Lost, Michael Giacchino (quien reveló que la orquesta estará sobre el escenario y no debajo), y la organización prefirió no anunciar -a diferencia de lo que siempre hace- quiénes serán los presentadores. De hecho, se asegura que para mantener la sorpresa a muchos se los hará entrar por una puerta trasera y ni pisarán la alfombra roja.

Casi todo el misterio parece puesto en la ceremonia y no en los premios. Habrá algunas sorpresas -siempre las hay y me atrevería a apostar por la derrota de una candidata que aparece muy segura-, pero lo más probable es que escuchen mencionar la palabra "Slumdog" al menos cinco o seis veces (sino más) durante la noche. De allí, directo al diccionario a ver qué significa. ¿Quieren saberlo? "Villero", ni más ni menos. Los que quieran leerlo con cierta ironía en medio de este raro combo de crisis y glamour, allá ellos...

La productora argentina que está nominada

Flora Fernández Marengo, la productora argentina del documental nominado al Oscar The Betrayal, de Ellen Kuras, no tiene problema en admitir que está casi segura de que va a perder. Lo que más le importa, si eso sucede, es que por lo menos sea con alguien que admira. "De perder, quiero perder con Herzog -confiesa a Clarín-. Casi me parecería una falta de respeto ganarle, me daría culpa". Es que el director alemán está nominado en ese rubro por su filme Encounters at the End of the World. "Se lo merece -dice-. También Ellen se lo merece por el gran trabajo que hizo. Estar nominado genera mucha repercusión, más posibilidades de exhibición. Pero la película es la misma, no me gusta más ahora que antes".

Como ya publicó Clarín, Fernández Marengo se sumó a este proyecto de Kuras, quien siguió durante 23 años a una familia de Laos que emigró a los Estados Unidos en pleno conflicto armado en Camboya, y encontró que en Nueva York la vida no era mucho más sencilla que en la selva y en medio de las balas.

En breve Flora regresará al país, donde empieza con el rodaje de la remake de As Soon the Darkness, con dirección de Marcos Efron. Luego comenzará la filmación de Patagonia, de Marc Evans, con Norma Aleandro y Nahuel Pérez Biscayart. "Va a ser un año movido", dice, mientras se prepara para la ceremonia de hoy.

"The Wrestler", la ganadora de los Spirit Awards

Más tarde les cuento bien...

Darren Aronofsky’s “The Wrestler” led a fairly evenly split Film Independent’s Spirit Awards this afternoon in Santa Monica, taking awards for best feature, best actor Mickey Rourke, and best cinematography. The film joined other multiply honored films like “Milk,” “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” and “Frozen River.” Here is the complete list of winners:

BEST FEATURE
“The Wrestler”

BEST DIRECTOR
Tom McCarthy, “The Visitor”

BEST FIRST FEATURE
“Synecdoche, New York”

JOHN CASSAVETES AWARD
“In Search of a Midnight Kiss”

BEST SCREENPLAY
Woody Allen, “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”

BEST FIRST SCREENPLAY
Dustin Lance Black, “Milk”

BEST FEMALE LEAD
Melissa Leo, “Frozen River”

BEST MALE LEAD
Mickey Rourke, “The Wrestler”

BEST SUPPORTING FEMALE
Penelope Cruz, “Vicky Cristina Barcelona”

BEST SUPPORTING MALE
James Franco, “Milk”

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY
Maryse Alberti, “The Wrester”

BEST DOCUMENTARY
“Man on Wire”

BEST FOREIGN FILM
“The Class

ROBERT ALTMAN AWARD
Charlie Kaufman (Director), Jeanne McCarthy (Casting Director), Hope Davis, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Catherine Keener, Samantha Morton, Tom Noonan, Emily Watson, Diane Weist, Michelle Williams, Synecdoche, New York

Diario de Los Angeles (Parte 4)

Esta simple entrada es para aquellos que se toman el tiempo para hacer apuestas con sus amigos cinéfilos o sus compañeros de oficina acerca de los premios de la Academia. Tengo la impresión de que se habla de posibles sorpresas para generar más rating para unos premios en lo que todo lo importante parece decidido.

Así que, si quieren estar al tanto de las últimas "sorpresas" y están a tiempo de cambiar sus votos, piensen en estas posibilidades.

-MEJOR ACTOR. Hace meses que es Mickey Rourke versus Sean Penn. Pero el que crece y crece en las apuestas es Frank Langella.

-MEJOR ACTRIZ. Aquí se habló siempre, por distintos papeles, de Kate Winslet. Pero Meryl Streep crece como posible "sorpresa".

-MEJOR ACTRIZ SECUNDARIA: Todos daban por segura a Penélope Cruz. Ahora todos hablan de Viola Davis al mismo nivel.

-MEJOR PELICULA EXTRANJERA: "Waltz with Bashir" era número puesto, ¿no? Muchos se están jugando ahora por la japonesa "Departures".

-MEJOR GUION ORIGINAL: siempre el número puesto fue Dustin Lance Black for "Milk". Ahora habría que pensar en "Wall-E" también.

Podría haber sorpresas en categorías técnicas en las que pelean "Batman" contra "Benjamin Button", pero lo que realmente no se modifica es el favoritismo de "Slumdog Millionaire", que por ahora parece que podría llevarse siete premios. Como siempre, si gana mejor edición (algo muy probable, al igual que fotografía), tengan por casi seguro que nadie la va a detener.

Neko Case - Middle Cyclone (2009)

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The fifteen-track collection is Case's first release since 2006's Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, the best-reviewed and best-selling album of her career. Middle Cyclone was produced by Case with Darryl Neudorf and recorded in Tucson, Brooklyn, Toronto, and Vermont. It features Case backed by her core band - guitarist Paul Rigby, bassist Tom V. Ray, backing vocalist Kelly Hogan, multi-instrumentalist Jon Rauhouse, and drummer Barry Mirochnick - along with numerous guests including M. Ward, Garth Hudson, Sarah Harmer, and members of The New Pornographers, Los Lobos, Calexico, The Sadies, Visqueen, The Lilys, and Giant Sand, among others. In addition to twelve new songs written by Case, Middle Cyclone includes covers of 'Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth' by Sparks, and "Don't Forget Me" by Harry Nilsson.

When the Sideshow Becomes the Main Event (The New York Times)

By A. O. SCOTT

You may not care about the Oscars, but the Oscars definitely don’t care about you.

The producers and broadcasters of the Academy Awards ceremony want us all to watch, of course, and they fret about the decline in ratings. There has already been ritualistic worrying about the low box-office returns collected by some of the best picture nominees this year. While “Slumdog Millionaire” and “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” have done pretty well, the combined grosses of the other three would barely reach the bellybutton of “Paul Blart: Mall Cop.” Has the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences lost touch — or broken faith — with the moviegoing public?

The question makes sense only if you believe that any such faith existed in the first place, or that the moviegoing public is something more than a mathematical abstraction. But hand-wringing about the state of the audience has become such a staple of Oscar-season discourse that its peculiar double-edged logic deserves some unpacking.

There is a fake-populist version, favored by hard-nosed business columnists and trade paper wiseguys, which condemns the elitism of the academy. All those heavy-duty, deep-dish, politically correct dramas! Don’t those academicians understand that the people want “Friday the 13th” and “The Dark Knight,” Harry Potter and Pixar?

The response is simply to turn the accusation on its head, to answer fake populism with ersatz high-mindedness and lament the coarsening of popular taste. All these wonderful, serious films, and so few discerning customers paying money to see them! Offered an exquisite delicacy like “The Reader,” Americans flock to, um, “Paul Blart: Mall Cop.” Apparently you’d rather watch an overweight shopping center guard chase bad guys than watch an illiterate concentration camp guard have sex with a teenager. What is wrong with you people?

Underlying both the sighs of the art lovers and the grumblings of the democrats is a shared fantasy, a cloudy, rose-tinted memory of the days when good movies were popular and popular movies were good, and the Academy Awards floated serenely in the cultural mainstream. Remember “The Godfather”? A heck of a picture, that one — a blockbuster and a critical favorite, the film of the year and one for the ages. Those were the days.

Actually, though, there have been only about three or four such days in the eight-decade history of the Oscars — serendipitous moments when mass taste, artistic distinction and a majority of academy votes magically fell into alignment. And it can happen again. But most of the time it doesn’t. The best picture winner and its satellite laureates are filed away in the cabinets of cultural curiosities, while the parallel histories of cinematic accomplishment and fan behavior go on to write themselves.

In other words, the Oscars have always been trivial, and are best appreciated when they are allowed to be. They have over the years provided an annual sideshow, where the stars dress up, the host cracks awkward jokes and the viewing population feasts for a few hours on the inimitable combination of vulgarity and high-mindedness that defines the image of Hollywood.

And to the extent that this year’s Oscars will uphold this tradition, supplying a dash of sentimentality, sweet (those “Slumdog Millionaire” kids) or bitter (Heath Ledger), a spoonful of suspense (Mickey Rourke or Sean Penn?) and perhaps even a surprise (Melissa Leo!), they may exceed the low expectations that surround them. But the problem — the reason for those low expectations — is that in the past decade these awards have transformed themselves from a harmless, annoying, sometimes enjoyable sideshow into the main event. Less through the ambitions of the academy itself than through a combination of entertainment-media overkill and film industry anxiety, the Oscars have taken on a cultural and economic importance that they can’t possibly sustain and were never meant to have in the first place.

As studio profits have increasingly come from globally marketed, hugely expensive (and often pretty good) franchise movies, the less tangible but still vital reward of prestige has been passed down to a different class of movie. The “A” pictures of an earlier era (sweeping social dramas like “The Best Years of Our Lives” or bittersweet comedies like “The Apartment”) have been reborn as the middle-sized, serious movies that dominate this newspaper’s Friday arts section from October to Christmas. These tend to be literary adaptations (“Brokeback Mountain” and “Atonement”) or biographies of admirable figures of 20th-century history (“Capote” and “Ray”).

Sometimes one of the two or three remaining movie stars will be involved, but more often the casts are composed of actors whose reputations have been secured by previous awards and nominations. Similarly, the directors have usually achieved a level of name recognition that allows them to be referred to, in a shorthand whose theoretical origins are all but forgotten, as auteurs.

What unites these movies is Quality — not as a designation of merit, but rather as a brand. Whether or not particular films qualify as successful works of art, the most important thing is that they be marketed successfully as art films, not in the old sense of being difficult or esoteric but in the tautological new sense of being the kind of movie that might qualify for an award.

And the kind of movie that does best is one that manages to blend art-house or “indie” cachet with old-fashioned populist appeal, combining a degree of originality with reliable and recognizable genre elements. That formula, which worked last year for “No Country for Old Men” — a western and a heist movie as well as a prestigious literary adaptation — has been wielded with particular success by Fox Searchlight, distributor of “Slumdog Millionaire.”

For four of the last five years Searchlight has had a best picture nominee that manages to be both a scrappy little underdog and a specimen of an established mainstream breed. “Sideways” was a buddies-on-the-road comedy. “Little Miss Sunshine” was a family-on-the-road comedy. “Juno” was a teenage romantic comedy. And “Slumdog” is a twofer: a coming-of-age comedy and a fast-paced crime drama.

These are likable movies, and it’s hard to begrudge them their success. But why should an industry award be the measure or the spur of that success? More to the point, why should the inability of other movies to occupy the narrow middle ground of Oscar-worthiness be taken as failure?

Each week, as the fall weather grows colder, a new batch arrives, first in New York and Los Angeles (sometimes by way of Cannes or Toronto) and then in other cities, and every movie is greeted with the same question: Will it get any nominations? The early answer will depend on reviews and on initial grosses; if those auguries look promising, more money will be spent trying to generate momentum, to spin news coverage and to solicit the favor of the voters.

To what end? The phrase “Oscar campaign” has entered the lexicon, but it’s an odd kind of campaign, involving an office with neither symbolic nor actual power and a public that is constitutionally barred from voting. But perhaps the metaphor is military rather than political, since what is required is for one movie — or five of them, in the early phases — to wound, exhaust and ultimately kill the others.

The losers in this cultural blood sport are ambitious, idiosyncratic films that never get a fair chance at an audience, and filmgoers whose attention is distracted by endless, empty chatter about the state of the contest.

Or maybe not distracted. It seems just as likely that the vast, multifarious, unpredictable public is tuning out the Oscar noise and going to see, for example, Clint Eastwood’s “Gran Torino,” which has made more money so far than any of his academy-honored efforts. Or maybe they’re fanning out in search of DVDs of the interesting movies the academy overlooked, or taking comfort in the kind of entertainment the academy never seems to recognize. It may be that the more movies matter, the less the Oscars do. And vice versa.

Como el Oscar, pero sin esmóquin (Clarín)

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"Brad Pitt vino en jeans y zapatillas", dice una productora de televisión cuando se le pregunta cómo hay que vestirse para ir a los Spirit Awards, los premios al cine independiente que se dan un día antes del Oscar, y que son la versión cool y relajada del evento de mañana.

La ceremonia -que se transmitirá hoy, por primera vez para la Argentina, a partir de las 20 por I.Sat- repite muchas de las caras que se verán en el Oscar en un clima que, se supone, es más amigable y menos tenso. En lugar del atildado Hugh Jackman, el conductor aquí será el simpático comediante inglés Steve Coogan (Una guerra de película), habrá más números musicales que en los premios de la Academia, pero serán todos temas inventa dos para películas que no tienen canciones y, lo más importante para pasarlo, la gente se sentará en mesas y observará el evento mientras come y bebe. ¿Qué dirá Mickey Rourke en el escenario después de unas copitas?

Los Spirit Awards vienen haciéndose hace 15 años y su peso es cada vez mayor ya que, últimamente, desde que las grandes productoras de Hollywood dejaron de hacer películas para los Oscar, suele haber poca diferencia entre las películas y actores nominados aquí y allá. "El límite para poder competir en los Spirit Awards es que el presupuesto no sea mayor de 20 millones de dólares", dice Diana Zahn-Storey, productora del evento y ejecutiva de Film Independent, la entidad que los organiza.

A diferencia de los Oscar, para los que pueden votar más de 6.000 miembros de la Academia, aquí son pequeños comités los que arman las ternas: 15 personas para películas de ficción norteamericanas, 7 para documentales y 7 para extranjeras.

"No nos molesta que se repitan muchos de los nominados al Oscar -dice Diana-. Cuando empezamos no era así. En realidad, ahora el Oscar nomina más a películas independientes y eso hace que coincidan. Pero no pensamos cambiar las fechas. Al contrario, nos gusta que ésta sea la opción cool previa al Oscar".

Si uno mira solamente la lista de nominados a mejor película, notará que las cinco son diferentes a las del Oscar. En años anteriores, todas las ganadoras habían estado nominadas al Oscar pero no lo ganaron.

Este año no habrá posibilidad de choque: las nominadas a mejor película no lo están en la misma categoría de los Oscar. Aquí son: El casamiento de Raquel, de Jonathan Demme; El luchador, de Darren Aronofsky; Frozen River, de Courtney Hunt; Wendy & Lucy, de Kelly Reichardt, y Ballast, de Lance Hammer. Pero las tres primeras de ellas también tienen nominaciones a los premios de la Academia.

Las coincidencias comienzan con los premios de actuación. Aquí son candidatos, como en los Oscar, Sean Penn (Milk), Mickey Rourke (El luchador) y Richard Jenkins (The Visitor), además de Javier Bardem (Vicky Cristina Barcelona) y Jeremy Renner (The Hurt Locker). Dos de las actrices coinciden también: Anne Hathaway (El casamiento...) y Melissa Leo (Frozen River), a las que hay que sumarle a Michelle Williams (Wendy & Lucy), Tarra Riggs (Ballast) y Summer Bishil (Towelhead). También está nominada Penélope Cruz como actriz de reparto y, por Milk, James Franco en lugar de Josh Brolin (sabia decisión), entre otros.

Pero no sólo se espera hoy en la carpa de Santa Mónica a los nominados. Como presentadores estarán Alec Baldwin (que recibirá un premio a su carrera), Claire Danes, Cameron Diaz, Aaron Eckhart, Teri Hatcher, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ben Kingsley y Robin Wright Penn, entre muchos otros. Los Spirit Awards, entonces: como el Oscar, pero en la playa y relajados.

Antesala del Oscar

Faltan apenas unos días para la ceremonia del Oscar y, en plena esquina de Hollywood y Highland, los operarios corren como si el evento estuviese por empezar en cinco minutos. Están los que colocan plantas naturalmente artificiales sobre macetas, los que estiran y acomodan alfombras, los que bajan extraños aparatos de enormes camiones y los que cruzan decenas de cables que atraviesan media cuadra del Hollywood Boulevard, como émulos de Wall-E, terminando su recorrido en la carpa blanca alfombrada de rojo.

Por allí entrarán las estrellas mañana por la tarde y de allí seguirán caminando y enfrentando a su izquierda, a la prensa, y a su derecha, a la tribuna de fanáticos que esperarán por horas sus arribos. Una vez que lleguen a la entrada del Kodak Theater doblarán a su derecha y se alejarán del mundo de los mortales para meterse en la ceremonia del Oscar.

El boulevard está cortado por una cuadra y el tráfico alrededor está imposible. "Esto no es nada", comenta un miembro del personal de seguridad tras chequear que la credencial que tengo me habilita a dirigirle la palabra y no recibir un ladrido como respuesta. "El domingo es imposible, tenés que salir dos horas antes aunque estés a diez cuadras", traduzco. Se sabe: las estrellas no vienen caminando. Hay que llegar, bajar y todo lo demás también. Aunque para eso haya que estar una hora haciendo fila adentro de un auto.

El rumor por Hollywood Boulevard es que ni Brad ni Angelina pararán a hablar con nadie más que con uno o dos medios importantes de los Estados Unidos. Ese mismo "run-run" dice que Mickey Rourke se hará el discreto en su inesperado momento de gloria y pasará de largo sin hablar con la prensa. Y Sean Penn, se sabe, no está para esas cosas. Gracias que viene...

El Kodak Theater está en una cuadra que parece armada como un decorado. A su derecha está el Teatro Chino, el de las manos en cemento, y a lo largo de toda la calle están las famosas estrellitas en el piso. Pero no. Allí están los presentadores de canales de TV ensayando, probando cámaras y enviando sus reportes previos, están los tipos de los cables, los de las macetas y los de los camiones. Como para probar que para que esta fantasía pura se haga realidad hace falta el trabajo de un montón de gente.

Gretchen Peters with Tom Russell - One To The Heart, One To The Head (2009)

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Tom Russell
Posted: 21 Jan 2009 12:39 PM CST

I was driving across the desert the other day with the great filmmaker Eric Temple; scouting locations for our film on the West: “California Bloodlines.” We’d decided to take savage left turn, thematically, and consider raw, authentic Cowboy origins: Mexico; Charreadas and Charros; Spain on back to the Moors. The Violence in Juarez. Digging deeper into the bloodlines. The old west is chillingly alive on the border. The history rock and rolled through here; the guns are smoking. Why not include that in this film? The Spanish crossed the river just up the road. Rosas’s Cantina was still open, where Marty Robbins wrote “El Paso.” Cowboy as all hell. In the truck we were listening to “One to the Heart, One to the Head,” the “western” side project I co-produced with Gretchen Peters. I’m a guest singer on the record. Gretchen is God’s chanteuse.We covered Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, Rosalie Sorrels, Mary McCaslin, Jennifer Warnes, Ian Tyson, Stephanie Davis…and Gretchen sang a version of my new song: “Guadalupe.” The music and Gretchen’s voice was hauntingly simpatico to the desert landscape. The yucca, sagebrush, chimesa and Mexican broom washed past our windows, like a Maynard Dixon painting touched up by Willem DeKooning. All of the singing was underscored by Barry Walsh’s marvelous piano score. Eric Satie meets Eno. The landscape and the music blended until they fused together. Eric turned to me and said: “This record is a western masterpiece. There’s not a bad song on it.” I listened to Gretchen’s voice. Unearthly. There was no motive in putting this out, except a love for the West and a desire to make “westerners” aware of Gretchen’s powers. And to celebrate the poetry of the songs. Then the song “Wolves,” by Stephanie Davis, was rolling out of the speakers and I squinted out ahead into the sunlit asphalt on Highway 9. I saw what I thought were two coyotes crossing the road, about a 100 yards up there. “That’s funny,” I said. “They don’t usually travel in pairs. Pretty big,” “Those are Mexican wolves,” said Eric. “I’m sure of it.” A wild little desert co-incidence as the song played. Wolves. Blue Roan Horses. Blue Mountains. Cowboys born out of their time. Crosses in the desert. Shrines for our lady of Guadalupe. And finally The Last Go Round” was playing…”we drank the rivers, we rode the twisters, we stumbled down to the ground….but we’ll rake and ride, we’ll spend our glory. On our last go round.” Amen.

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Diario de Los Angeles (Parte 3)

Después de las incesantes corridas del primer día, la cena, los cierres para el diario y escribir para el blog, el jueves terminé durmiéndome a las 5 de la mañana, con lo que hoy se convirtió en un día tranquilo, pero de mucho de trabajo. Unos llamados, una visita al Kodak Theatre, un par de horas escribiendo, otro par almorzando en la pileta del hotel y luego una recorrida por la peatonal de Santa Mónica sólo para comprobar que, al menos acá, pese a la crisis, los precios no han caído hasta el piso. De hecho, están como siempre.

Dudé durante todo el jueves si acompañar a Scott Foundas a ver una película de Alexander Kluge a un ciclo de cine alemán que se está haciendo aquí o ir a ver una charla pública con concierto incluido de la música que está usando en sus más recientes películas de otro alemán, Werner Herzog. Finalmente no hice nada de eso. Después de escribir por tres, cuatro horas preferí salir de paseo, comprar algunas cosas (la ya famosa novela “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao”, de Junot Díaz, el Vanity Fair especial de Obama y Hollywood y la Film Comment) y sentarme en el café de Barnes & Noble a leer mientras sonaba, de corrido, “London Calling”.

A la noche fuimos a cenar con Scott, con quien pese a su corta edad –y estatura-- nos une una larga amistad que se remonta a un jurado Fipresci en el BAFICI allá por 2001. Foundas, con sus 30, 31 años, ha logrado convertirse en una figura importante de la crítica norteamericana. Desde que el Los Angeles Weekly (semanario en el que es editor de cine), el Village Voice y casi 50 medios alternativos de los Estados Unidos se unieron editorialmente con resultados drásticos ya que echaron decenas de criticos, Foundas fue uno de los que quedó a cargo y, junto con el conocido J. Hoberman que está en Nueva York, son los encargados de la mayoría de las críticas del combo Weekly/Voice.

Además, el incansable Scott (no para de trabajar nunca) hace largas entrevistas, edita, tiene un blog y va de un festival a otro. No sé por cuánto tiempo podrá mantener el ritmo. De hecho, el grado de atención que le dan aquí es sorprendente y pude comprobarlo en la cena de la otra noche: el pequeño Foundas –cuyo mayor pecado es, como dice algún amigo en común, es que le gustan casi todas las películas-- es toda una celebridad local.

Hoy nos volveremos a ver en la entrega de los Spirit Awards. Mediodía, carpa en la playa, comida y bebida. Supongo que será mucho más divertido que los Oscars, y también estarán las figuras que todos quieren ver: Sean Penn, Mickey Rourke, Penélope Cruz. Veremos cómo resulta. Para mí, con que toque en vivo Robyn Hitchcock, el asunto ya valió la pena...

Podría hacer mis apuestas para el Spirit Awards, pero realmente no sé muy bien cómo funciona la lógica de estos premios. Sí puedo decir cuáles son mis favoritas, pero de allí a que ganen hay una gran distancia. Aquí van los nominados y, en bold, mis preferidas.

Los nominados son:

FEATURE (Award given to the producer)
"Ballast" - Producer: Lance Hammer, Nina Parikh
"Frozen River" -
Producers: Chip Hourihan, Heather Rae
"Rachel Getting Married" - Producers: Jonathan Demme, Neda Armin, Marc Platt
"Wendy and Lucy" - Producer: Larry Fessenden, Neil Kopp, Anish Savjani (FOTO)
"The Wrestler" - Producers: Darren Aronofsky, Scott Franklin

DIRECTOR
Ramin Bahrani, "Chop Shop"
Jonathan Demme, "Rachel Getting Married"
Lance Hammer, "Ballast"
Courtney Hunt, "Frozen River"
Tom McCarthy, "The Visitor"

FIRST FEATURE (Award given to the director and producer)
"Afterschool"
Director: Antonio Campos
Producers: Sean Durkin, Josh Mond
"Medicine for Melancholy"
Director: Barry Jenkins
Producer: Justin Barber
"Sangre De Mi Sangre"
Director: Christopher Zalla
Producers: Per Melita, Benjamin Odell
"Sleep Dealer"
Director: Alex Rivera
Producer: Anthony Bregman
"Synecdoche, New York"
Director: Charlie Kaufman
Producers: Anthony Bregman, Spike Jonze, Charlie
Kaufman, Sidney Kimmel

MALE LEAD
Javier Bardem, "Vicky Cristina Barcelona"
Richard Jenkins, "The Visitor"
Sean Penn, "Milk"
Jeremy Renner, "The Hurt Locker"
Mickey Rourke, "The Wrestler"

FEMALE LEAD
Summer Bishil, "Towelhead"
Anne Hathaway, "Rachel Getting Married"
Melissa Leo, "Frozen River"
Tarra Riggs, "Ballast"
Michelle Williams, "Wendy and Lucy"

SUPPORTING MALE
James Franco, "Milk"
Anthony Mackie, "The Hurt Locker"
Charlie McDermott, "Frozen River"
Jim Myron Ross, "Ballast"
Haaz Sleiman, "The Visitor"

SUPPORTING FEMALE
Penélope Cruz, "Vicky Cristina Barcelona"
Rosemarie DeWitt, "Rachel Getting Married"
Rosie Perez, "The Take"
Misty Upham, "Frozen River"
Debra Winger, "Rachel Getting Married"

SCREENPLAY
Woody Allen - "Vicky Cristina Barcelona"
Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck - "Sugar"
Charlie Kaufman - "Synecdoche, New York"
Howard A. Rodman - "Savage Grace"
Christopher Zalla - "Sangre De Mi Sangre"

FIRST SCREENPLAY
Dustin Lance, "Black Milk"
Lance Hammer, "Ballast"
Courtney Hunt, "Frozen River"
Jonathan Levine, "The Wackness"
Jenny Lumet, "Rachel Getting Married"

CINEMATOGRAPHY
Maryse Alberti, "The Wrestler"
Lol Crawley, "Ballast"
James Laxton, "Medicine for Melancholy"
Harris Savides, "Milk"
Michael Simmonds, "Chop Shop"

JOHN CASSAVETES AWARD (Given to the best feature made for under $500,000; award given to the writer, director, and producer)
"In Search of a Midnight Kiss"
Writer/Director: Alex Holdridge
Producers: Seth Caplan, Scoot McNairy
"Prince of Broadway"
Director: Sean Baker
Writers: Sean Baker, Darren Dean
Producer: Darren Dean
"The Signal"
Writer/Directors: David Bruckner, Dan Bush, Jacob Gentry
Producers: Jacob Gentry, Alexander Motlagh,
"Take Out"
Writer/Director/Producers: Sean Baker, Shih-Ching Tsou
Turn the River" Writer/Director: Chris Eigeman
Producer: Ami Armstrong

DOCUMENTARY (Award given to the director)
"The Betrayal' - Director: Ellen Kuras & Thavisouk Phrasavath
"Encounters at the End of the World' - Director: Werner Herzog
"Man on Wire' - Director: James Marsh
"The Order of Myths' - Director: Margaret Brown
"Up the Yangtze' - Director: Yung Chang

FOREIGN FILM
"The Class" (France) - Director: Laurent Cantet
"Gomorra" (Italy) - Director: Matteo Garrone
"Hunger" (UK/Ireland) - Director: Steve McQueen
"Secret of the Grain" (France) - Director: Abdellatif Kechiche
"Silent Light" (Mexico/France/Netherlands/Germany) - Director: Carlos Reygadas

ROBERT ALTMAN AWARD (Given to one film’s director, casting director, and its ensemble cast)
"Synecdoche, New York"
Director: Charlie Kaufman
Casting Director: Jeanne McCarthy
Ensemble Cast: Hope Davis, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Catherine Keener, Samantha Morton, Tom Noonan, Emily Watson, Dianne Wiest, Michelle Williams

IFC/ACURA SOMEONE TO WATCH AWARD
Barry Jenkins, director of Medicine for Melancholy
Nina Paley, director of Sita Sings the Blues
Lynn Shelton, director of My Effortless Brilliance

TRUER THAN FICTION AWARD
Margaret Brown, director of The Order of Myths
Sacha Gervasi, director of Anvil! The Story of Anvil
Darius Marder, director of Loot

PIAGET PRODUCERS AWARD
Lars Knudsen and Jay Van Hoy, producers of Treeless Mountain and I’ll Come Running
Jason Orans, producer of Goodbye Solo and Year of the Fish
Heather Rae, producer of Frozen River and Ibid

The Contenders, the Show and the Spectacle (The New York Times)

By DAVID CARR

THERE you are, minding your own business, going through the mail and its daily bounty of bad tidings. Let’s see, your 401(k) is in the tank, that valiant effort to refinance the house is going nowhere, and oh yeah, your credit-card company just capped your card limit and is looking for most of the balance.

And then, magically, an invitation emerges from the pile. You’ve been invited to the 81st Annual Academy Awards. Actually, it’s a scribbled note your movie fanatic neighbor dropped in your mailbox. (“Why waste money on a stamp?” you can hear her saying.) Turns out she’s having some people over for the broadcast (Sunday at 8 p.m. on ABC). Sure, it’s BYOB, but she’s making her special nachos, her wide-screen hasn’t been repossessed, and there will be an Oscar pool, with a hokey improvised trophy for the winner. Wow, life doesn’t get any better than that these days.

It could be argued, and already has, that a spectacle as frothy as the Oscars has little salience at a time when people are losing homes, jobs and, in some cases, hope. But then again movie attendance is up this year so far, and there’s nothing quite like gathering around something warm and sparkly when the darkness seems to be intruding at every turn.

Right now I’m in Los Angeles, attending warm-up events and putting some final finesse on my picks, but with the California legislature in marathon sessions to close a huge budget gap, grim realities are casting a bit of a pall here in Oscarland. But the show always goes on, and at some point a lot of us will give ourselves permission to brush away the clouds and stare at the sparkle, the drama and the nonsense that make the Oscars a maypole of American culture.

There is, after all, something oddly reassuring in the folkways of the Oscars. Who’s to say there’s anything wrong with poking fun at someone’s dress or speech instead of spending yet another night casting a gimlet eye on household expenditures? And if you play your cards right in an Oscar pool with gullible or inattentive competitors, there might be some loot in it for you. Or at least a cheesy trophy.

It’s an odd year for those filling out their Oscar slates, not because so much is up for grabs but because so much is writ. “Slumdog Millionaire” is the prohibitive favorite for best picture and a few other big categories. The studio-conceived “Curious Case of Benjamin Button” had a near-record 13 nominations, but “Slumdog,” an independent film partially in Hindi, seems to have gone out front to stay.

Still, there are elements of suspense. Stung by steadily declining ratings (although the show remains a huge draw for the network), the producers of the Oscars have vowed to mix it up this year, so you can tune in expecting innovation and, yes, the occasional train wreck. In the actor races, there are some nail-biters: Mickey or Sean? Meryl or Kate? If you have a pulse, you probably have a rooting interest.

And the movies themselves? There is not a blockbuster in the bunch. But then this year’s Super Bowl included two teams without a huge national following and blossomed into a classic with wonderful ratings and stories to occupy the water cooler.

You may not have seen all the movies this year, but as the Carpetbagger, a daily blogger for The New York Times Oscar Web site, I have spent much of this increasingly long award season staring into precursor awards and pundit prognostications and am here to help you separate the contenders from the pretenders. Oscar intelligence, if there is such a thing, might help you come up with that surprise pick in the supporting actress category to make the Monday afterward seem a bit brighter. There’s nothing like having a little skin in the game to make your night at the Oscars a diverting one.

THE CARPETBAGGER'S 2009 PREDICTIONS

BEST PICTURE

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

* "Frost/Nixon" (Universal)

* "Milk" (Focus Features)

* "The Reader" (The Weinstein Company)

* Bagger Pick: "Slumdog Millionaire" (Fox Searchlight)

Let’s see, perhaps if some people were put off by the Hindi in “Slumdog,” pulled in by the Holocaust seriousness of “The Reader” or the technical brilliance of “Benjamin Button” . . . oh, who are we trying to kid? The best picture carries all the suspense of your average “Cold Case” ending. The case has been solved, O.K.? Early on “Slumdog” grabbed the hearts of the academy — yes, it had to dig deep — and never let go.

BEST DIRECTOR

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.), David Fincher

* "Frost/Nixon" (Universal), Ron Howard

* "Milk" (Focus Features), Gus Van Sant

* "The Reader" (The Weinstein Company), Stephen Daldry

* Bagger Pick: "Slumdog Millionaire" (Fox Searchlight), Danny Boyle

If “Slumdog” were not such a juggernaut there would be much to discuss. The academy loves Stephen Daldry, and Gus Van Sant elevated the biopic. David Fincher is worthy of commendation for deploying all manner of technical wonders. Still, of all the contenders this year, “Slumdog” is the one that most clearly expresses a director’s brilliance. Danny Boyle took a situational approach to shooting in Mumbai, let his actors use whatever language was most suitable and found a way to land it all in a film that, despite its exotic concerns, is kind of a classic Oscar movie.

BEST ACTOR

* Richard Jenkins in "The Visitor" (Overture Films)

* Frank Langella in "Frost/Nixon" (Universal)

* Sean Penn in "Milk" (Focus Features)

* Brad Pitt in "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

* Bagger Pick: Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler" (Fox Searchlight)

If this category was being decided straight up on merit or by Oscar history, Sean Penn would win. Everyone seems to agree that Mr. Penn’s portrayal of Harvey Milk was spectacular, and historically, heterosexual men who play gay — Tom Hanks (“Philadelphia”) and William Hurt (“Kiss of the Spider Woman”) — get to hold hands with the golden guy. But Mr. Penn won fairly recently for “Mystic River.” You would do well to consider the back story of Mickey Rourke, who hit the skids and then came back to inhabit a palooka worn out by his own bad choices. And what if those two roughnecks split some votes? Would that create an opening for the actor’s actor Frank Langella for his spooky turn as Richard Nixon? A tougher category than you think.

BEST ACTRESS

* Anne Hathaway in "Rachel Getting Married" (Sony Pictures Classics)

* Angelina Jolie in "Changeling" (Universal)

* Melissa Leo in "Frozen River" (Sony Pictures Classics)

* Meryl Streep in "Doubt" (Miramax)

* Bagger Pick: Kate Winslet in "The Reader" (The Weinstein Company)

Oh boy, all indications are that it’s Kate Winslet’s year, in part because she has never won, but tread carefully. Some argue that she is nominated for the weaker of her two films (the other being “Revolutionary Road”) and that she has done more remarkable work in the past. And Meryl Streep has a deservedly deep and loyal following in the academy. And if either Melissa Leo or Anne Hathaway sneaked between them, no one could argue that their work was not worthy. In a year where many of the main categories are writ, you’d better guess right on this one.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

* Josh Brolin in "Milk" (Focus Features)

* Robert Downey Jr. in "Tropic Thunder" (DreamWorks, Distributed by DreamWorks/Paramount)

* Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Doubt" (Miramax)

* Bagger Pick: Heath Ledger in "The Dark Knight" (Warner Bros.)

* Michael Shannon in "Revolutionary Road" (DreamWorks, Distributed by Paramount Vantage)

An indelible performance and an untimely death. No contest, no debate, Heath Ledger.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

* Amy Adams in "Doubt" (Miramax)

* Penélope Cruz in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" (The Weinstein Company)

* Bagger Pick: Viola Davis in "Doubt" (Miramax)

* Taraji P. Henson in "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.)

* Marisa Tomei in "The Wrestler" (Fox Searchlight)

Anybody who tells you he knows what’s going to happen in this category is talking through his hat. Yes, Penélope Cruz is favored, but it’s for a movie not many people saw that has no other nominations. Marisa Tomei had significant screen time in a movie people liked, while Viola Davis had a much smaller role but performed it in a way that few people who saw the movie are going to forget. Many odd dynamics are in the air; if you win here, you will gain a critical edge. I’m going with Ms. Davis, but it’s a hunch and nothing more.

BEST ART DIRECTION

* "Changeling" (Universal), Art Direction: James J. Murakami, Set Decoration: Gary Fettis

* Bagger Pick: "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.), Art Direction: Donald Graham Burt, Set Decoration: Victor J. Zolfo

* "The Dark Knight" (Warner Bros.), Art Direction: Nathan Crowley, Set Decoration: Peter Lando

* "The Duchess" (Paramount Vantage, Pathé and BBC Films), Art Direction: Michael Carlin, Set Decoration: Rebecca Alleway

* "Revolutionary Road" (DreamWorks, Distributed by Paramount Vantage), Art Direction: Kristi Zea, Set Decoration: Debra Schutt

A big category with no “Slumdog” in sight, and a place where “Button” should find some of the admiration that brought it 13 nominations. “The Dark Knight” was plenty eye-catching, and the visually arresting formalism of “Revolutionary Road” lingers in the mind’s eye, but “Button” was painted with a warm palette and seamless technology.

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY

* "Changeling" (Universal), Tom Stern

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.), Claudio Miranda

* "The Dark Knight" (Warner Bros.), Wally Pfister

* "The Reader" (The Weinstein Company), Chris Menges and Roger Deakins

* Bagger Pick: "Slumdog Millionaire" (Fox Searchlight), Anthony Dod Mantle

One of the tightest races of the night. If “Slumdog” sails through in this category, you can bet it’s going to be a big night for those kids. The lush shooting style of “Button” made every frame seem suitable for a poster. “The Dark Knight” shot big, piled up a lot of epic elements and still managed to keep the movie moving. But I am a sucker for the run-and-gun ethic of “Slumdog”: light equipment and small crews raced through the tight streets and alleys of Mumbai; you’re with them from the very opening scene.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (Paramount and Warner Bros.), Screenplay by Eric Roth, Screen story by Eric Roth and Robin Swicord

* "Doubt" (Miramax), Written by John Patrick Shanley

* "Frost/Nixon" (Universal), Screenplay by Peter Morgan

* "The Reader" (The Weinstein Company), Screenplay by David Hare

* Bagger Pick: "Slumdog Millionaire" (Fox Searchlight), Screenplay by Simon Beaufoy

Eric Roth and Robin Swicord took a short but endlessly complicated story by F. Scott Fitzgerald and turned it into a shootable screenplay. David Hare transformed a hermetic novel played out in the close space between two people and found the cinematic dimensions, while Peter Morgan and John Patrick Shanley deftly adapted their own work. But Simon Beaufoy turned a game-show trope into a movie that took off and did not stop.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

* "Frozen River" (Sony Pictures Classics), Written by Courtney Hunt

* "Happy-Go-Lucky" (Miramax), Written by Mike Leigh

* "In Bruges" (Focus Features), Written by Martin McDonagh

* "Milk" (Focus Features), Written by Dustin Lance Black

* Bagger Pick: "WALL-E" (Walt Disney), Screenplay by Andrew Stanton, Jim Reardon, Original story by Andrew Stanton, Pete Docter

Hard not to be charmed by the paradox of choice in this category. Courtney Hunt found riches on hard-bitten edges; Mike Leigh made happiness seem like a choice, minus any syrup;Martin McDonagh concocted a gangster comedy; while Dustin Lance Black stepped up to a story many screenwriters have flailed at. Still, the academy is smitten by “Wall-E,” and it can make its adoration count here.

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE

* "Bolt" (Walt Disney), Chris Williams and Byron Howard

* "Kung Fu Panda" (DreamWorks Animation, Distributed by Paramount), John Stevenson and Mark Osborne

* Bagger Pick: "WALL-E" (Walt Disney), Andrew Stanton

“Wall-E” was much mentioned as a best picture contender, in part because of its mostly silent opening homage to film history, so Oscar watchers were stunned when “Kung Fu Panda” took all the awards from the International Animated Film Society. That was an inside job, full of backstage politics you don’t want to know about. It’s “Wall-E” this year at the Oscars, and in DVD collections everywhere.

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM

* "The Baader Meinhof Complex" A Constantin Film Production, Germany

* "The Class" (Sony Pictures Classics), A Haut et Court Production, France

* "Departures" (Regent Releasing), A Departures Film Partners Production, Japan

* "Revanche" (Janus Films), A Prisma Film/Fernseh Production, Austria

* Bagger Pick: "Waltz with Bashir" (Sony Pictures Classics), A Bridgit Folman Film Gang Production, Israel

O.K., one last time: “Gomorrah,” an Italian film about how theMafia infiltrates everyday life, is a near-criminal omission. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t worthies here, including “The Class,” in which viewers think they know what is under way, but not so. “Waltz With Bashir,” however, both broke new cinematic ground and amazed and entertained viewers. Put a nickel on “Bashir” and keep it there.

For Extra Credit

Semieducated guesses, nothing more: “Jai Ho” for best song, “Slumdog” for score, “Man on Wire” for documentary feature, “Slumdog” for editing, “Benjamin Button” for makeup and visual effects, and “Dark Knight” in the sound categories.

In the shorts category the Bagger has a miserable record, so best keep that lucky coin handy and do a lot of flipping. “The Pig” for live-action short? Or maybe “Toyland”?

“Presto” is a safer bet in animated short. And in documentary short, the Bagger threw the sticks in the air and came up with “Smile Pinki” because it thrums the heartstrings.

Diario de Los Angeles (Parte 2)

Entre la serie de curiosidades que tiene esta cobertura nada habitual --al menos para mí-- de este tipo de ceremonias, está la de tener que ocuparse de dos eventos a la vez, ambos a buena distancia entre sí. Para los que no conocen Los Angeles, entre Santa Mónica --donde se celebran los Spirit Awards-- y Hollywood --donde tienen lugar los Oscars-- en horas fuertes de tráfico hay casi una hora de viaje. Y por suerte que los Oscars ya no son más en el downtown, lo que empeoraría las cosas.

El hotel en el que estoy es en Santa Monica por dos motivos. Uno, porque el evento al que tenemos más y mejor acceso es al de los Spirit Awards, que se celebra en una carpa aquí enfrente, en la playa, y arranca el sábado, para la prensa, como a las 9 de la mañana. El Oscar empieza más tarde y por ahora tengo acceso a la alfombra roja pero no al evento en sí, con lo cual el interés está más puesto en el pre y en el post (las fiestas) que en la ceremonia en sí, a la que --como todo el mundo en una sala de prensa-- imagino que terminaré viendo por televisión.

No se puede decir que la ciudad esté cambiada por el Oscar. Se puede decir, sí, que está cortada. O, que al menos esa cuadra central de Hollywood en la que están el Teatro Chino, el cine El Capitán, el Kodak Theater y un shoping enorme, está cerrada al tránsito generando bastantes trastornos.

Volver a esa zona para mí tiene un condimento especial. Mi primer viaje a Los Angeles fue en 1993 y me tocó parar exactamente a un par de cuadras de allí. En ese entonces, el Hollywood Boulevard --como la calle 42 de Nueva York-- era impresentable, una suerte de calle Lavalle llena de negocios berretas de chucherías, bastante denso por la noche y que no tenía nada que ver con la imagen que uno se hacía de aquel lugar cubierto con las manos de los famosos y todo aquello.

Entonces los Oscars no se hacían allí --yo había ido por otro motivo, a entrevistar a Andrew Lloyd Webber, no pregunten--, pero recorrí la zona, fui al por entonces recién reabierto El Capitán a ver "Nightmare Before Christmas" recién estrenada y terminé más de una vez cenando en McDonald's con los homeless mientras escuchaba en mi discman (que antiguedad, Dios) el recién salido disco de Pearl Jam, "Vs."

La zona no está tan cambiada como Times Square. Debajo de la fachada del Kodak, del shopping y del Renaissance Hotel se puede seguir viendo el mismo universo extraño de mujeres disfrazadas de Marilyn Monroe, tipos vestidos como Jack Sparrow, Spiderman o Chaplin, y similar clase de negocios de chucherías (más un vacío semivacío Virgin Megastore). Con el advenimiento del Oscar, la calle está cerrada a los autos y los peatones pasan por los bordes.

Tras conseguir trabajosamente mi credencial ("¿no imprimiste la confirmación?", me dice el tipo y yo me pregunto: "Ni para tomar el avión me piden una impresión, ¿no me tenés registrado en tu maldita máquina?"), estuve dando vueltas por el teatro y la alfombra roja, con ese típico clima de días previos, cuando se ponen alfombras, plantas y las estatuillas gigantes del Oscar están todavía envueltas en plástico.

Estaba Axel K., por allí, dando notas de prensa televisiva para promocionar la transmisión de TNT y la otra chica rubia que siempre está en CNN --y con él en los Oscars-- cuyo nombre nunca recuerdo. Volver al hotel fue eterno y a la noche tuve que volver hasta la zona de Hollywood para una cena en la casa de Rose Kuo, que es la directora del AFI Festival de Los Angeles (el mejor festival de esta ciudad) en "homenaje" a la película austríaca "Revanche", de Gotz Spielmann, nominada al Oscar a mejor película extranjera. Se trata de una suerte de thriller, muy bueno e intenso, sobre el que volveré más adelante, en un próximo post.

Allí estaba el tal Gotz, la protagonista de su película, un par de colegas y el genial director de fotografía Vilmos Zsigmond ("McCabe & Mrs. Miller, La violencia está en nosotros, El francotirador, Encuentros cercanos del tercer tipo, Las brujas de Eastwick" y unas cuantas películas de Brian de Palma, como "Obsession, Blow Out, La hoguera de las vanidades, La dalia negra"), quien me dijo que venía al BAFICI a dar una Masterclass y a presentar un documental sobre su obra y la de su compatriota húngaro, el recientemente fallecido Laszlo Kovacs.

También estaba James Toback (todo un personaje), el productor Fred Roos (que viene trabajando con Francis Ford Coppola desde una peliculita llamada "El Padrino" hasta, bueno, hasta "Tetro") y algunos otros más quienes no alcanzo a recordar los nombres pero espero no haber metido la pata diciendo alguna burrada sobre alguna de sus películas.

Muy amable y cinéfilo todo --yo recomendándole a Zsigmond nombres de directores de fotografía del cine rioplatense como Bill Nieto y Bárbara Alvarez, y anotándole los nombres en una servilleta me quedará como inolvidable anécdota--, perfectamente regado con una gran combinación: vino mendocino ("el mejor vino del mundo", me dice el dueño de casa, el guionista Larry Gross) para las comidas, y porto para el postre.

Y después, a dormir, que ya parezco Quintín...

Mr Solo - Wonders Never Cease (2009)

Not actual cover

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You hold in your jammy digits the new album from the bequiffed, catsuited and becaped Mr Solo. Once known as the cult phenomenon David Devant and His Spirit Wife's lead singer, the South London star has built an astounding collection of effortlessly charming and open-hearted songs, that can only be described accurately by the man himself. Solo Explains: "This record is a little like taking a dear friend on a pot-holing trip in my mind set to a baroque pop soundtrack".







Oscars: hora de rumores y controversias (Clarín)

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Todo se reduce a esto. “La temporada de los premios”, como le dicen, arranca años antes, cuando los estudios planean qué películas estrenarán y en qué fechas con el fin de conseguir alguna/s estatuilla/s de lo que sea. En noviembre empieza la cuenta regresiva: exhibiciones, estrenos, premios de la crítica, los Globos de Oro, los rumores, los blogs, las controversias. Pero al final, todo se reduce a este domingo a la tarde, en medio de Hollywood: los premios Oscar.

Los Oscar de este año vienen, como siempre, rodeados de controversias y preocupaciones. Hay que alimentar al monstruo y desde hace meses que, día a día, alguien larga algún conejo a correr por Sunset Boulevard para ver si alguien grita. ¿Qué se dice y porqué? Veamos el Top Ten de los supuestos misterios del premio de la Academia:

-Que va a haber sorpresas en los premios (hay que levantar el rating y la contienda parece decidida de antemano con un triunfo de “Slumdog Millionaire”)

-Que va a haber sorpresas en la ceremonia (nadie está muy seguro si fue una buena idea contratarlo a Hugh Jackman pero por las dudas venden el show como algo diferente a lo usual)

-Que “The Reader” es la tapada (las demás bajan sus acciones día a día).

-Que “The Reader” es un solapado intento por negar el Holocausto (contraataque de las otras candidatas)

-Que Rourke, si gana, va a zarparse sobre el escenario (¿le dejará dar su discurso a alguno de sus perros? ¿se lo dedicará al que acaba de morir?)

-Que Rourke no gana porque nunca gana un actor que no triunfó antes en los premios que da el gremio (vengan, pasen y vean la única contienda que parece interesante)

-Que no habría que olvidarse de Meryl Streep, que es la más nominada de la historia, sí, pero también la más perdedora y hace décadas que no gana (no estén tan seguros que va a ganar Winslet)

-Que los fans de “Batman: el caballero de la noche” harán un boicot a la ceremonia y que planean demostrar fuera del Teatro Kodak (¿lo harán encapotados o disfrazados de guasón?)

-Que los presentadores no desfilarán por la alfombra roja asi cuando suben al escenario causa sorpresa lo que llevan puesto (todos los programas que viven de la alfombra, en pie de guerra)

-Que el rating de los premios tiene que subir o habrá problemas (con un paquete de nominados a mejor película que, combinados, recaudaron menos que “Batman”, parece difícil).

Fin de semana de premios. Hoteles llenos de invitados. Fiestas privadas, cenas, reuniones de equipos. El minicirco comienza mañana al mediodía, en una carpa de Santa Mónica, donde muchos de los mismos nominados tendrán que vérselas en los Spirit Awards, los llamados Oscar del cine independiente. Es que Hollywood hace tan pocos filmes nominables (y cuando los hace, como “Batman” o “Wall-E”, la Academia los ignora) que los estudios y productores independientes son la fuerza que hoy mueve a los premios. Así que una fiesta relajada y cool el sábado (carpa, bebidas, comidas, playita) y la otra, glamorosa e “importante” el domingo (la primera se verá aquí por Isat, la segunda por TNT).

Los Angeles, ciudad inabarcable, luminosa, indiferente, no parece estar al tanto de nada. Los autos circulan, los carteles enormes llaman la atención y el resto lo hace la televisión. Allí es donde se vive la guerra. Actores recorriendo talk shows, talk shows persiguiendo actores, avisos para levantar la recaudación de los filmes y buena parte de la gente que parece mirar para otro lado.

En internet, sin embargo, el asunto está que pela. Bloggers que apuestan, sitios que lanzan bolas de nieve que después crecen sin sentido (¡Ahora dicen que el Oscar no será para Heath Ledger!), quien canta, quien no canta (Gabriel dijo que no, M.I.A. no sabe si llega). Al monstruo hay que darle de comer, aún cuando las películas no estén a la altura de las circunstancias.

Sam Kills Two - Sam Kills Two (2009)

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Sam Kills Two are a band led by singer Fred Bjorkvall, although for many the key talking point will be the presence of producer, mixer and multi-instrumentalist Nigel Clark of Dodgy. That's right: Dodgy. They of 'Staying Out For The Summer' and 'In A Room' fame. You'll not be hearing much in the way of that band's breezy B-list Britpop here though, Sam Kills Two occupy a more melancholy, downbeat domain, characterised by a voice that oozes desolation, coming across like a Mark Kozelek/Jose Gonzales-alike on '20/20', which also manages to recall the recent (and for that matter not so recent) output of Andy Yorke from The Unbelievable Truth. Bringing some real weight to the band's chiefly acoustic sound, the harmonised vocals, splashy cymbals and tuned percussion of 'No. 6' bulk the mix up nicely. As time goes on, this eponymous debut slowly reveals itself as a real treat. It's very nicely constructed and despite the amount of restraint placed on the instrumental range, the skillfully handled production imbues the presentation of the songs with a freshness throughout. BOOMKAT

Crítica de "Frost/Nixon", de Ron Howard (Clarín)

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Diario de Los Angeles (Parte 1)

Esta es la típica primera entrega en la que no tengo nada para escribir. Digo, podría hacer una larga descripción del vuelo en American Airlines, de la comida que daban, de las películas que daban, de la cola larguísima para pasar Migraciones, de la conexión, etc, etc. Pero lo único destacable --no por importante, más bien por distinto-- sucedió en el aeropuerto cuando llegué y me encontré con una horda de paparazzi. Me quedé un minuto y de golpe sale una chica rubia a la que no conozco tapándose la cara con un sombrero. Diez segundos después, Leonardo DiCaprio.

Por lo demás, el hotel está muy bien y yo estoy pronto a partir a buscar mis decenas de credenciales: para los Spirit Awards, para la Recepción Previa a los Spirit Award, para la fiesta posterior a los Spirit Awards, para la alfombra roja de los Oscars, para la conferencia de los animadores, para la conferencia de los nominados a mejor película extranjera, para la charla de Werner Herzog. Por suerte, quienes tuvieron la idea de invitarnos a esto (la gente que transmite las ceremonias de los Oscars y los Spirit Awards, Turner Broadcasting System, TBS, que maneja TNT, I.Sat, etc.) nos proveen de un auto para movilizarnos por la ciudad.

Que Los Angeles será bonita y el día estará soleado, pero si tengo que dar vueltas de acá para allá en taxi prefiero quedarme en la pileta del hotel...

No puedo creer que todavía no es ni mediodía.

PD. Obviamente que fotos aún no saqué, sólo pegué una que se parece más o menos a la zona de Santa Monica en la que estoy parando...

Leave - On A Happy Note... (2008)

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This is Leave`s third and, sadly, last album due the sudden and tragic death of Lead Singer/Guitaritst Mike Murphy - fortunately for us, the surviving members finished off their finest piece of work and birthed into the world, breathing life into a project that could have been moribund and depressing: it is not. This Chicago band plays that classic Illinois styled power pop with an earthy Mid-Western heart. They sounds like late 80s REM, Gin Blossoms mixed with the tasteful influences of The Beatles and ELO. "In fact, there`s nothing futuristic about their tight harmonies, driving rhythms and thoroughly satisfying power-pop, but as the aforementioned power-pop scene proves, catchy tunes never go out of style."-- Jim DeRogatis Chicago Sun-Times.

'Eighty? It's just a number' - Clint Eastwood Interview (The Guardian)

Emma Brockes meets Clint Eastwood, one of the last American heroes, to talk about films, politics, ageing ... and the truth about that Spike Lee spat

People who have worked with Clint Eastwood invariably talk about the first time he rang and the effect of his creaky, whispery voice on their nervous system. In a studio on the Warner Brothers lot in Burbank, California, his arrival is counted down in paces between the coffee urn and the biscuit tray, while outside people queue for a chatshow next door and executives glide to lunch in their golf buggies. Eastwood enters with an awkward, loping gait, as from another era. He has made films of every stripe in the past 10 years, but for most of us he will always be that man: who starts a fight in a saloon, who defends a lady's honour, who, now that Paul Newman is gone, is one of the last American heroes. Or, as he puts it with conscientious self-mockery and a flash of his green, green eyes, "the jerk from the plains".

Longevity in Hollywood can inspire embarrassing devotion and Eastwood, heading towards 80, finds much of what comes his way unseemly. Men have a hard time comporting themselves in his presence; women make regrettable observations about his green eyes. The myth is so established, one forgets that in the 60s and early 70s, he made a lot of schlocky, forgettable westerns as well as classics such as The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. The cowboy, marshal or gunslinger whose idea of showing emotion is to shift a cigar from one side of his mouth to the other is a heroic type we are supposed to have outgrown. And yet the glamour persists, entwined as it is with ideas of what it is to be American and a nostalgia, perhaps, for less officious eras. Eastwood didn't say much in those films, but what he did say - "You didn't hear the lady, did you, boy?", "Cool it, cowboy", "Next time I'll knock your damn head off" - compacted over time into legend. Even the most banal line - "Put your pants on, chief" - was transformed by Eastwood's growl into something sounding like wisdom.

Today he settles in his director's chair with the cool, polite detachment he reserves, one imagines, for outlaws and journalists. There are spots of high colour on his cheeks that make him look, oddly, rather vulnerable and take the menace out of his pointy incisors. Eastwood's tough-guy image was always leavened by something soft at the edges, the beauty spot above his lip, the fact that he was, throughout the 60s, very obviously a man who got as much use out of his hairdryer as Warren Beatty. He worked hard to break the mould of that early career in a way he now jokes about. Eastwood is about to cast for a film about Nelson Mandela, adapted from John Carlin's book, and when I ask who will play him, he looks devilish and says, "I'm going to play him. I'm going to show you my versatility." (It will actually be Morgan Freeman. "Perfect casting for Mandela.")

One way or another, Eastwood's interests always seem to come back to the issue of heroism, particularly to the unsympathetic hero. In his new film, Gran Torino, he plays Walt Kowalski, a trigger-happy, cantankerous old bigot (imagine if Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond had been armed) who learns over time to love his Korean neighbours more than his petulant family and to make a great sacrifice for them. It sounds corny, but it's a better film than Million Dollar Baby, the sentimental Oscar-winner he directed in 2004 and in which he played a similar role. Once Eastwood stops snarling and overacting - a pitfall of directing oneself - he turns in a touching performance and the film is funny and moving and unexpectedly shocking. Did he want to play Walt from the off?

"Yeah."

Yeah?

"Yeah."

Right. Eventually, he continues: "Yeah, I liked the dilemmas he had to go through. I liked the message of antique America that is maybe obsolete. Walt may be obsolete." He laughs gently. "But he does learn new things. And that's what makes it interesting. You take a guy who's way out opinionated, insulting to equal opportunity" - this sounds like a phrase he's had to adjust to - "an insulter, and you put him with people where he's antagonistic as hell. And then all of a sudden he looks in the mirror and says, 'I have more in common with these people than my own spoilt, rotten family.' He's realising these folks like having him around, even though he's not particularly on the surface likable."

The film nervously calibrates Walt's bigotry by going overboard with examples of affectionate racial mockery between Irish, Italians and Poles to show that, you know, there are levels to these things. I ask whether he was anxious about getting this tone right. "I wasn't anxious about anything. I figure one thing when you get to my age is, what can they do to ya?" Likewise, he bats away being overlooked at the Oscars. Gran Torino was number one at the US box office but didn't get a single nomination. "I have had three films nominated out of the last five I've made. I just make the film the best I can. The rest is political stuff and posturing. I'm not terribly good at that. I think our message was as good as any message out there this year. There we are."

At some point, the reticence of Dirty Harry and Joe Kidd turned into the old-age misanthropy of Walt Kowalski and Frankie Dunn, and when, in 2000, Eastwood made Space Cowboys with Tommy Lee Jones and Donald Sutherland, the joke was it should have been called Grumpy Old Astronauts. At 78, he is still wiry and tough looking, but his posture is bad and his famous whisper sounds, occasionally, like the frailty of age. "Eighty is just a number," he says. "A lot of people are old at 40." No twinges of vanity when he sees himself on screen? "It's too late for vanity. If I was 30, maybe, I'd say, 'Hey, that's not a good angle.' But there is no good angle now. So you just kinda accept it and go ahead."

Eastwood is kept young, perhaps, by his family; he has seven children who range in age from 12 to their early 40s. The 12-year-old daughter, Morgan, lives with him and his second wife, Dina Ruiz, a former TV anchorwoman from Arizona. He married his first wife, Maggie Johnson, when he was 21 and had two children with her. They didn't divorce for 30 years, during which time he had a child with Roxanne Tunis, two with Jacelyn Reeves and one with Frances Fisher, while conducting a long relationship with the actor Sondra Locke. I wonder if Morgan thinks he's cool or embarrassing. Eastwood looks surprised. "I think she thinks I'm a cool dad. We get along very well. I have a teenage daughter as well. And I think they think I'm all right. I'm not totally objective. I don't think they think of me as a guy who should be their grandfather. I used to joke about it: that my kids didn't give me any grand- children, so I just had my own grandchildren."

One imagines that being the son of Clint Eastwood throws up very particular problems, as being the daughter of some icon of femininity might for a girl. I ask if his sons have had a tougher time of it than his daughters. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think so." He pauses. "Maybe." Another long pause. "I don't think they need to get screwed up. The parents have to keep instilling in them the logic of life. Not everyone becomes a known figure. There's disadvantages to it and there's advantages to it. Don't try to make it any more than it is." This isn't, of course, something he can entirely control, the way his fame affects his children. "You're never in total control. But you have to have ambitions to set the agenda and fate does the rest."

Control is a big thing for Eastwood, whose "logic of life" is deeply entwined with his Libertarian politics, which he brings up with a wry smile, taking into account that most people think Libertarianism is at best unrealistic and at worst crackpot. He registered as a Republican in 1951 in support of Eisenhower, whom he admired for his second world war heroism and election promise to end the war in Korea. Eastwood's short tenure as mayor of Carmel, the town south of San Francisco where he lives, was premised, he told the New Yorker, on "doing things for people who can't stand up for themselves". Since then, he says, the Republican party has lost its way - he was not in favour of going to war in Iraq, and the evangelical side of the party annoys him. "The only thing John McCain and I really agreed upon was that the Republicans had lost their way because they lost their philosophy." The core of that philosophy, he says, is that "people should be responsible for themselves and fiscal responsibility is very, very important." He says of the current economic crisis: "The great saying that if you don't pay attention to history you're doomed to repeat it is pretty much true. Pretty much true. Now we're repeating it. You get what you deserve."

For the election, his wife registered as an independent, although, he says, they both thought, "Obama seemed like a nice guy." And Eastwood? "I registered," he smiles, "Libertarian. I like the philosophies. The Libertarian party is nothing and they don't have any candidates. But I do believe if we just leave everybody alone, quit trying to think of ways to run everybody else's life, maybe we'd be better off. It may be impractical. It may be obsolete, that kind of thinking." He looks off into the distance: "It's just kinda the way I was raised."

Eastwood's long-term vision about his career was unusual both in its accuracy and the tenacity with which he pursued it. In his early 30s, he could see that if he carried on making westerns they would get worse and he would eventually fall out of fashion. The way to save himself was to diversify. He is a pianist and has written the scores for many of his films, but it was to directing that he turned. He had campaigned to direct episodes of Rawhide, the TV series that started his career; the studio refused, but finally, in 1971, he was given Play Misty For Me, a low-budget film about a woman stalking a local radio star. Misty is still a tense, well-managed thriller today, although there is a self-indulgent bit where the character played by Eastwood and his girlfriend frolic on a beach, in a wood and under a waterfall, that would presage overlong sequences in many of his films. Directing, he says, is the greater joy. "You're the storyteller. As an actor you're just involved with the one component, your component. And your relationship to the ensemble. I prefer directing. I have to. I'm at the age where I should. So."

Eastwood is not a shouter on set; his is a quiet authority. Apart from Spike Lee, no one in the industry seems to have a bad word for him. He is said to be gentlemanly to a fault, professional, deeply engaged. He is also disinclined to censor himself. It is customary when making a film based on a novel not to bad-mouth the source material. In 1995 he made The Bridges Of Madison County, one of the directing roles that, with Unforgiven, raised his profile as a serious director; he called Robert James Waller's novel "fancy, pretentious writing" that he had "fought" to get through. His tiff with Spike Lee last year followed Lee's accusations that Eastwood did not include any black soldiers in his second world war film Flags Of Our Fathers, the story of the men who raised the US flag after the battle of Iwo Jima. It is a bleak, beautiful film that seems to go on for several days and, amid all the battle scenes, exploits what Eastwood has always done best: stillness. He replied that Lee should "shut his face" - the film was historically accurate. Now he says, "It wasn't really a tiff. I was in Cannes and somebody said that he was quoted saying this and that. Some journalist. And I said, well if he said that... and I shot my mouth off. But he's a nice guy. I think Spike was just trying to promote his flick. I understand the game." He grins. "I just thought I wasn't going to let him off the hook."

He won't speculate on how he has influenced cinema, or who he considers to be the heirs to Dirty Harry or Josey Wales. Jason Bourne, perhaps, although he gets too weepy over his dead girlfriend. Eastwood never betrayed an interior life beyond the hint of a secret sadness. He never fell for the posse mentality, and even when he was playing a cop, he was as suspicious of the law as of the outlaws - in Hang 'Em High, a judge admonishes his Marshal Jedediah Cooper: "You can be the best I've ever had, the best there is, if you remember this: you work for the government. You work for justice." His characters didn't work for anyone, of course, which is why we'll always love them. For his own inspiration, he says, he looked to John Wayne and Gary Cooper, "old-time movie actors. I was influenced by James Cagney a lot. I liked his inner vitality. And he was fearless. Not afraid to do crazy things, take a grapefruit in the face. I've always felt that suited me as well."

What is that, not being afraid to fail? "I think it's just... not being afraid." He quotes FDR - "The only thing to fear is fear itself" - then repeats it in a silly voice, to show he isn't that pompous. "Anyway, it was like that mentality. Yeah, I'll just barge in, make that commitment, go for it, otherwise you miss great opportunities to enjoy yourself and have fun and create characters that are interesting. Sometimes you have to swing hard and miss the ball. But you have to swing hard."

Given his fame, Eastwood has an unusually sensible attitude. He hasn't burned out, or become an addict, or cast himself against women half his age. There's no great mystery to it, he says. "Just stacking up information. Not forgetting it." He drops his voice even lower than his usual whisper and leans in. "Not forgetting." His eyes really are very green.