Out of Focus

Monday Miscellaneous Miscellany: Awards and Stuff

I've spent the whole weekend (yet again) holed up in my apartment encountering only those I had beckoned to bring me food, watching submission-after-submission, with intermittent breaks for news, a few episodes of Friday Night Lights and watching Broken English on DVD and 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days on IFC in Theaters. (That's right ... I took a break from movies by watching two movies. I know that by all rational analysis, I have lost it.) But as I consider the end of January also the coming end of the statute of limitations to consider 2007, my delayed look-back lists will, one way or another, be coming this week. Until then:

• I'm a bit baffled at the DGA awarding their top prize this year to the Coen Brothers over Paul Thomas Anderson. No disrespect to No Country For Old Men, which will be one of my top five films of the year, but if there's one prize Anderson should get this year from anyone bestowing it, it's Best Director. I would actually have been much less shocked to see Anderson win the DGA and the Coens take the Oscar due to the broader voting block. I have a very hard time seeing it happening the other way around, i.e., Anderson surprising at the Oscars. And yet, it's quite surprising to me that a film which in a couple years will be in the running as the best film of the decade isn't receiving more formal hosannas.
  

• Meanwhile, kudos to both SAG and ASC for getting their top awards right. Even as many seem to hold back on the comparable praise for There Will Be Blood, the recognition of Daniel Day-Lewis' work is, rightfully, universal. I wonder, however, if too many are giving him too much credit for the movie itself, thinking that the performance is the only thing to react to. One of the reasons Blood is so tremendous is due to the fact that Day-Lewis gives potentially one of the greatest performances ever captured on film without overshadowing or upstaging the rest of the movie -- as, often, only the true greats can do. Blood was also recognized on Saturday as the American Society of Cinematographers gave their annual honor to Robert Elswit, whose photography contributes as much as anything else to Blood's virtual perfection. Meanwhile, SAG gave its Best Cast in a Motion Picture prize to No Country (as well as justly handing Supporting Actor to Javier Bardem). One of the reasons the Coens movie works as well as it does is not just because there isn't a weak link among its cast, but also because so many of the great performances are at the service of truly complicated, multi-dimensional and morally complex characters.
  

• As for the "stuff": Anyone out there a TiVo expert? Due to my quick realization that Cablevision's DVRs suck more than Time Warner's and almost as much as Cablevision itself, I have made the leap from DiVo to actual brand-name TiVo, and for the most part, I'm pretty happy. But there are actually a few nit-picky things that are bugging me, and most of all, I'm missing a few functions and shortcuts that I'm pretty sure must actually exist. So ... anyone know of any comprehensive TiVo shortcut sites? Anybody have enough experience to know if you can create more "Groups" (like, say, one for "Movies" recorded) in the Now PLaying list? Anyone know if there's a way to ask the machine to create a season pass for a certain show in one specific time slot that is not its first run time slot? (For example, Project Runway premieres at 10 PM on Wednesday each week, but maybe I want to record it every week in a different time slot, like 11 PM or 2 AM? But that time slot isn't recognized as "First run" obviously? This is something that the Time Warner DiVo easily did; the Cablevision DiVo sort of did; but it looks like the TiVo can't do it. Is that possible?
  

• I suppose I'll throw this out there: If you're job hunting and are super organized and have always wanted to work your ass off for not nearly enough pay ... I'm hiring for a few different positions at Tribeca.
  

• I'm kind of baffled by a lot of the Cloverfield reaction out there. I don't care if people don't like the film, and yeah, I wrote something of a rave last week for it, albeit never intending to infer that I think it's the greatest movie ever. But the film keeps receiving all these criticisms about its characters being completely devoid of depth or purpose and the story being simply a blatant recreation of 9/11 that just goes on for about an hour but doesn't say anything, and the only reasons I can see for such criticism are certain critics walking into the film expecting nothing good and closing themselves off from seeing anything that's there. I'm not trying to say that these are the most complex characters created in memory, but they each of a purpose, they each make life-and-death decisions -- often placing their own lives secondary -- and they each, within the confines of this world and this kind of story, learn and even slightly grow. But more importantly, the 9/11 comparison is really just the tip of the iceberg. I don't want to rehash what I wrote last week, but there is a lot in this film that articulates the fears many in this country have through the realization of this monster and the attack. Like 9/11, the attack is just the beginning. The ability of this monster to infect our society -- or in some cases our own persons and very beings -- is clear. The ability of the larger monster to spit off smaller creatures -- can you say "cells" anyone? -- that sneak-up and surprise in the dark, swarm when you're not looking and against which we seem powerless to defend? That's not the monster metaphor of what most red staters would claim is the 100% truth? Monster movies were never "truth." Monster movies -- especially those of the Red Scare '50s -- were all reactionary; they were all responses, or perpetuation, of propaganda and perception and paranoia and probably some other p-words that I'm missing right now. And so is Cloverfield. If the film has any faults in this area, it's for a lack of subtlety, but not a lack of content.

R.I.P. HEATH

I was sitting in a programming meeting today. It was around 4:45 or so, and two of my colleagues at the other end of the table was showing his blackberry to someone else. A few minutes passed, and she showed hers back to him, and one of them said, "Heath Ledger was just found dead." It took everyone in the room by surprise ... nothing unique there. When we got back to our main office later, apparently everyone there had been doing nothing but refreshing TMC and The New York Times and wherever else they could read the latest gossip.

Who knows what happened to Ledger. His family in Australia now seems to say that he had been suffering from pneumonia for the past couple weeks. A friend of mine sent me a passage from a newspaper story a couple months ago in which Ledger discussed the emotional difficulties he encountered from playing The Joker in Christopher Nolan's Batman sequel The Dark Knight, which opens this summer. Apparently this version of the character is so disturbed and demented that it played a part in Ledger having trouble sleeping, and so he would find himself taking a sleeping pill or two just in an attempt to get more than one or two hours sleep in a night. There have been other reports that he took his recent break-up from Michelle Williams especially hard.

I would ask "who cares?" if I didn't know that in our society everyone does. I don't ask that question to be crass or insensitive because I don't ask it in terms of "Who cares about Heath Ledger?" Rather, I mean, "Who cares how he died?"

Obviously ... still everyone. But at the end of the day, Ledger's death -- like so many other talented people before him, including Brad Renfro just last week -- whether purposefully self-destructive or completely accidental is just one thing: sad. Was it suicide? Did he accidentally take too many sleeping pills because he just wanted to sleep? Was he using any other drugs again recently? All these questions will likely be answered one way or another in the next few days, but that doesn't stop 100 rumors from being thrown out to the world before being retracted (or not) simply because people find some sort of joy even in some form of sadness. Ledger got to lead the high life -- and now, he flew too close to the sun. Or ... he didn't. He just made an accidental and fatal mistake.

Ledger had, at least to my mind, come a long way over the last decade of his consistently growing stardom. Even in something silly like 10 Things I Hate About You, he had a compelling screen presence. That grew into a significant acting talent, exposed beautifully in Brokeback Mountain, and, if one could base such a thing on a trailer (which one can't, but I'm going to anyway), his looks and posture and facial expressions alone make his Joker look like it's going to be something special. As an enormous Batman Begins fan -- a film which I still consider to be the best of 2005 -- I eagerly anticipate Nolan's sequel, and Ledger is one of the main reasons why.

It's just sad, in all definitions and connotations. And yet, whenever something like this happens, I wonder, "Why and how him?" Not because I'm wishing it was someone else instead, but simply because of the curiousity and seeming randomness of it all.

I always flash back to that night in 1993 when I was driving down Sunset Blvd on my way home, noticing a crowd of people on the sidewalk in front of The Viper Room. An ambulance coming from the other direction turned through the intersection in front of me. I had no idea what had happened, and continued driving home. The next morning, I was at a press junket when a friend came up and told me that River Phoenix had died, and putting two-and-two together, I suppose I drove by as he lay dying.

Two years earlier, at the same hotel, in the same ballroom, I was at a different press junket for the film Soapdish. Robert Downey Jr. was there. Robert Downey Jr. was running around the room. Robert Downey Jr.'s eyes were bugging out of his head. Robert Downey Jr. was definitely on something. Robert Downey Jr., 17 years and multiple rehabs and court trials later is still here with us and starring in what should be one of the bigger films of this summer, Iron Man. And I'm happy for that. High or not, he was a really nice guy that day, and he's an incredibly tired actor. But ... how? How has he, and others with similar substance abuse problems, managed to turn back just before reaching the sun.

And really ... other than providing cautionary tales to all of those who don't pay attention to the warnings anyway, does it matter? The film world lost a talented member of its club today. More importantly, his two year old daughter lost a father. It doesn't matter whether he committed suicide or overdosed on recreational drugs or accidentally overdosed on sleeping pills, because at the end of the day, he's gone without being able to use his talent to contribute anything further, and any way you look at that, it's just sad.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: Oscar again presents the race for most overrated

As usual, subjecting myself to 15 minutes of E! feels like way too many brain cells have died, but it's the sacrifice I make on Oscar nomination morning. I still need to digest and look at the full list of nominees, but here are some quick thoughts:

The Good: If there is any justice in the Academy Awards world, There Will Be Blood will sweep the big four awards for which it received nominations, however the only true lock I anticipate is Daniel Day-Lewis' pending Best Actor win. I am encouraged, however, that both Blood and No Country for Old Men tied for the lead in nominations with eight each.

I also was pleasantly surprised to see Ratatouille not just receive its expected Best Animated Film nomination but also a Best Screenplay nomination. Even though it won't win, in a field where its competition is Juno, Michael Clayton, Lars and the Real Girl and The Savages, Ratatouille arguably deserves the prize.

The Bad and The Ugly: This seemed like a better idea when I first thought of separating things this way, but instead, I'm probably just tired. Still, I've discovered over the past few years that the Academy loves to drive me crazy (granted, I'm sure my reaction is not foremost on their mind) by nominating more than one film that really truly doesn't belong there.

Babel, Crash and Capone top the list from the past two year with Crash still holding on to most overrated film in recent memory thanks to its Oscar win. This year, the prize for most overrated looks to be a neck-and-neck race between Michael Clayton and Juno. In my own way, I'm less disturbed by the Best Picture nominations each film received as the Best Screenplay and Best Director honors. Neither deserve to be considered one of the top five films of the year, and once again one has to marvel at the Academy's ability to always split one Best Director-Best Picture combo slot between two films. Considering that The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and Atonement are both better than Michael Clayton and Juno, it's quite curious to me that Julian Schnabel received a director nomination for a movie not good enough for the top five and Atonement was apparently directed by nobody. I know, I know ... the two categories don't necessarily have to match-up, especially between its winners, but generally ... they should.

More important, though, Michael Clayton would currently win my most overrated prize. I know many really like the film -- hence the over in front of the "rated" -- and I understand some of its appeal. But the Best Director nod to Tony Gilroy is downright appalling. Michael Clayton survives primarily on its performances and a feel-good, feel-bad story (if that makes any sense). But Gilroy's direction is sloppy at best and virtually incompetent at worst.

Juno is better, and I certainly enjoyed it, but I fall firmly in the camp that thinks the film has received a bit more hype than deserved. The movie is a huge step for Jason Reitman, much better constructed than his previously overlauded Thank You For Smoking, but he doesn't belong in the same room -- let alone nomination list -- with Paul Thomas Anderson, Joel Coen & Ethan Coen or Schnabel. And as for Diablo Cody apparently being the greatest writer to hit Hollywood since Billy Wilder ... oh wait a second. Juno is a crossover success, so I guess she hasn't hit Hollywood yet, right? Of course, as many have written, there's nothing crossover about Juno. Nevertheless, Cody's screenplay is fun and generally well-written, but being a stripper before writing your screenplay should not earn you an Oscar, and yet, that seems to be what anybody ever mentioning her or now this nomination seems to mention first so obviously, that's what's best about her work, right?

Of course, not, and that may not be fair to Cody, but judging the writing simply on the writing, it's good - even very good -- but not great. Sarcasm and irony walks a very fine line in this kind of comedy -- one that Aaron Sorkin has destroyed so that he now finds himself falling uncontrollably down a bottomless pit of quippiness -- and Cody doesn't always tread it lightly enough, nor does she develop all her characters to a complete enough conclusion. Yes, the Juno character -- and Ellen Page's performance -- are what hold this film together, but the rest of the characters -- with some great performances notwithstanding, particularly from Michael Cera -- actually are relatively flat.

THIS JUST IN: THE NEW UGLY: No Best Original Score nomination for Jonny Greenwood for There Will Be Blood. That's not a snub; that's a crime!

More later ....

Cloverfield: A Monster Movie for the New Millenium

The biggest surprise about Cloverfield -- the new monster thriller opening today from Alias and Lost creator-producer J.J. Abrams, directed by his former partner on Felicity Matt Reeves -- is that for the first time in recent memory (if not ever), a January release doesn't royally suck. In fact, Cloverfield is surprisingly (to me, at least) pretty incredible -- a throwback, of sorts, to the classic sci-fi monster films of the 1950s mixed with a DIY, Blair Witch influenced narrative technique and an early 21st century sociological sensibility.

The fact that I just described the film's biggest shock as being simply not sucking while getting a release date generally reserved for films that studios know are bad -- throw aways that won't compete too hard against all the potential awards season releases opening wider and getting audience boosts thanks to nominations and wins -- is not a criticism of the movie itself in any way. In fact, one reason Cloverfield is so good is because it remains thoroughly gripping even though none of the big plot "twists" really come as much of a surprise. The film opens with a note on screen mentioning that the following tape was found in an area of New York formerly known as "Central Park." That one sentence alone seriously limits what is even possible in terms of the story's conclusion. And yet, even as what-happens-next is regularly more than apparent, the film is so well crafted that it continuously thrills even if it doesn't always surprise.

Personally, I'm going to give much of the credit to Reeves. I'm not one of the main members of the JJ Abrams fan club. I've watched each of his series -- except Six Degrees -- semi-religiously, but I find that he comes up with such great ideas for twists that he often jumps out of the bounds of reality within the very worlds he creates in the first place. He certainly did not prove himself to be a great film director with either Mission: Impossible 3 -- really nothing more than a glorified, big budget and not all that interesting big screen episode of Alias.

Cloverfield -- which Abrams produced but did not direct -- is, by contrast, a generally fantastic example of cinematic economy. The film itself -- minus end credits -- runs just over 70 minutes long. It feels neither too long nor too short. With the small exception of ending a couple minutes after the film probably should, there is not really one extraneous moment. It moves along at a pretty quick pace, keeping the audience in a primarily breath-holding, seat-gripping, edge-sitting position for the vast majority of it's final 50-60 minutes -- once the shit really starts flying.

But what makes Cloverfield a great film is that it is, in fact, a brainy one. One of my favorites of 2007 was the Korean monster movie The Host from director Bong Joon-ho (my original 2006 NYFF review is here. Bong's achievement went far beyond simply having a monster run around town stomping on people; his film presents an allegory tremendously critical of U.S. imperialism, international intervention and the Iraq war as well as Korean complacency and paranoia.

During the mid-20th Century, Hollywood sci-fi and monster films of both the A and B variety -- titles such as The Day the Earth Stood Still, War of the Worlds, Them! -- were a not-so-thinly veiled result of the Red Scare. The aliens and monsters were the communists, and the U.S. -- especially personified by regular, hard-working citizens with the support of the government but not because of them -- would usually manage to triumph over the evil enemy.

But we now live in a post-Vietnam and post-9/11 age. Our fears, and therefore our monsters, are scarier, more spontaneous, less calculating and seemingly impossible to find and destroy. So The Host comes from Korea and the U.S. produces Cloverfield.

The allusions to the 9/11 attacks are anything but veiled. When the monster starts attacking New York, the first thing beheaded is the Statue of Liberty, i.e., liberty itself. Meanwhile, the shocked and usually apathetic New Yorkers become momentarily oblivious to the destruction and damage around them to take camera phone pictures of the disembodied statue's head.

The "attack" happens out of nowhere. The people we're following are having a fun time at a going away party, with individuals concerned about their own problems and lives -- are they petty? Doesn't matter -- before being shocked into a new, chaotic reality. Nobody knows what's going on, and in the first minutes, everything is confusing. The monster attacks lower Manhattan first. There are explosions and fireballs. A rolling huge plume of smoke starts coming down the street and people run screaming away from it. Is this imagery too much? For some, it may be, but it's exactly this personal flashback for the audience and the discomfort it may cause that is the film's goal.

Cloverfield is not a happy movie nor a necessarily triumphant one. But the halcyon days of the United States disappeared during the era of Vietnam and Watergate. As much as many in our country like to believe in our invincibility, these days, an even greater percentage likely feel helpless against an "enemy" constantly presented as a thoughtless rampaging creature whose only goal is destruction, and against whom there may not be any true defense. The pessimistic pseudo-apocalyptic outlook presented here is at best a rarity among major Hollywood studio films (and Cloverfield's relatively modest budget does not make it any less a big studio film when coming from Paramount and Abrams' Bad Robot). Even pictures like I Am Legend or 2006's brilliant Children of Men present half-full conclusions that leave the audience with a smidgen of hope regardless of the rest of the film's bleakness. The relative degree of hope versus despair at the end of Cloverfield will be something that audience members might see in different manners, and yet, the film certainly does not argue for a triumphant ending.

Cloverfield isn't for everyone, but it also isn't your average sci-fi thrill-ride with little else to it even if it may appear as such. It sets out to do something very specific, and while not perfect, overall it succeeds magnificently, with the added benefit of never being afraid to add a wee bit of humor at regular intervals to break the tension but without ever overdoing it so it feels unnatural or annoying.

I'm writing this less than two hours after seeing the film. Will Cloverfield stick with me in a similar manner to The Host? I'm guessing not. Although Cloverfield works very well on several levels, it's symbolism and representations are still fairly obvious, at least more so than The Host. But who cares? What Abrams, Reeves and scribe Drew Goddard have done here is pretty remarkable in today's movie market -- made a monster movie with no stars and a relatively small budget that has to make its debut during the doldrums of January, and made it better than possibly any American monster thriller made in recent memory.

The Business of Being Born: A Quick Plug for a Festival Fave

One night during last year's Tribeca, I was hanging out at the AMC Kips Bay supervising my staff and doing some introductions of films. I was scheduled to intro one documentary which coming into the festival was one of my favorites. I had met the filmmaker briefly at our office one day, but not the film's famous producer. Suddenly, this familiar looking woman comes walking down the hallway in some ridiculously high heels. I did a double-take thinking, "Wow? Who's that! She's hot!" Then I did a second double-take (quadruple take overall?) when another one of my internal voices thought about the film I was about to introduce, bitchslapped my brain and said, "Moron. That's Ricki Lake."

Wha?!?

I had actually just seen Lake's picture on the cover of US for a story all about her weight-loss, but she looked even better in person, and I was shocked. I was even more shocked because only about a month before, I had seen Lake very pregnant and very naked giving birth in her home in the film The Business of Being Born.

Abby Epstein's fantastic documentary opened at the IFC Center last week, and if you have yet to see it, you really should go. Guys too! For one thing, the film received a rousing endorsement from its sold out audiences at Tribeca, finishing in the top 5 for the Audience Award. But more importantly, and as I said in each of my two or three introductions for the film, The Business of Being Born is a movie for everyone. In fact, the people on the programming team who wound up being most enthusiastic about it were two men (including myself). Epstein does a tremendous job of not just exposing some major troubling issues regarding the modern birth industry in America, but also in providing -- especially for men -- an in-depth and up-close (sometimes maybe too close?) look at the process, beyond the phony hospital scenes in movies or Lamaze instructional videos, including the vital part that a prospective father can and should play, beyond holding the camcorder.

What's truly impressive about Epstein's film, however, is its balanced while still critical and opinionated perspective. Without giving away the film's narrative -- which relates too Epstein's own pregnancy during the making of the film -- The Business of Being Born expertly describes why there is not only a place for both at home and hospital births, but why the latter is often, in fact, necessary, and how any trained midwife would be the first to tell a woman in labor, "Let's get to the hospital" when such a situation would be necessary. Epstein, Lake and the women (and men) who expose themselves (literally) in this film all deserve applause. But as I discover repeatedly and too often as I watch doc-after-doc submitted to the festival, plenty of filmmakers have their hearts and arguments in their right place; that doesn't make their films compelling or good. Epstein has managed to do what all great and important documentaries do, though: great subject, well made. I urge you to check it out.

It's about time: The Rent is more than paid up

Don't cry for Rent on Broadway. It's about time. In reality, few shows -- if any -- can aesthetically sustain a five-year run, much less a 12-year one, and part of the reason why Broadway has not seen a greater collection of outstanding new work over the past decade-plus is because the economics have become such that only a brand-name show that sustains its ticket sales can survive, let alone thrive. There's little new excitement on Broadway, especially in terms of musicals, because little innovative creativity exists.

I've been on a bit of a theater binge recently, lessened in the New Year due to my work submission screening commitments, but in November and December I saw more theater than I had during the rest of 2007 and possibly all of 2006 combined. Some weeks, I was attending four or five shows, Broadway and Off-Broadway (sadly, I need to find more time for Off-Off), and while there is a lot of good theater out there ... great theater? Not so much. But what is truly noticeable is the difference between a new show and an old one; particularly an older show that has moved into the realms of stunt casting or third, fourth, fifth (or more) whole cast changes. No disrespect to the many talented Broadway performers who don't receive the honor, opportunity and/or luxury of being an original cast member, but shows can get tired, even when they're new to the audience.

I rarely see productions that have been playing for a while. Most original casts -- or at the very least, the leads -- are gone after the first year, and I try to see things when they're new and fresh; the "best" version with the "best" talent the creative team believed they could find, for better or worse. It can be worse sometimes ... some shows grow as the cast and production get tighter simply due to repetition.

In the fall, I went to see Hairspray on Broadway. I had never seen the show, and as mentioned here over the summer, I absolutely fell in love with the movie. The Broadway cast included Ashley Parker Angel (one of the members of the Making the Band group O-Town); Alexa Vega (best known for her role in the Spy Kids movies); and Jerry Mathers as The Beaver. Wait ... no ... Mathers played Wilbur Turnblad, Tracey's father. For those of you who saw the movie, Christopher Walken played the role. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that The Beav can't really dance, and he sings just a tad bit worse than he dances. Shortly after the performance I attended, Lance Bass of 'N Sync joined the cast. He, Vega and Beav have since left, but George Wendt (NORM!) is now playing Edna Turnblad, the role made famous by Divine in the John Waters movie, Harvey Fierstein in the original Broadway cast, and John Travolta in this summer's movie musical.

No offense to Wendt (NORM!) ... maybe he's great. But when Broadway producers start bringing in stunt or name casting, it generally means ticket sales are already on the decline, and often that's because the show is too. Sometimes, said casting can revitalize and improve a show. By all accounts, Fantasia (winner of American Idol a few seasons back) did wonders for The Color Purple, not just in terms of ticket sales, but also bringing a fresh and invigorating interpretation to the role. However, examples like that tend to be exceptions rather than the rule.

Rent was hit and a phenomenon -- deservedly so or not -- when it was specifically because of when it was. It was a show of its time. It emerged when those remnants of the East Village still existed; when downtown theater types remembered the neighborhood, and the idea of "living with AIDS," as opposed to dying of it, was still a new reality; the epidemic was more under control but still very real. It was also a pretty dead time for Broadway, when Andrew Lloyd Weber could do virtually no wrong and anything smaller than Les Miserables didn't have a chance. It was an era when Titanic: The Musical and The Life were the closest things to innovation, and if you don't remember either of those shows, there's good reason -- neither were all that memorable.

Rent was exciting because it was familiar, and it was New York, and it was "rock" music, and its arrival was accompanied by the tragic story of its young creator. All these issues have very little to do with whether or not the show was any good. I know many people who will claim that it's quite awful. Others may call it the best musical of all time. Personally, I would argue that both sides are wrong. Rent is a highly flawed but entertaining and provocative show. It never was the be-all, end-all reinvention of musical theater as the media hyped and theater world seemed to anoint it at the time. But it has its moments. Especially at the time, it was interesting and exciting, and it received such exuberant praise because compared to all the other new stuff, it was superior.

I haven't seen the stage production of Rent since 1997 when I saw it for the second and last time. I can't speak to the quality of the current cast or band or production, and I'm sure every member of the show tries as hard as that tremendous group of talent that opened the show on April 29, 1996. But the greatness of all theater, Broadway or smaller, and the primary quality to me that separates it as a performance presentation from its sister medium of film is, unsurprisingly, that it's live. A show is not supposed to run forever. The show that opens in 1996 simply can't be the same show you see in 1999 or 2002 or 2008.

When a show is revived, it usually needs something new and different to make it feel alive again. I know a lot of people have praised the current revival of A Chorus Line, which is virtually a duplicate of the original production. As I mentioned previously, A Chorus Line is one of my absolute all-time favorite musicals -- and when it arrived in 1975, it arguably was a complete reinvention of musical theater. I saw the production soon after it opened and have to admit, I was underwhelmed primarily because I found the cast subpar and the production lacking vitality. Maybe it was an off-night. Maybe they've gotten better since. But theater is a living, breathing, organic experience, subject to the varieties and variations that are utterly unpredictable. And as such, much like it takes my eyes more time to focus in the morning at 36 years old than it did when I was 24, theater gets old.

Rent has aged. Gracefully or not, in dog years, it's almost 84. It's a little sad, but it's also for the best. And maybe there's some young blossoming musical theater writer -- they're out there -- who's ready to wow us with the new Rent (or, better yet, the next Avenue Q); who's ready to pick-up that mantle and help push out the Phantoms and Les Mises and even the relative newcomers like Mamma Mia!. It's just really about time.

R.I.P. Rent. I'm sure some sort of weird nostalgia will bring you back some day, but for now, your time has come ... and it isn't coming too soon.

Golden Globes Part 2: Do they actually mean ... anything?

I'm going to let my better judgment get the best of me. Don't act so surprised -- it happens from time-to-time. Last night, while watching a bunch of Tribeca submissions (and finally getting to a film that surprised the hell out of me, keeping me laughing for virtually its entire 90 minutes), I began writing this second collection of Golden Globes thoughts; one based on the awards themselves rather than the pitiful excuse for a show that attracted fewer viewers than the People's Choice Awards. But as I started furiously punching at the keyboard, I suddenly thought to myself ... Who cares? Oh, I mean, I know you already likely didn't care; but suddenly I didn't as well. I found myself agreeing completely with Eugene from indieWIRE: "Thank you, writers." Whatever good will hopefully come out of the WGA strike as well as whatever hardships have already been created for much of Hollywood, at least this one minor tiny positive thing was revealed clearer than ever: even as the HFPA has managed to long receive more press notice than any other "critics" group, no organization is less reputable in handing out such awards nor less worthy of such attention.

You don't even have to go so far as questioning who won what, but it's certainly easy to do so. Billy Bush, as I described yesterday in detail, couldn't have sounded more stupid, however he did say one thing that was dead one when he mentioned that the HFPA likes to "spread things around." They also like to try to show an independent or rebellious streak, but everything is planned so as not to alienate the big stars or major studios. And so, you see No Country For Old Men bringing the Coen brothers a Best Screenplay prize, but Atonement winning Best Picture - Drama and Julian Schnabel taking Best Director. That's not specifically a criticism of either film: I loved The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and I think it marked a giant leap forward for Schnabel; and I liked Atonement quite a bit, actually, but it is a serious Awards contender less thanks to standout cinematic excellence than to a less disturbing storyline.

Their credibility is shot by the simple fact that even their categories make absolutely no sense anymore. Splitting the Best Picture, Best Actor and Best Actress categories into Drama and Musical/Comedy is, at this point, so wrong for so many reasons. Why aren't the Director, Screenplay and especially Supporting Actor/Actress prizes split if the primary idea behind doing so is to judge relative quality on a more level playing field? Why are the Drama prizes considered more worthwhile? But more importantly, why are musicals automatically lumped in with comedies. This year, not one of the Musical/Comedy winners had anything to do with comedy. Sure, Sweeney Todd has some macabre, darkly comedic moments, but it is not in any way a comedy. Regardless of how great Marion Cotillard may be in La Vie en Rose (I have not seen the film, yet I've heard she's sensational), it is in no way a comedic performance. Why shouldn't her performance -- in a film that is arguably not even a musical -- or all of Sweeney Todd be in the Drama category? Tim Burton's movie is better than at least four of the overblown seven Drama nominees anyway.

But it's not actually about awarding excellence, for whatever that's worth anyway. It's about staying on the good side of every network and studio so that when the next year rolls around, the HFPA can make a shitload of money by allowing Dick Clark Productions and NBC to produce their little party, and by having its members courted all winter long with SWAG and junkets and free stuff. The Golden Globes are a racket; they're a producer of graft; and while celebrating Daniel Day-Lewis' win, Mad Men receiving the Best Drama TV series prize and other deserving winners should still be done, it would be better to bury the Globes than to honor them. While they once had a significant influence over who might receive Oscar nominations, thankfully, Academy balloting has for the last several years had their deadline before the Globes were announced, so a Globe win is no longer an automatic Oscar nomination. Thank goodness for small favors.

The Golden Globes: One hour seemed more than enough, and way too much Bush

It's almost pointless to critique -- positively or otherwise -- The Golden Globes. The Hollywood Foreign Press becomes a more laughable and pandering award-bestowing organization every year, and the awards not-handed-out tonight -- with its seven Best Dramatic Picture nominations and the Best Musical/Comedy Picture category proving more than ever before how inane it is to automatically have those two broad genres combined -- were no less absurd than any other year, and possibly more so. I don't mean to imply that the various winners (or at least most of them) weren't deserving, but the obvious methodology this relatively small group of foreign critics and journalists use to determine who gets the tiny statuettes has always been based more on pandering, swag and the continued desire for prestige than anything honest. And every year around this time, we always have to remind ourselves that the only reason the Golden Globes have become as big a deal as they have is because the HFPA was able to sell a TV show and throw a party. Well, without either this year, the awards themselves were even more front-and-center, and that, as usual, wasn't really a good thing.

And besides ... what the hell was that? Do you think people in that studio and at NBC were congratulating each other for a job well done? I'm not intimating that producing the kind of show they were forced to do tonight was easy, but it certainly would be easier with less brain-dead hosts than Nancy O'Dell and (especially) Billy Bush.

Actually, critiquing the awards themselves is almost less interesting than simply paying attention to some of the more ridiculous things that came out of Bush's mouth. If there was ever any doubt that Billy is related to our not-so-well-spoken president, it was certainly laid to rest during this broadcast, which somehow felt even less informative and entertaining than an episode of the talking heads' own Access Hollywood. Take, for example, the commentary after Sweeney Todd was announced as the winner of the Best Motion Picture - Comedy/Musical award when Bush said, "Tim Burton and Johnny Depp: when you get that kind of collaboration, between Scorsese and DiCaprio or something, it just seemed to be able to pull it off together." Now, I won't pay any mind to the lack of any sort of coherence within the English language, let's just look at the great historical actor/director pairing Bush chooses to utilize as a comparison to Burton/Depp -- Scorsese and DiCaprio. Because yes, folks -- when people who know anything about film history are going to choose great director and actor collaborations, including modern ones that the average moviegoer would remember, Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio certainly jumps to mind first. No disrespect to Leo -- who I enjoy as an actor; I was one of the relatively few to applaud his performance in The Aviator when he seemed to bug a lot of people -- but I'm pretty sure even he would have had to have a little chuckle at that one. OK fine -- James Stewart and Terrence Mann might have been a bit too obscure for today's audience. Even John Ford and John Wayne might not have worked. But Molly Ringwald and John Hughes would have been a better comparison to use if you're going to pair Martin Scorsese with someone other than Robert De Niro! I mean ... really? And he gets paid a lot of money to spew that blather?

But wait ... there's so much more ...

Happy New Year! Tardy Resolutions Due to Figuring Out How to Drink Your Milkshake! DRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINAGE!

What's 11 days between friends? Who's to say that all new year challenges/resolutions/goals/what-have-you need to start on January 1? Sure, that's the easy way out, but just think how much more fun it could be to hold off on all those resolutions until, say, oh, I don't know ... the end of the second week of the month? Follow?

Fine. So I'm just here trying to rationalize the fact that I have spent 11 days of 2008 ready to sit down and focus on writing again, ready to stare at that blankish white screen and resume my fanatical commentaries, and yet, it's not until another sleepless night at 4:20 AM that I'm really able to let my fingers commence their verbal marathons. I've neglected "Out of Focus" for way too long, and I've written about neglecting "Out of Focus" far too often. Resolution #1, therefore, is that no longer (after this post) will I publicly commiserate as to the fact that I haven't had time to publicly pontificate.

Of course, for those of you with the patience and kindness to continue to follow this space, you will know that I have made previous claims to returning my focus and attention to regular writing, for better or worse, and here yet again, I will cry wolf one more time, but as was the case when I started this blog nearly four (holy crap, really?!) years ago, I'm not necessarily sure what that attention will be, nor how successful I will be at retaining it. When I started this blog, I was bored out of my mind in a job I hated. Now, I'm in the exact opposite situation -- far from bored in a job I (most of the time) really like. And yet, said job makes it difficult to sometimes write about certain films, especially ones that instigate my own personal bubbling bile that lead to my own personal favorite rants.

And yet (again) ... I still have a lot to say, a lot I want to say, a lot someone may or may not care about, and a lot of discussions in which I want to participate. So my goal for 2008 is simply one of consistency and balance. Can I achieve a goal when to most I've already failed at it? Of course. As one of my many muses describes in her great piece on The Huffington Post, she's taking things now "one day at a time," and if today doesn't go well, there's always tomorrow. It's odd how I've always managed to use that very same philosophy in certain areas but completely disregard it when flogging myself for not following through in others.

So that brings us to Resolution #2 (also not exactly new): to return this space to one mostly devoid of posts like this. I never intended to keep an online journal, nor do I want to now. This is a space to look at film and television and theater; a site that may occasionally discuss music or books or sports or politics; a corner of the web that may infrequently discuss this or that going on in my life, but not when all the content is as infrequent as it has been.

And there is so much about which to write far more interesting than my ability to procrastinate, most notably, the thing so many have already written about. Like Filmbrain and many others, I am thoroughly obsessed with Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood, not only hands-down by leaps-and-bounds by far the best film of 2007, but I would argue the best film of the current decade. As has been my tradition for the past two years, my top film of one year is the first film I watch in the New Year, so after seeing Blood on Dec. 26 at the AMC Lincoln Square, I knew I would need to head back to the Upper West Side some time on Jan. 1. And I did. I've seen in twice -- I'm dying to see it again.

And The Wire, arguably the best television series of the decade, has resumed for its final season, to kick off a year when an unfortunate, but worthwhile, strike may see us starved for anything good come summer and after. And after moving from a Time Warner neighborhood to a Cablevision one, I've become so frustrated with the latters crappy DiVo that I have finally upgraded to the real thing, the non-generic TiVo service, with multiple machines on my multiple screens. And the FCC has actually taken-on the cable company monopolies in a good way. And no longer am I watching everything in sepia-tones on my 14-year-old piece of shit TV. And my Niners totally blew again, arguably worse than before. And I'm hoping for an Obama-Richardson administration that will feature Secretary of State Joe Biden. And I went on a theater binge in November and December that was a bit ridiculous. And I'm waist-deep now in work, screening submissions and trying to devise a theater and screening plan for Tribeca that hopefully everyone will enjoy (we have some new things in store that are quite exciting, in fact). And is anyone else as happy as I that at least one good thing has come out of the writers' strike so far? That the Hollywood Foreign Press has had to give up their little party that always showcases their absurd organization as being far more important than it is? And ... and ... and ....

You get the idea. So, I won't tell you to buckle up; and aside from the plan to post my best (and worst) of 2007 comments in the next week or two, I'm just going to go with the flow, and hopefully, just like the sun and the moon and the tides, the flow will be regular and the ebb will be temporary.

Happy New Year all. Here we go ... I think.