Between Jon Favreau Tweeting the making of and USA Today and Entertainment Weekly covering promotional bases in more-traditional ways, we may actually be sick of Iron Man 2 by the time it’s done shooting, let alone by the time it opens next summer. Okay, that’s not at all true, but isn’t it still a bit premature for EW to feature the Iron Man sequel on its magazine cover already? Even with Comic-Con around the corner?

Well, the mag and the production might at least be a little more careful about what is being let out of the figurative poly bag so early in the game. After all, on the day that Paramount releases the first official (and initially blurry) look at Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow the online discussions shouldn’t be focused on Mickey Rourke’s cockatoo. Never mind that not all the reactions to Rourke’s quote in EW aren’t negatively the sort of preemptive backlash studios fear, the distraction from the big sell alone should be cause for slight alarm.

Personally, I’m more excited about the bird than the chick, anyway, seeing as how awesome Rourke was with a little dog sidekick in Once Upon a Time in Mexico. Let’s see the rest of the blogosphere’s reactions to Rourke’s new pet after the jump:

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Whatever Works, though intentionally foolish and cartoonish where Vicky Cristina Barcelona is dry and pointed, is so in the same mode as a late-Woody Allen inquiry into the ways we learn (and forget) lessons about love that it almost can’t merit its own review. It’s another film unfairly criticized for its so-called naivete, one which has to be wide-eyed in order reflect Allen’s persistent befuddlement over the mysteries of desire. Whatever Works comes around to an uncynical acceptance of the heart wanting what it wants, with every partner swapped and every pagan pair blessed, a nice clean ending that could be confused with cliche. But as Larry David says on screen, “Sometimes a cliche is the best way to say it.” With Whatever Works shaping up to be ‘Allen’s second consecutive summer hit, it seems like as good a time as any to revisit a post I wrote last year, inspired by negative reviews for the eventually Oscar-winning Vicky.

To be fair: Vicky Cristina Barcelona may not need my defense. Since its debut at Cannes, it has garnered some of the most positive reviews of Woody Allen’s late career. But it’s always with that caveat: it’s the best he’s done for us lately. At this point, it seems like the critical class is expected to disclaim their vitriol or praise, no matter what Allen actually puts on the screen, or which way it swings. Is it good? Well, it’s not as good as Annie Hall, but it’s not bad. Is it bad? Well, it’s not as bad as Anything Else, but it’s not good. As you might have guessed, I think Woody Allen has produced some work over the past 15 years (since the Soon-Yi “scandal”, which more or less dovetailed with the consensus opinion that his “best years” were long behind him) that is worthy of more serious consideration. But even if I didn’t think the movies deserved it, the sheer laziness that the movies seem to inspire in critics would almost give me enough incentive to passionately defend them.

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It’s a pretty slow news day for movies, with everyone’s concentration on last night’s Tony Awards (congrats to Billy Elliot for making up for the Oscar snub eight years ago), but there is one bit of geek movie news that I’m really intrigued about: the hint of yet another Marvel comic book adaptation due in 2012. Among much information concerning the upcoming films Iron Man 2, The Avengers, Thor and The First Avenger: Captain America, Alex Billington at First Showing brought word this morning from a conference at the Sony Pictures lot that Marvel Studios will be announcing this secret title within the next few months.

What could it be? And what do you want it to be? Personally, I’m hoping that Scarlett Johansson has impressed the studio so much with her portrayal of Black Widow in the Iron Man sequel that she’s been given her own solo film. That is pretty unlikely, though, considering all the other ideas Marvel has floated over the years. So, will it be Doctor Strange? Luke Cage? Black Panther? S.H.I.E.L.D.? Another Hulk reboot tied to the Avengers movie? Let’s see what the film blogs think, after the jump:

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“When you read a screenplay, it doesn’t come with a picture on the cover,” said Adam Siegel, president of Marc Platt Productions, a producer who is friends with all four women and has worked with all except Ms. Cody. “I know a few beautiful women, but none of them write like Dana, Liz, Lorene or Diablo.”

The above quote is the best part of a New York Times piece from the weekend that made me throw up a bit in my mouth despite how delicious it is (this happens a lot to me with Mexican food, but rarely Times articles, even those in the Sunday Styles section). I would have used it for the Bloggery earlier, but of course Nikki Finke was more important yesterday. Coincidentally, there’s something about this profile on Diablo Cody and her “Fempire” that relates to the Finke story, at least to how Jeff Wells responded to Kim Masters’ take, claiming that if Finke was a guy she never would have been attacked in such a way.

Similarly, Cody and Co. wouldn’t be written about if they were men. But more importantly, they probably wouldn’t have been written about if they weren’t such good-looking women. So, while there’s something empowering about this foursome of female screenwriters who each boldly wear an identical necklace with an inscription that reads “Fuck My Face,” it was quite necessary to include a lot of tantalizing quotes about them seeing each other naked and sometimes being “super porno” like. And of course that double-edged quote from Siegel above. And another condescending (to men and women) bit from the piece’s author, Deborah Schoeneman, describing Elizabeth Meriwether (scribe of the upcoming Friends With Benefits) as “a thinking man’s Scarlett Johansson.”

If you recall, some had believed Cody only won so many awards from critics and peers because of what she looks like (and the profession she used to have). So, perhaps Oscar nominations should have also gone to Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist and What Happens in Vegas? Related, would this article have been as interesting if the “Fempire” included Cody’s less-hot Oscar competitors Tamara Jenkins and Nancy Oliver?

More reactions to the piece from others from the last few days after the jump:

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This has been a good week for remakes (or a bad week, depending on how you feel about them), but while announced redos of our beloved mystery comedies, sci-fi actioners and neverending fantasy flicks are shocking enough, there’s not a blogger in the world who saw a new “contemporized” version of Damn Yankees coming. Let alone one starring Jim Carrey and Jake Gyllenhaal as Mr. Applegate (aka Satan) and soul-selling baseballer Joe Hardy, respectively.

Yet Hugh Jackman and the rest of the all-singing-all-dancing stars of Sunday’s Oscars telecast did tell us that the musical is back, so maybe we should be making bets on what classic songfest gets reworked next (I’m putting money on West Side Story). This isn’t even the first musical remake we’ll be seeing in the next few years. New films of My Fair Lady, Carousel, Bye Bye Birdie and Jesus Christ Superstar are apparently already on their way to theaters. Anyhoo, let’s see how the ol’ blogosphere reacted to the Damn Yankees news today:

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Having seen the trailer for the Ken Kwapis’ cast-of-a-thousand stars self help book dramatization He’s Just Not That Into You many, many times (I watch a lot of SoapNET, Lifetime and, uh, MSNBC), I felt reasonably certain going in that I knew exactly what kind of film it was going to be: a wacky, light romantic comedy of mating manners, set in an alternate universe in which otherwise cosmopolitan adults can’t figure out how to use MySpace, and in which all normal and abnormal interpersonal neuroses and difficulties with intimacy are transposed into total paralysis over text messaging. I hope that someday soon, someone in Hollywood makes the film that He’s Not That Into You Was advertised as, because that’s sounds like the exact kind of science fiction that I really enjoy. But He’s Not That Into You is definitely not that film. The question is: what the hell is it?

That Into You fails to fit neatly into assumptions bred by its advertising and its genre makes it somewhat more interesting, if only because it forces us to contend with what our expectations actually are when we go to see a romantic comedy, and what it would actually mean to subvert them. Screenwriters Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein seem to be very aware of contemporary romantic comedy conventions, as well as a certain tradition of final inning moral clean-up that dates back to the very earliest examples of the genre produced under the Hayes Code. But they have no interest in depriving a mass audience of the crack hit of cinematic junk food that they were promised by the promos. The film’s ultimate willingness to pander to expectation may make it a disappointment on a critical level, but I’m not sure making the audience conscious of the way their guilty pleasure works before letting them have it is something for which the filmmakers should be reprimanded.

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Here’s a tip for the marketing department handling New Line’s He’s Just Not That Into You: telling guys what isn’t in your movie is not going to get them to see it. Why? Because most guys who hate chick flicks aren’t going to recognize the 10 chick flick cliches you purport are absent from the movie. I’m not a guy’s guy, and I watch a ton of movies, yet even I am not familiar with many of the genre’s conventions. Also: having three of the male leads from HJNTIY mock and act out these cliche scenarios is just going to turn guys off more. The promise of a scene featuring a skinny dipping Scarlett Johansson (even if it is non-nude) would obviously be a much better sell to men than an all-male recreation of a “falling in love montage.”

Unfortunately, my advice comes too late, and HJNTIY already has a viral video in which Justin Long, Bradley Cooper and Kevin Connolly address male moviegoers in order to tell them that their new movie isn’t like most chick flicks and that guys “might even like it.” The six-minute clip reeks of desperation and misdirection, and if anything it should make guys even less interested.
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Queen of Bad Sex Catherine Breillat could learn a thing or two from Woody Allen. Not only is his latest celluloid psychotherapy session Vicky Cristina Barcelona a phenomenal work of intellectual porn, but it also happens to contain one of the sexiest, most hysterical and poignant portrayals of polyamory to come along in a long, long time. Allen actually gets that those of us who choose to live outside of hetero monogamy are not voracious sex addicts lacking in morality – on the contrary, we simply abide by a different set of desires and ethics than that of the mainstream.

Watching the sexual roundelay involving Diane Keaton/Mia Farrow substitute muse Scarlett Johansson and Allen stand-in Rebecca Hall as the American tourists Cristina and Vicky, who become sucked into the fiery passionate and oftentimes downright dangerous world of Barcelona artists Juan Antonio and his ex-wife Maria Elena, played by Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz (for my money the two sexiest European stars to grace the screen since Mastroianni and Sophia Loren), I realized it was the first time I’d ever wanted to jerk off to a Woody Allen film. This is the master of neuroses on Viagra. Spain seems to have reinvigorated Allen, and it’s a joyous thrill to behold. Simply put, the director’s upped the endorphin factor, leaving me hot and bothered and hysterically laughing all at the same time.
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Not to make a career out of Woody Allen apologia, but I thought it was interesting to see critics slam Vicky Cristina Barcelona for what they perceive as Woody Allen’s misogyny when, for the first time as far as I can tell, he’s cast a woman in the typical Woody Allen role, which you’d think would be a step-up from the typical Woody Allen woman-as-love-interest paradigm.

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To be fair: Vicky Cristina Barcelona may not need my defense. Since its debut at Cannes, it has garnered some of the most positive reviews of Woody Allen’s late career. But it’s always with that caveat: it’s the best he’s done for us lately. At this point, it seems like the critical class is expected to disclaim their vitriol or praise, no matter what Allen actually puts on the screen, or which way it swings. Is it good? Well, it’s not as good as Annie Hall, but it’s not bad. Is it bad? Well, it’s not as bad as Anything Else, but it’s not good. As you might have guessed, I think Woody Allen has produced some work over the past 15 years (since the Soon-Yi “scandal”, which more or less dovetailed with the consensus opinion that his “best years” were long behind him) that is worthy of more serious consideration. But even if I didn’t think the movies deserved it, the sheer laziness that the movies seem to inspire in critics would almost give me enough incentive to passionately defend them.

To go micro before going macro: the worst thing that you can say about Vicky Cristina Barcelona is that it’s exceedingly pleasant, that it has the overall effect of a late summer, late afternoon nap. And sure, maybe, if you were inclined, it would be possible to write it all off as soft core bicurious semi-erotica (and full-on bicurious travel erotica). But I sense that Allen––if no one else––earnestly believes he’s doing more, that even in his lightest mode, he’s deeply concerned with the nagging mysteries of human relationships. Might it be creepy-old-man-ism that requires him to ask two beautiful actresses to kiss each other in an attempt to figure these mysteries out? It might be, but Woody Allen’s been a creepy old man since he was 35. To convince me that he’s totally lost it, you’re going to have to come up with better evidence than that.

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Never one to pass up an opportunity for bullying, Michael Moore has posted excerpt from his new book on his website, entitled “How to Blow It.” It’s a snide, six point “blueprint from the Democrats’ past losing campaigns” to ensure that “the Democratic Party establishment, can help elect John Sidney McCain III to a four-year extension of the Bush Era.” As Nikki Finke points out, the final item on the list is “especially intriguing” — in that Moore conflates his own self-importance with Democratic cowardice.

“Denounce me!,” Moore shouts. Obama, he says. “Better denounce me or [Republicans and pundits] will tear him to shreds. He had better back away not only from me but from anyone and everyone who veers a bit too far to the left of where his advisers have told him is the sweet spot for all those red state voters.”

Remember, this is an Opposite Day list, which means the clear implication is really, “Embrace me or you deserve to lose.” Because we certainly haven’t wasted enough time talking about which candidates are in bed with which media figures, right?

Thanks to Matt Prigge, I’ve spent the past 26 minutes watching Meetin’ WA, a 26-minute film about Woody Allen, shot in New York by Jean-Luc Godard. A good portion of the short is dedicated to a fairly formal, almost junket-style interview, with Godard asking the questions, sometimes with the help of a translator, and mostly concerning Woody’s then-new release, Hannah and Her Sisters. Godard then inserts his typically pointed commentary via almost non-sequitor intertitles and film stills. It was particularly interesting for me to see this so soon after hearing the full story of why Godard didn’t direct Little Murders, the ultimate subversive New York movie, for Eliott Gould. Fifteen years later, he’s revisiting the city and having an interesting but rather bloodless conversation with the man who is, at that point, the preeminent New York auteur, and he seems mostly concerned with Allen’s thoughts on television.  A stretch? Yeah, probably.

I’ll have some thoughts on Woody Allen’s recent work, including the about-to-premiere Vicky Cristina Barcelona, tomorrow

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse for The Spirit than that last trailer, the film’s Comic-Con panel seemed to verify that it’s going to be a disaster. Writer-director Frank Miller, producer Deborah Del Prete and actors Gabriel Macht, Samuel L. Jackson and Jaime King led us through the literal mud:

Highlights:

- The Spirit is claimed not to be campy, but it does apparently have toilet humor

- It’s set in a film noir-era “nevertime” yet there are cell phones

- Will Eisner probably would have disagreed with some of the scenes

- Get ready for one of the worst “underwater” scenes you’ve ever witnessed

- Jackson has a lot of toys of himself, but his favorite is Mace Windu

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After seeing the sleek teaser trailer for The Spirit, Frank Miller’s adaptation of the classic Will Eisner comics, it’s hard to believe that this new leaked trailer (originally posted on Film School Rejects, where it may still be available) is for the same movie. It begins with an arty, perfume-ad sort of misdirected marketing angle and then evolves into a goofy mix between the campy Batman series/movies, Sin City, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow and Brenda Starr (remember that piece of crap?).

And I’m not alone in thinking it now looks pretty terrible. Bloggers and commenters around the web are mostly critical of Samuel L. Jackson’s look. Personally, I think Gabriel Macht, as the lead, looks about as lame as Billy Zane in The Phantom (is it possible domino masks are never cool on an actor?). For a roundup of what others are saying, since you probably can no longer see the clip out yourself, check out some links after the jump.

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