According to Variety, Steven Soderbergh “is plotting a 3-D live-action rock ’n’ roll musical about Cleopatra,” for which he “is courting Catherine Zeta-Jones” for the title role. We’re sure this will never actually happen., because obviously, S.S. is just pulling a fast one on the trades by convincing them that he’s moving on to Cleo immediately after Che. Right? He must have either lost it, or have lost the ability to make a convincing joke… right?
John Patrick Shanley’s Doubtwill replaceThe Soloist as the opening night film at AFI. A better win-win couldn’t have been planned.
The Academy is parcelling out almost half a million dollars in grants to various film fesitvals, including Sarasota, Seattle, and Ebert Fest.
For weeks I’d been raving to anyone and everyone that the recent re-release of Chaplin’s controversial 1947 Monsieur Verdoux, in which the Tramp sheds moustache and cane to become a gold digging serial killer of wealthy widows, is one of the finest films of the year. So I wasn’t surprised when an actress/comedienne friend of mine on the west coast emailed to say she’d just rented and laugh-out-loud adored it. What did give me pause was her follow-up, “That scene where he woos the rich woman in the parlor at the beginning, and also the one where he’s in the flower shop ordering roses…is it wrong for me to have the hots for a clown? Chaplin is so fuckin’ sexy!”
My answer: not only is it not wrong, but Chaplin wouldn’t have been believable mesmerizing his prey in Monsieur Verdoux if he hadn’t finally allowed his natural sexual charisma to shine through. For his entire career up until then Chaplin had been masking his virility beneath a shabby overcoat like a drag queen packing away her package. Monsieur Verdoux is perhaps the closest character to the real, really-young-women loving, multiple wed Hollywood legend than any other role he ever undertook. Verdoux’s seducing and serial killing of old coots seems like a screen-friendly substitute for Chaplin’s real-life seduction and serial impregnation of teenage girls.
Chicago: Nothing cuts through a mid-summer haze like the sound of Isabella Rossellini warbling a Bobby Vinton song. My alma mater the Art Institute of Chicago is sponsoring a month-long festival of David Lynch films. This week offers three chances to see Blue Velvet in the gorgeous Gene Siskel Theater. And what luck! If you prefer your Italian women to keep mouths shut, there’s an Antonioni retrospective in the very same theater complex. Via ScreenGrab.
Seattle: Quick, go home and change–you’ve finally got an audience for that Ruby Keeler impression you’ve been practicing. Cineoke starts tonight at the Jewelbox Theater at 8pm. Sponsored by the Seattle Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, Cineoke is basically karaoke set to your favorite scene from your favorite movie musical. The organizers say they have hundreds of songs to choose from, but you’re also welcome to bring your own DVD or cued-up VHS. More info here [via Wes Kim].
New York: You have just four more nights to catch what is essentially the New York cinephile sequel event of the summer. Though not a literal sequel to Army of Shadows by any means, Le Doulos is another re-release of another Jean-Pierre Melville masterpiece, and it’s again packing a single screen at the Film Forum screen. Jean-Paul Belmondo (all dressed up like Bogart two years before Godard went there again in Pierrot le Fou) sneaks his way around a world where every criminal dreams of gathering some money and a girl and retreating to “a place with no cops and no hoods.” In a film flooded with casual violence, Belmondo’s character uses his charisma as his most efficient weapon. I’d see it ten times between now and Thursday … if I didn’t have anything else to do. See more at FilmForum.org.
To have your event included in a future Cinephile Calendar, please send info to Karina AT Spout DOT com.
We’ve had a bit of trouble getting this episode to go through the iTunes feed, so we hope this re-post will fix the problem. The original post, with episode description and embedded player, is here.
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According to Variety
For weeks I’d been raving to anyone and everyone that the recent re-release of Chaplin’s controversial 1947 Monsieur Verdoux, in which the Tramp sheds moustache and cane to become a gold digging serial killer of wealthy widows, is one of the finest films of the year. So I wasn’t surprised when an actress/comedienne friend of mine on the west coast emailed to say she’d just rented and laugh-out-loud adored it. What did give me pause was her follow-up, “That scene where he woos the rich woman in the parlor at the beginning, and also the one where he’s in the flower shop ordering roses…is it wrong for me to have the hots for a clown? Chaplin is so fuckin’ sexy!”
