Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood and Marriage Story loom large among nominees for Houston Film Critics Society awards

Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood is the leader of the pack — but Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story is not too far behind as they head toward the homestretch .

That’s the takeaway for anyone handicapping the 13^th annual awards of the Houston Film Critic Society. Nominations for the organization’s accolades were announced late Sunday evening, with winners to be revealed during a Jan. 2 extravaganza at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.

Tarantino’s audaciously entertaining and wish-fulfilling comedy-drama picked up a total of seven nominations — including one in the HFCS’s Best Movie Poster Art Category — while Baumbach’s intimate view of marital discord scored six nods. Both films have been nominated for Best Picture, along with 1917, The Farewell, The Irishman, Jojo Rabbit, Joker, Knives Out, Parasite, and Uncut Gems.

“We’re a passionate, adventurous group,” says HFCS president Doug Harris. “This list of nominees represents the thousands of screening hours our members have devoted to uncovering the year’s most distinctive films so that we can bring the best of cinema from around the world to the audiences we serve.”

Because of unusually close voting tallies, Harris added, some categories have six, rather than the customary five, nominations. For example, six actresses will compete for Best Actress, including Charlize Theron of Bombshell, Awkwafina of The Farewell, Renée Zellweger of Judy, Scarlett Johansson of Marriage Story, Saoirse Ronan of Little Women, and Lupita Nyong’o of Us. 

Johansson is also up for Best Supporting Actress for Jojo Rabbit, along with Kathy Bates, Richard Jewell; Laura Dern, Marriage Story; Florence Pugh, Little Women; Margot Robbie, Bombshell; and Zhao Shuzhen, The Farewell.

Best Actor nominees include Leonardo DiCaprio for Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood, Adam Driver for Marriage Story, Eddie Murphy for Dolemite is My Name, Joaquin Phoenix for Joker, and Adam Sandler for Uncut Gems.

Earlier this month, the HFCS announced its nominees for the Texas Independent Film Awards which honor films made in Texas: Bull, Building the American Dream, Nothing Stays the Same: The Story of the Saxon Pub, Seadrift and Sleeping in Plastic.

Winners in 18 categories will be presented at the Jan. 2 event. But wait, there’s more: Legendary producer, director and talent nurturer Roger Corman will be on hand to receive a lifetime achievement award. (The following evening, Jan 3, Corman will return to MFAH for a screening of his 1964 classic The Masque of the Death, and a post-screening Q&A conducted by... by... well, actually, by me.) And Ellyn Needham, wife of the late movie stunts pioneer Hal Needham, will present the HFCS’s inaugural award for Best Stunt Coordination Team.

Tickets for the 13^th annual HFCS Awards can be purchased on the MFAH website. Ticketholders will be invited to attend, at no additional charge, an after party across the street from the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston at the Ultimate Ransom Room at the Hotel ZaZa Houston Museum District. 

The Houston Film Critics Society’s 13^th Annual Movie Awards are underwritten in part by Leonard Courtright and the Keystone Family of Companies, with additional support provided by Balcones Distilling. 

2019 Houston Film Critics Society Nominations

Best Picture

1917; The Farewell; The Irishman; Jojo Rabbit; Joker; Knives Out; Marriage Story; Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood; Parasite; Uncut Gems

Best Director

Bong Joon Ho, Parasite; Sam Mendes, 1917; Martin Scorsese, The Irishman; Quentin Tarantino, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood; Lulu Wang, The Farewell

Best Actor

Leonardo DiCaprio, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood; Adam Driver, Marriage Story; Eddie Murphy, Dolemite is My Name; Joaquin Phoenix, Joker; Adam Sandler, Uncut Gems

Best Actress

Awkwafina, The Farewell; Scarlett Johansson, Marriage Story; Lupita Nyong’o, Us; Saoirse Ronan, Little Women; Charlize Theron, Bombshell; Renée Zellweger, Judy

Best Supporting Actor

Willem Dafoe, The Lighthouse; Anthony Hopkins, The Two Popes; Al Pacino, The Irishman; Joe Pesci, The Irishman; Brad Pitt, Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood

Best Supporting Actress

Kathy Bates, Richard Jewell; Laura Dern, Marriage Story; Scarlett Johansson, Jojo Rabbit; Florence Pugh, Little Women; Margot Robbie, Bombshell; Zhao Shuzhen, The Farewell

Best Screenplay

Knives Out; Marriage Story; Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood; Parasite; The Farewell

Best Cinematography

1917; The Irishman; The Joker; Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood; Parasite

Best Animated Feature

Frozen II; How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World; I Lost My Body; Missing Link; Toy Story 4

Best Original Score

1917; Joker; Little Women; Marriage Story; Us

Best Original Song

Glasgow, Wild Rose; Home to You, The Aeronauts; I Punched Keanu Reeves, Always Be My Maybe; (I’m Gonna) Love Me Again, Rocketman; Into the Unknown, Frozen II; Stand Up, Harriet

Best Foreign Language Film

Atlantics; Corpus Christi; Les Miserables; Monos; Pain and Glory; Parasite

Best Documentary Feature

American Factory; Apollo 11; Biggest Little Farm; For Sama; Hail Satan; They Shall Not Grow Old

Texas Independent Film Award

Bull; Building the American Dream; Nothing Stays the Same: The Story of the Saxon Bar; Seadrift; Sleeping in Plastic

Visual Effects

1917; Ad Astra; Avengers: Endgame

Best Stunt Coordination Team

Crawl; Ford v Ferrari; Furie; John Wick: Chapter 3 Parabellum; Shadow

Best Movie Poster Art

Birds of Passage; John Wick: Chapter 3 Parabellum; Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood; Parasite; Portrait of a Lady on Fire; The Last Black Man in San Francisco.

Trailer Park: Quentin Tarantino's The Hateful Eight

How much badassery can a single motion picture contain? That burning question likely will be answered by Quentin Tarantino's eagerly awaited The Hateful Eight, the upcoming Western action-thriller starring Kurt Russell, Walton Goggins, Michael Madsen, Bruce Dern, Tim Roth, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Demian Bichir, Channing Tatum (allegedly) -- and Mr. Samuel L. Jackson, who has, hands down, the best line in this trailer: "Move a little strange -- you're gonna get a bullet. Not a warning. Not a question. A bullet."

Get ready to mount up and ride hard when The Hateful Eight hits theaters -- in "glorious 70mm Ultra Panavision" -- on Christmas Day.

R.I.P.: Christopher Jones (1941-2014)

This is kinda-sorta embarrassing for me to admit, but the death of actor Christopher Jones at age 72 last Friday slipped right under my radar. Maybe it was because his passing was overshadowed by the weekend deaths of Maximilian Schell and Philip Seymour Hoffman. Or maybe his demise simply didn't get much publicity because, unfortunately, it had been a long time since many people gave much thought to what Jones did while he was alive.

For the benefit of those who tuned in late: Jones was one of several broodingly handsome hunks who were hyped as likely heirs to the late James Dean during the two decades or so following that legendary screen icon's death at age 24 in a 1955 auto crash. After attracting attention in The Legend of Jesse James, a 1965-66 TV Western, the Tennessee-born Jones graduated to motion pictures with starring roles in Chubasco (1967), opposite Susan Strasberg (to whom he was married briefly); Three in the Attic (1968), a wink-wink, nudge-nudge comedy in which he played a faithless stud who's captured and, ahem, erotically exploited by three vengeful lovers; and The Looking Glass War (1969), a John le Carre-inspired spy thriller best remembered (by those who remember it at all) as an early showcase for supporting player Anthony Hopkins.

Three in the Attic was a minor box-office hit -- successful enough for its distributor, American International Pictures, to follow up with the totally unrelated Up in the Cellar (1970) -- but none of these films generated nearly as much critical and audience interest as Wild in the Streets, the 1968 cult-fave political satire in which Jones quite impressively played Max Frost, a megalomaniacal rock star who contrives to become President of the United States -- and then ships everyone over 30 into reeducation camps. The frankly absurd but arrestingly outlandish dramedy has always had a special place in my heart -- it was the first movie I ever reviewed for a professional publication, while I was still in high school -- but it's also fondly remembered by many other folks my age and younger, primary for Jones' moody-menacing lead performance, an early appearance by Richard Pryor in a supporting role, and a soundtrack that includes the defiant youth-rebellion anthem "Shape of Things to Come" (which, believe it or not, was co-opted for use in a Target TV commercial a few years ago).




After the surprise success of Wild in the Streets, Jones started to be taken seriously as, if not the Second Coming of James Dean, an actor of considerable promise. So seriously, in fact, that no less an auteur than David Lean cast him as a shell-shocked British solider who has a tempestuous affair with the neglected young wife (Sarah Miles) of a middle-aged Irish schoolmaster (Robert Mitchum) in the epic 1970 romantic drama Ryan's Daughter. Unfortunately, the movie was trashed by critics -- even though, as I recall, it was much better than its reputation indicated -- and ignored by audiences. Lean didn't get another movie off the ground (A Passage to India) for 14 years.

As for Jones, whose performance was not viewed as one of the film's saving graces -- well, depending on which story you want to believe, he was traumatized by the violent 1969 death of actress Sharon Tate (with whom he had an affair), or he realized he really hated acting, or he couldn't get arrested after Ryan's Daughter, or all of the above. In any event, he walked away from show business, and retreated into obscurity. Quentin Tarantino tried to lure him of retirement with the role of Zed in Pulp Fiction, but Jones passed on the offer. He resurfaced briefly in 1996, when he played a minor role in the little-seen Mad Dog Time. But that, as they say, was that.

Because sometimes the magic happens, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you aim to be -- or other people groom you to be -- the next James Dean. And sometimes, when you pass away, even people who half-remember your best work will instinctively think: "Wow. I thought he died years ago." Such is life.

Before there was Inglourious Basterds (or, for that matter, Django Unchained), there was... Hitler -- Dead or Alive

During an on-line discussion tonight with my Variety colleague Steven Gaydos, I mentioned that, while teaching a course about war movies a few years back, I would occasionally screen the final minutes of Hitler -- Dead or Alive, an ultra-low-budget 1942 B-movie starring Ward Bond as an ex-con who tries to collect a bounty on Adolf Hitler. No, seriously.

Why did I unleash this on unsuspecting students? Because even though the movie was an unabashedly cheesy Poverty Row production -- which likely explains why Gaydos, a gentleman of refined tastes, had never heard of it -- it dared to be a fantasy-fulfilling slice of cheese: At the end of the flick, Hitler is shot by Nazis who don't recognize him after Bond and his buddies shave off Der Fuehrer's mustache. Again, seriously.

Well, OK, maybe not seriously seriously. But that's just what happens in the film. Start looking around the 1:04 point, and you'll see what I mean.

Years later, when I saw Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, I couldn't help being reminded of Hitler -- Dead or Alive. But I swear: It wasn't until tonight that I learned that Tarantino had been a fan of the '42 film. As he told Playboy in a November 2012 interview to promote Django Unchained:

When it came to Inglourious Basterds, there was a movie done in 1942, Hitler —Dead or Alive. It was just as America had entered the war. A rich guy offers a million-dollar bounty on Hitler’s life. Three gangsters come up with a plan to kill Hitler. They parachute into Berlin and work their way to where Hitler is. It’s a wacky movie that goes from being serious to very funny. The gangsters get Hitler, and when they start beating the fuck out of him, it is just so enjoyable. They shave his mustache off, cut off that lock of hair and take his shit off so he looks like a regular guy. The Nazis show up, and Hitler, who doesn’t look like Hitler anymore, is like, “Hey, it’s me!” And they beat the shit out of him. I thought, Wow, this is fucking hysterical.

Yes, it is. Indeed, it's arguably funnier than a far more famous movie co-written its director, Nick Grinde.

TIFF review: Bitch Slap

Some films are made to be shown on the midnight-movie circuit. Other films can never be shown late enough. Consider, if you will, Bitch Slap, a desperately unfunny attempt to satirically recycle cliches and archetypes from sexploitation action flicks of the 1960s and '70s within the time-trippy, multiple-flashback framework of a Quentin Tarantino extravaganza. Much like the lesser parodies that arrived near the very end of the mid-'60s spy-spoof cycle, this self-consciously campy farrago offers too little, too late, while tediously burlesquing movies that no one took seriously in the first place. You can read my complete Variety review here -- though, really, I don't have a lot more to say about this time-waster.

R.I.P.: David Carradine (1936-2009)

David Carradine worked with everyone from Ingmar Bergman to Quentin Tarantino, Charlton Heston to Chuck Norris, Paul Bartel to Martin Scorsese, Hal Ashby to Walter Hill, in movies and TV series of wildly uneven quality, in just about every conceivable genre, during a screen acting career that spanned five decades. But it’s the role that made him a ‘70s icon – Kwai Chang Caine, the mystical martial artist adrift in the Wild West of Kung Fu – for which he remains, now and likely forever, best known. He seemed to be a good sport about being so closely identified with Caine, even to the point of more or less reprising the character in an updated ‘90s spin-off series (Kung Fu: The Legend Continues) and frequently spoofing it in various movies and TV commercials (most recently – to hilarious effect – in Big Stan, Rob Schneider’s under-rated direct-to-video comedy, which, no kidding, is well worth a spot on your Netflix queue). But he also demonstrated his versatility in an impressive variety of roles while amassing scads of credits as a steadily employed character actor. Of course, remaining “steadily employed” as any sort of actor often requires… well, taking employment where you find it. Much like his famous father, Carradine occasionally picked up easy paychecks while slumming through forgettable clunkers. But never mind: His best work greatly overshadowed his worst projects. And besides: It’s easy to forgive an icon almost anything. Especially one who walked the earth like Caine in Kung Fu.

George Clooney times 3

While George Clooney continues to impress moviegoers with his masterful performance in Michael Clayton, I thought it might be a good time to exploit his popularity.... er, I mean, pay tribute to a great actor by dusting off three interviews I taped with him back in 1996-97, during my brief heyday as a Houston TV celebrity.

While discussing From Dusk Till Dawn, his movie breakthrough, he's very funny while talking about co-star Quentin Tarantino (who had directed him in an episode of E.R.). One year later, he's equally enthusiastic about Batman & Robin -- yeah, the film wasn't very good, but that wasn't his fault -- and The Peacemaker (directed by Mimi Leder, another E.R. veteran). If I had to pick a favorite of the three, it would be the middle one, for a reason that won't be readily apparent: My son George, then 10 years old, accompanied me to this taping, and Clooney couldn't have been more charming while briefly chatting with him. ("That's a great first name you got," he told my unabashedly starstruck young'un.)

By the way, you'll notice that, while I have aged considerably since these interviews were taped, Clooney hasn't changed much at all. The dirty dog.

What ever happened to Harvey Weinstein?

Patrick Goldstein misses Harvey Weinstein: "Not the Harvey Weinstein you see today, the slimmed-down mogul who's acquired the Halston fashion brand, invested in a MySpace-style website for the rich and famous and bought the Ovation arts channel. Not the Harvey Weinstein who told the Hollywood Reporter last year that 'we are focused on other areas outside of film.' The Harvey Weinstein I used to know — the Oscar impresario who collected gifted young filmmakers the way Tiger Woods accumulates golf titles — was truly, madly, deeply in love with movies...

"I feel like putting Harvey's picture on a milk carton. Has anyone seen the crazy, spittle-spewing, chain-smoking hustler who would bellow insults, twist arms and shamelessly hype whatever movie was due that week? I miss the old Harvey, the man who would've locked Grindhouse auteurs [Quentin] Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez in an editing room until they cut 40 minutes out of their movie. I miss the old Harvey, the cinema carnival barker whose passion for film was often indistinguishable from his paranoia, abusive behavior and vitriol."

'Grindhouse' post mortem

This is what I wrote about Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez, the co-directors of Grindhouse: “Tarantino and Rodriguez are kindred spirits, Generation X film brats who view lurid B-movies of the past three decades with the same reverence that their immediate predecessors once reserved for the likes of Citizen Kane and The 400 Blows. It will be interesting to see if these determinedly hip but undeniably talented young filmmakers ever move beyond recycling the cheap thrills of yesteryear. (In movies as much as in fashion and pop music, hipness has a very short shelf life.) Right now, the sheer gusto that Rodriguez and Tarantino take in hot-wiring tired clichés and overly familiar archetypes is highly entertaining, if not downright addictive. But even while [their current collaboration] is most exciting, most deliriously kinetic, it is hard to shake the impression that, sooner or later, these filmmakers really should seek inspiration in something other than other people's films.”

When did I write this? Well, would you believe eleven years ago? When I reviewed From Dusk to Dawn, which Rodriguez directed from Tarantino’s script?

Please don’t misunderstand: I’m reluctant to join the blame game that has ensued ever since Grindhouse opened to mostly appreciative reviews but disappointingly low grosses last weekend. Because, truth to tell, I rather liked both halves of this faux double bill, each for different reasons. Rodriguez’s Planet Terror is an exuberant mash-up of dozens of sci-fi cheapie-creepies from the ‘60s and ‘70s; Tarantino’s Death Proof takes too long to get started, but gradually revs up to become the best damn car-chase flick this side of Vanishing Point and Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry – ‘70s guilty-pleasure cult-faves that, of course, Tarantino lovingly acknowledges.

But, then again, maybe part of my pleasure stems from the shock of recognition: At 54, I’m old enough to remember actually paying to see –- in first-run theaters as well as drive-ins – many, if not most, of the B-movies, action films and exploitation quickies that are referenced throughout the three-hour-plus magnum opus that Tarantino and Rodriguez concocted. If audiences did indeed stay away in droves this weekend -– well, could it be that they just didn’t get the references? That schlocky ‘70s cinema holds no allure for the overwhelming majority of contemporary ticketbuyers (i.e., people considerably younger than 54)?

I’ll go a few steps further: I doubt that even the most rabid B-movie fans in my demographic have seen some of the more obscure items that Tarantino and Rodriguez riff on in Grindhouse. (Exhibit A: The Crazies, a 1973 George Romero opus that clearly inspired bits and pieces of Planet Terror.) And while this may seem like a niggling point, some so-called B-movies actually are fondly remembered by Baby Boomers as respectably entertaining mainstream features. (It’s worth remembering: Vanishing Point and Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry were released by 20th Century Fox, not New World or American-International.) And some of my fellow geezers likely have no desire to see those movies mocked (even if the “mockery” is more like an affectionate homage).

What it all boils down to, I think, is this: The appetite for ‘70s recycling has greatly diminished during the past decade. (Unless, of course, you’re doing a straightforward rock-the-house action flick with a ‘70s flavor, ala Four Brothers or last year's Assault on Presinct 13 remake.) Audiences have moved on to other things. Maybe it’s time for Tarantino and Rodriguez to do likewise. Maybe long past time.

BTW: Maybe the intention was to evoke a newspaper ad for a '70s era grindhouse, but I'll be damned if that poster art doesn't look more like something for a mid-'60s drive-in double bill. Indeed, as I have posted elsewhere: Maybe the movie might have fared better if it had been called Drive-In instead of Grindhouse?

Before there was 'Grindhouse,' there was 'The Independent'

If you’re not familiar with the ‘60s and ‘70s exploitation flicks that inspired Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez to make Grindhouse, you might want to take a peek at Stephen Kessler’s The Independent to prepare yourself for the three-hours-plus epic opening Friday at theaters and drive-ins everywhere. And if you are a connoisseur of schlock cinema – that is, if you’re a guilty-pleasure-seeker who fondly recalls the low-budget, high-concept quickies of New World Pictures, American-International and other now-defunct manufacturers of full-tilt, down-and-dirty B-movies – well then you, too, likely will enjoy Kessler’s overlooked and under-rated pastiche.

As I wrote back in 2001: “A genially slapdash mix of sketch-comedy riffs, faux-documentary interviews and traditional sitcom-style narrative, The Independent surveys the life and career of Morty Fineman (Jerry Stiller), a notoriously prolific multi-hyphenate whose credits include Groovy Hippie Slumber Party, LSD-Day and Teenie Weenie Bikini Beach.

“Friends, admirers and former co-workers characterize the maverick moviemaker as an influential artist who somehow transcended tight budgets, marginal talent and an unfortunate tendency to put moves on his leading ladies…

“Not surprisingly, the funniest scenes in The Independent are the snippets and coming-attraction trailers used to illustrate the highlights of Morty's less-than-illustrious career: Brothers Divided (conjoined twins – one a pacifist, one a gung-ho warrior – are drafted for Vietnam duty), Christ for the Defense (a courtroom drama with a truly miraculous defense attorney), The Foxy Chocolate Robot (blaxploitation sci-fi with Fred Williamson and a mechanical co-star) and The Eco-Angels. The latter segment, a hilariously precise parody of 1968's The Miniskirt Mob, is a small gem of persuasive verisimilitude: The actors look, dress and sound just like regulars in mid-'60s B-movies, and the faded color appears to have degenerated for three or four decades.

“Working from a hit-and-miss script he co-wrote with producer Mike Wilkins, director Stephen Kessler strives for a similar kind of plausible fakery during the ‘interviews’ with Karen Black and other real-life notables. Maintaining a reasonably straight face, Peter Bogdanovich claims Morty ‘would try something, and two years later, somebody would copy it and win an Oscar.’ Ron Howard, Roger Corman and Nick Cassavetes also weigh in with testimonials.

“To link the inspired bits and pieces, Kessler and Wilkins spin a mildly amusing story about Morty's umpteenth comeback effort. Still doing what he does best (or, more precisely, worst) in the fifth decade of his filmmaking career, Morty is unable to complete his latest opus -- Ms. Kevorkian, the saga of a gun-wielding sexpot who supports assisted suicide -- because he is, once again, flat broke. Worse, his creditors want to claim his 427-film library, and sell off the individual titles – yes, even The Eco-Angels and Christ for the Defense -- for $8 a pound.

“Morty needs a miracle. What he gets is Paloma (Janeane Garofalo), his long-estranged daughter, who reluctantly takes command of her father's failing production company. Meanwhile, Ivan (Max Perlich), Morty's faithful assistant and tireless gofer, tries to elevate his mentor's profile by talking a film festival – any festival, anywhere – into honoring Morty with a retrospective tribute.

“Trouble is, few festivals are sufficiently desperate to even consider sponsoring such an event. The only encouraging response comes from a brand-new festival in a small Nevada town where, since the closing of a nearby military base, the only local industry of note is legal prostitution. Which, naturally, makes it the perfect spot for a tribute to Morty Fineman.

“The Independent doubtless would have worked better with a few more ersatz coming-attraction trailers and much less filler between the really funny bits. Even so, Stiller gives a robustly comical performance as the most enthusiastically self-deluded Hollywood fringe-dweller since Ed Wood. No obstacle, not even his own ineptitude, gets Morty down. Told that he's bankrupt, he cheerfully responds: ‘Then our creditors are screwed!’

“Garofalo shines as a dry-witted, common-sensible realist who can't help wanting to help her father, if only to repay him for producing Cheerleader Camp Massacre after she failed to make the grade as a high-school pom-pom girl. And Perlich brings a hangdog sweetness to scenes in which he dutifully recites words of wisdom he has received from Morty. On the subject of loyalty: ‘Milk the cow until it's dry. Then make hamburger and wallets.’”