Cinema Hype

Scene: CH Headquarters. Early afternoon. Sun streams in the window; the TV is paused and has been for some time. LIZ reclines on the sofa, typing on laptop.

Liz: Pop music and Moulin Rouge…surprisingly effective…clickity clackity…

Tivo: I will not be ignored! Someone Like You must either be recorded or watched in real time! DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU. This program will self-destruct in five…four…three…two…

Liz: Oh, fine. [Pushes play. Movie on screen resumes.] I can totally write with this on in the background. I’m a woman of the twenty-first century! I have forsaken Christine and taken Multi-tasking as my legal middle name!

Ashley Judd: I am sooo cute! Don’t you miss my short, sassy hair and my charming and recognizably crazy ways?

Liz: Yes, but I’m not watching you right now. I’m writing about Moulin Rouge, remember? So could you keep it down over there? [Beat] That’s better. Let’s see: whatever happened to Baz Luhrmann, anyway? Clickity clackity.

Hugh Jackman: I look amazing in a black t-shirt.

Liz: I know. And you probably sing better than Ewan McGregor, too, but don’t distract…hey, you know, you’re kind of a jerk. I think Ashley Judd’s right about you. Always looking for a new cow to satisfy the biological imperative to sow your seed!

Hugh: Gotcha.

Liz: No. No you didn’t. You are always looking for a new cow, but good old Ewan just wants his old cow to not die of consumption. So there. Why don’t you sing?

Hugh: I’m Manly Hugh in this movie. Sorry.

Ashley: Isn’t my Burberry coat totally cute? Though it seems that I also own a satin evening coat, and who does that? Anyway, I would say men are pigs, but actually they’re more like bulls. Same difference.

Liz: No! Ashley, they’re not. Or maybe they are, because it definitely seems like Hugh is a bull, but you’re obviously going to end up together anyway, which is confusing since, let’s face it, he’s the man in this movie most likely to break your heart after it’s over. But, you know, I’m ignoring you and writing about Nicole Kidman’s porcelain complexion instead. [sings] Ignooooring you…

Hugh: Put the laptop down.

Liz: No. I’ll never join you!

Hugh: …or you could just turn us off.

Liz: No, because Ashley might choose the wrong guy if I’m not here to supervise.

Ashley: You’re right. I might.

Liz: See?

Hugh: Fine. What were you writing about, again?

Liz: ….

Hugh: Told you.

Liz: Okay. But I am NOT WRITING ABOUT YOU INSTEAD. [puts laptop down]

Hugh: I totally should have worn leather pants in this movie. Get it? Leather pants?

And….scene.

Someone Like You, Tivo, Moulin Rouge

A little background on Project 501: last year, I started watching and writing about all of the Academy Award Best Picture winners in chronological order and writing about them in this blog. After a prolonged break, I’ve resumed, making good time through the 1930s, and I’m well-intentioned towards (read: rewarding myself with) the 1940s. Anyone’s welcome to watch along—company on the road to theoretical good filmmaking is always appreciated.

Anyway.

In 1935, Mutiny on the Bounty must have been a blockbuster: an adventure on the high seas, packed with rough water, an even rougher villain (in theory), and Clark Gable steering the ship. The footage of the big ships rocking and rolling in the stormy seas is impressive, and it can only have cost a fortune. One might toss the word “epic” around.

For better or for worse, none of this can change the giggle factor. Historical correctness aside, Mutiny on the Bounty comes across as a dramedy at best, which might be insulting to the filmmakers, but it does make the movie go down smoother: the promise of upcoming hilarity makes the prospect of two hours of keel-hauling and swabbing the deck more palatable. Half of the actors, including Gable, flounce around in their Royal Navy uniforms sounding like they’re fresh out of Des Moines. Gable (who must have been self-conscious of his hippy figure, otherwise why did he always wear such enormous pants?) plays his usual charming good-guy self, except when he tries to play Master and Commander and gets all shouty and breathy. And don’t even get me started on the Tahiti love-interest sequences—cringe-worthy, and maybe the most entertaining parts of the movie. Who doesn’t love that soft-focus filter?

If there’s a take-away from Mutiny on the Bounty (besides “don’t enslave your crew”), it’s probably the transformation in villains over the last seventy years. Today, Bligh would be a mustache-stroker, and probably chewing on the scenery; as it is, he’s kind of a dope. A mean dope, certainly, but Charles Laughton’s big eyes and lips and his knobby nose make him look more bewildered than dangerous. His performance is fine, but by today’s standards it’s remarkably understated. Might the movie have aged better with a more ramped-up villain? Maybe, though overacting isn’t really what this cast needs.

Next up: The Great Ziegfeld and The Life of Emile Zola. Oh, you’re so jealous. Don’t lie.

Project 501, Oscar winners, Mutiny on the Bounty, Clark Gable, Charles Laughton, sailing, mutiny

I’ve got to hand it to Justin Timberlake: somewhere between ditching Britney and making me dance around my living room, he’s gone and become a movie star. Or, well, a star who’s in movies, anyway.

I think it all started with having a sense of humor, which isn’t such a bad place to start, and which is frankly a bit of a rare commodity around the male pop/R&B circuit. Someone must have said to him, “Hey, J, how about ‘Dick in a Box?’” A few good turns around Saturday Night Live and a few thousand Youtube hits later, suddenly there was Alpha Dog and Black Snake Moan—expanding his repertoire to “Southern/California rough,” apparently—and now he’s got a legitimate IMDB profile and everything. This year I kind of expect him and his blond afro wig to be the only good things about The Love Guru, and he’s signed on to a road drama with Jeff Bridges. These are, like, real movies in real theaters. I did not expect this.

And to this I say, good on you, Justin Timberlake. Yes, I may have mocked you before, but that was in college, when we were both young and foolish (you: the Cameron years; me: an unfortunate Dave Matthews phase), and in my own defense, some of your colleagues deserved it. Now we’re both grown up and I feel that we’ve reached an understanding: you make music I can sing to in the shower, and I confess that you’re a legitimately talented pop star. I may even see a movie of yours one of these days, if you play your cards right. In any case, I’ll stand by and be suitably impressed with your quiet but consistent career growth. Deal? Deal.

I’m glad we had this little heart-to-heart.

As I work my way through the annals of good movies and movies that seemed good at the time, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Oscar for Best Picture. It can be a confusing category, especially viewed over time. There are patterns, certainly (so many war movies!), and then there are winners that buck the trends completely. Sometimes it’s hard to see where the Oscar voters are coming from. Not to get all philosophical, but what is “best,” exactly?

For many years, my writer-geek mind has aligned “best picture” with “best screenplay.” Because what is the backbone of a film if it isn’t story, character, and dialogue? It seems to me that an exceptional script should result in an exceptional film regardless of whose hands it ends up in.

But maybe, I’m thinking, the Best Picture Oscar is an award for execution rather than theory, and for collaboration rather than specialization: who made the best combination of script, director, cast, and equipment? This is why Best Picture winners tend to be on the epic side: Oscar voters are about aiming high and pulling things off, about wide-angle rather than extreme close-up. It’s also why, to pull an example from this year’s nominees, Juno never really stood a chance in the Best Picture race. Juno was well-written and well-acted, but it was so much less complex, production-wise, than any of the other nominees that it didn’t really deserve to win. (Excellent screenplays for the other nominees didn’t help, either.)

I think this law-of-averages tendency makes a certain amount of sense—there’s something to be said for achieving ambitious goals, after all, and sometimes everything really does come together—but I also think it accounts for the number of head-scratchers on the past-winners list. After all, special effects age quickly. Acting styles go in and out of fashion (see: Clark Gable, shoutiness, Mutiny on the Bounty). Without any particular area of excellence, sometimes it’s hard to see what, exactly, seemed like such a good idea at the time. We end up honoring movies that are good, that sometimes speak to the times, but the great is the enemy of the good, and maybe a little more specialization wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. On the other hand, maybe that’s why we have categories for screenplays, acting, directing, and cinematography, and maybe the combination really is better than the sum of its parts.

I’m just saying: I think I get it now.

Oscars, Project 501, Academy Awards, Oscar winners, Mutiny on the Bounty, Clark Gable, Best Picture, Juno

I have decided, after spending part of my afternoon in the city, that there isn’t much that beats a walk through San Francisco on a spring day (…when you’re supposed to be at work). I started at AT&T Park and walked along the water, with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, and the cherry blossoms blooming, and the big, stocky palm trees stretching out ahead of me. At the end of my walk, I popped into the Ferry Building market hall—a place so food-obsessed that there’s a special store just for mushrooms—and bought a one-ounce bar of Scharffen Berger milk chocolate. And there you have it: spring and a bit of a stroll and the scalded-milk aftertaste of 41% milk chocolate. Not a bad Wednesday, if I do say so myself.

While I ate my Scharffen Berger bar, broken into pieces for longer enjoyment, I got to thinking about movies and chocolate. There are definitely people out there who don’t like chocolate, but aren’t those people kind of…odd in the eyes of the rest of us? Which is why chocolate makes such a great subject for the movies: it’s magical, it’s innocent, it’s sexy, it’s something we can mostly agree on. It also makes a great theme movie night. Invite a few friends, plan to break your diet for an evening, and enjoy other people enjoying chocolate. Like so:

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971): The original, with a screenplay by Roald Dahl, a whole cast of Oompa Loompas (as opposed to one Oompa Loompa multiplied for the remake), and an awful lot of nostalgia.

Chocolat (2000): Juliette Binoche has the cure for what ails an entire French town, as well as a bunch of river pirates. Miracle food, indeed.

Like Water for Chocolate (1992): Chocolate is passion! Love saves the day! Watch out for the naked chick on the horse, though.

The Chocolate War (1988): Something about the social hierarchy at a Catholic school, kicked off by bake-sale-induced civil disobedience. Whatever. Bud Cort and Adam Baldwin, together? I’m so there.

chocolate, chocolate movies, movies about chocolate, willy wonka and the chocolate factory, chocolat, like water for chocolate, the chocolate war, adam baldwin, juliette binoche, bud cort, film festivals

When making an exciting but long-overdue comeback, is it best to sneak in the side door or to march up the front steps, flaunting one’s own late but eminent worth? We at CH are all for the latter—being occasionally late ourselves, not that we’d ever admit it—and so we say: Project 501 is back! It’s been a long vacation, but the chronological Oscar train is running once again, and so we’re starting up with the 1934 Best Picture winner, It Happened One Night. Like, now.

Feeling as I do about the current state of romantic comedies, my curmudgeonly little heart watched It Happened One Night and wondered why they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. In fact, I’ve decided that they do make ‘em like that anymore—or, in any case, they try. In fact, I’m testing the theory that all modern romantic comedies are the inheritance, or maybe imitators, of this one movie.

There are plenty of things in It Happened One Night that aren’t so common to the modern romantic comedy. Long, chatty scenes, for one thing. Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable spend a lot of time together, talking the whole time, and we’re there to see it all. No quick cuts here; just talk, talk, talk. These two are what the average therapist might call “verbal processors.” Indeed. There are also twin beds (how Pushing Daisies!), showing some leg to speed up the hitchhiking process, and—spoiler ahead—a total lack of kissing at the end, which generally doesn’t fly today.

But there are also lots of things that we see over and over again in romantic comedies generally, and maybe it’s a case of doing those things better rather than a case of doing them first—i.e. I’m not claiming these were new story elements, even in 1934—but it’s a little uncanny seeing a million other well-known and well-worn tropes played out in this one story. There’s the falling-asleep-on-the-other-person’s-shoulder bit, the pretend-marriage-to-distract-skeezy-stranger thing, and most importantly, the race to prevent a tragic misunderstanding and therefore save the relationship (Notting Hill, anyone?). Gable and Colbert are perfectly adorable—who knew pre-Rhett Butler misogyny Gable was so cute?—and they play all of these iconic scenes in such a way that imitation is inevitable. This may be the token romantic comedy, the Juno of its day, but it’s aged well and made its mark. Nicely done.

Next up: Mutiny on the Bounty! More Clark Gable!

It Happened One Night, Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, Notting Hill, Juno, Oscar winner, Best Picture, 1934, Project 501

For the two months or so, I plan to wake up every morning and think how glad I am that my name isn’t Sarah Marshall. Have you seen the ads? I’m not talking commercials; these are print ads, and they’re everywhere: “I’m SO over you Sarah Marshall,” “My mom always hated you Sarah Marshall,” “You DO look fat in those jeans Sarah Marshall,” etc. (they’re also badly punctuated, but that’s another post for another day). This must be a weird kind of faux-nightmare for the real Sarah Marshalls of the world, waking up one day to find ads maligning them all over town. How would you feel? “Cinema Hype sucks!” on the side of every building? Eerie, I’m telling you.

So that you don’t fall for the admittedly clever marketing campaign and devote too many brain cells to Sarah Marshall in the month before her April 18th theatrical debut, here’s the deal: Sarah Marshall is the starring-ish role, played by Kristen Bell, in the upcoming romantic(?) comedy Forgetting Sarah Marshall (surprise!). This is one of those movies that, in ten years, will either be a two-star blurb in the back of TV Guide OR the defining youth-culture movie of 2008. The plot? A guy who’s been dumped runs off to a tropical resort to lick his wounds, only to find that his ex and her new boyfriend are staying at the same resort (presumably for different reasons, and yes, I am leaving that “lick” joke right where it is). Which, hasn’t Ben Stiller already made that movie? Or am I making that up? But it’s hard to count this cast out: Bell, who nobody doesn’t like, much like Sara Lee; How I Met Your Mother’s Jason Segel, who also wrote the screenplay, for better or for worse; Jonah Hill; and Paul Rudd, who makes everything better. It’s like an epic battle of Mediocre Movie Idea vs. Awesome Cast. Who wins? Just check your TV Guide.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Kristen Bell, Jason Segel, Jonah Hill, Paul Rudd, How I Met Your Mother, TV Guide, Ben Stiller, Sara Lee

I wish Eagle vs. Shark had come along a few years ago. It just doesn’t seem fair: make a movie about love among the socially awkward and you’re always going to be trailing along behind Napoleon Dynamite, regardless of what you were aiming at in the first place.

In lots of ways, Eagle vs. Shark is a better movie than Napoleon Dynamite. Or maybe it’s just made of slightly stronger stuff: it’s heavier, sadder, funnier in parts, and it has a clearer plot arc. The leading man, Jarrod Jemaine Clement, now of Flight of the Conchords), is like Napoleon with trust issues and a post-high school blood vendetta, and his long-suffering love interest, Lily (Loren Horsley), is therefore required to be even more redemptive by the power of her love and devotion. So maybe it’s like Napoleon Dynamite for grown-ups.

So that’s the bad news: we’ve seen some of this before, and even when it’s funny, the recycled-air feeling doesn’t quite go away. The good news is that the parts we haven’t seen are really pretty good. Writer/director Taika Cohen does an impressive job of letting Jarrod be utterly off-putting and then using Lily’s lovability to make up for it: seen through her forgiving eyes, he becomes understandable, at least, even if he’s still being a complete twit. And he is a complete twit much of the time. But there’s something refreshing about a movie that doesn’t feel the need to prove that its characters are cool, or that they’ve somehow become cool over the course of the two hours you’ve spent with them, and Eagle vs. Shark doesn’t put itself out trying to convince us. Maybe that’s the point: these people were awkward when they met, and they’re still awkward, and yet here they are, trying to work things out. And trust me: if they can, anybody can.

Eagle vs. Shark, Flight of the Conchords, Jemaine Clement, Loren Horsley, Taika Cohen, DVD review

“This is the story of a wealthy family and the one son who had no choice but to keep them all together.”

It’s Arrested Development. THE MOVIE.

And it sounds like it’s really going to happen—back in December, Keith Olbermann practically peed his pants when Jason Bateman mentioned the possibility of a post-writers’-strike Arrested Development movie, and suddenly it’s up on IMDB, with a cast and directors and all those things that point to movies being made. And since, you know, IMDB is the source of all things true and just in the universe, I think we’re safe to assume. The Bluths certainly would (only to have it blow up spectacularly in their faces, but we’ll ignore that part of the story and just practice our Mexican chicken dance instead).

Where the movie will pick up is unclear, and troubling only for those of us who love George Michael (though, really, does anybody not love George Michael?). Michael Cera isn’t eighteen going on puberty anymore. Do we now have George Michael Bluth, College Man? And what about Maeby Funke? Now she can go around saying “Marry me!” and mean it. We at CH aren’t too worried. Have the AD writers steered us wrong yet? Mrs. Featherbottom says, “No, dearies!”

So, readers, let’s hear it: What’s your favorite Arrested Development moment? Feed us the lines that make you shake with helpless laughter in the middle of meetings at work (just me?). Let’s see the videos of your GOB magician dance (again, just me?). Share the appallingly hilarious love.

Arrested Development, Arrested Development movie, Jason Bateman, Michael Cera, Will Arnett, Jessica Walter, Keith Olbermann

I had to know, going into Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, that it couldn’t possibly live up to the way I’d hyped it. All the ingredients were there—Amy Adams, silly period dialogue, and Lee Pace in a tux—but one can’t just go around proclaiming the rise of American cinema (which, okay, isn’t doing so badly in the first place) with one smallish-budget movie. And, you know? I was right. But I wasn’t (too) disappointed.

Miss Pettigrew is not the grand revival of American screwball comedy that I’d been hoping for; the structure is right, but the script is too loose and draping to capture the rhythm and preciseness of true screwballity—especially toward the beginning, there’s a strange sense that the audience is charging ahead and then waiting for the next joke. Whether rapid-fire laughs were the intent of the writers isn’t clear, but either way, they don’t quite get there.

What emerges instead is a film full of sweet moments and strong emotional values—gently funny and occasionally silly, with surprisingly deep emotional roots. The characters themselves are certainly earnest. Miss Pettigrew herself (Frances McDormand) is quick-thinking and consistent, with a distaste for frivolity; love interest Michael (Pace) only wishes everyone (his lady love especially) would take love as seriously as he does. Even flighty Delysia LaFosse (Adams), who juggles three men and the attendant chaos with a wink and a smile, is decidedly unsophisticated. In a way, Miss Pettigrew is a propaganda film in support of the very earnest and the very poor: nearly without exception, to be poor is to be noble and to rise above the petty games and deceptions of the upper class.

Part of what lifts Miss Pettigrew above the mild ungainliness of its script is its cast, which (unsurprisingly) doesn’t falter. McDormand has left us (”us” being “the movie-going public”) for far too long, and she is wonderfully subtle as Miss Pettigrew. If it’s possible, Adams threatens to overdo her wide-eyed ingenue act (though the contrast makes McDormand look even better), but tones herself down into a state of her standard loveability by the end of Act I, so that’s a relief. Ciaran Hinds is endearingly honest—there’s that word again!—as lingerie designer Joe, and Pace, it must be said, outdoes himself in the area of desperate, scruffy, musically-inclined suitors (he sings!, and I’ll leave it at that).

So maybe this movie isn’t going to be on the docket for Oscar 2009. Maybe the razor wit isn’t quite as hairsplitting as one might hope. Maybe another comedy this spring (ahem, Leatherheads) will give me what I’m looking for, or maybe we’ve simply moved away from comedies that drop and spin. But Miss Pettigrew can hang out with me whenever she wants.

(Extra fun fact, courtesy of IMDB: I’d completely forgotten that Frances McDormand used to narrate the show State of Grace, with Alia Shawkat and Mae Whitman—Maeby Funke and Ann Veal, respectively, on Arrested Development. Now there are two different, but excellent, shows. Heh.)

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Miss Pettigrew, Frances McDormand, Amy Adams, Lee Pace, Ciaran Hinds, comedy, screwball comedy, movie review, State of Grace, Alia Shawkat, Mae Whitman, Arrested Development

See? SEE? I knew that as soon as the Oscar rush subsided, we’d get movies. And not just good movies, good funny movies. Am I wrong about this? Since Thanksgiving, it’s been Ellen Page or a bunch of quivering, tense cowboys stalking around in the desert. And here we are, two weeks past the ceremony, and already things are starting to lighten up. All hail…other movies!

I’m a bit biased, though. My most-anticipated movie of 2008 (so far) sweeps into theaters on Friday. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day looks like it’s my kind of people, and I can’t wait.

Let me tell you why I’m so excited (not necessarily in this order):

1. Screwball comedy:
We’ve talked a little about my obsession with penchant for dialogue: I want lines and delivery that snap like an overtaxed rubber band. I want to think I’m back with Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. I want the movie to threaten to move along without me; I want to have to actually listen for jokes. And I loved No Country for Old Men as much as anybody (and probably more than most), but after all that stare-y silence, I think we’re all ready for a little bit of yammer.

2. Academy Award Winner/Nominee Death Match!:
Frances McDormand hasn’t made a movie in two years. Amy Adams has made enough for herself and McDormand combined. Both are great, funny actors, and we’re so happy to have them on the same team. Also, it’s like Nanny McPhee in reverse! Whatever that means.

3. Lee Pace. British. In a tux. Playing the piano.
*shrug* I cannot tell a lie.

Miss Pettigrew, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Amy Adams, Frances McDormand, Lee Pace, screwball comedy, Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell

I was talking with Sarah the other day, and we fell into one of those really important conversations in the life of a friendship—you know, you’re talking about the meaning of life or the presence or absence of a deity in the universe, and without warning, the subject turns to something truly integral. Something like actors with naturally great hair. We’re not talking about Ryan Seacrest, here; these are the guys who wake up in the morning like it’s their job to awe us with the luxuriance, shine, and general touchability of their hair. These are the guys who should be on Pantene commercials, all, “Don’t hate me because I use conditioner.” These are guys like:

Matthew Perry:

Has recovered from the mid-90s floppiness nicely. Older Matt Perry goes for spiky but unassuming. Quirky, yet mature. We like. CH Official TV Girlfriend (and Matt Perry Official Actual Girlfriend) Lauren Graham agrees.

John Corbett:

A paragon of great 90s “hey, it’s not the 80s anymore, and don’t I look comfortingly/unnervingly like Jesus?” hair who also pulls off the short look nicely (see Aidan, Sex and the City). Never mind that he tries to look like Chuck Norris in all recent photographs. (Don’t we all?)

Naveen Andrews*:

Such luxuriance! Such length! Such manly ponytails! Andrews has such perfect ringlets that half of the Lost commentaries are dedicated to a play-by-play of his hair (whether this also reflects on his acting has yet to be determined).

Joseph Gordon-Levitt:

Set the bar high (as the long-haired boy on 3rd Rock from the Sun); has since gone (hotly) shaggy (for Brick) and (again, hotly) super-short for something else, and pulls it all off. He’s like one of those girls who looks great in everything, only he’s a guy and we’re talking about haircuts.

Seth Rogen:

Kind of ironic that a guy with this much hair has a name so close to “Rogaine,” isn’t it? He probably could have made some money off of that. Too bad his name isn’t Harry.

Gael Garcia Bernal:

GGB’s hair is like the Philip Seymour Hoffman of hair, melding seamlessly with the mood of the day, and always with that air of “oh, yeah, I just woke up” insouciance. Maybe his hair will someday win an Oscar? One hopes.

So that’s the starter list. Thoughts? Additions?

*Do we believe that Naveen Andrews rolls out of bed each morning with perfect ringlets? Not really. But he could. And that’s enough.

actors’ hair, actors’ hairstyles, hairstyles, guys with great hair, matthew perry, lauren graham, john corbett, joseph gordon-levitt, seth rogen, gael garcia bernal, naveen andrews

Cinema Hype: Mr. Bardem, it’s an honor to meet you. Congratulations on your Academy Award win.

Javier Bardem: No. Thank you. It’s an honor to be here. …You may come closer to me for the interview. Please. I would like to shake your hand.

CH: No! I mean, thank you. Sir. I’d just…I’d prefer to stay on this side of the room, if you don’t mind.

JB: Sir, please. Let me shake your hand.

CH: I…uh…okay. Let me just… Oh! That’s some handshake you’ve got there.

JB: I drink a lot of milk.

CH: Right. Milk. Of course you do. Not that, you know, uh, never mind. Now, Mr. Bardem—

JB: Please, call me Javier.

CH: —Javier, then. Tell me. How did you prepare for the role of Anton Chigurh in No Country for Old Men?

JB: How does one prepare to play a man who has no soul, no empathy for others? It is a choice, an act of will. Each morning I looked in the mirror and said to myself, “Javi,”—for that is how mi mama called me—”Javi, kill Josh Brolin.” Over and over. “Kill Josh Brolin. Kill Josh Brolin.” And I was transformed. The strong brow and the rugged good looks became unacceptable to me. Because of Josh Brolin, I found my rage.

CH: Did you and Mr. Brolin get along well offscreen?

JB: Well, this is the life of the method actor—”Good morning, Javier,” he would say to me each morning. And each morning I looked at him and said, “I am going to kill you, Josh Brolin.”

CH: That sounds like an intense filming experience. But now you’re going to tell me that you made up after filming wrapped, and you’re great friends. Is that correct?

JB: No.

CH: Oh.

JB: Next question.

CH: Can you tell me about your experiences working with the Coen brothers?

JB: No. No, I cannot. The dialogue of Joel and Ethan Coen is brutal, like a knife. A serrated knife, so that the wound they inflict will not heal. They are like a .44 to the forehead, only less civilized. They are like…something I cannot place. Like…

CH: …a cattle stunner?

JB: Yes! That’s it! Thank you.

CH: Mr.—Javier, you used to be a member of the Spanish national rugby squad. How has that experience influenced your work as an actor?

JB: Well. Rugby is not a sport for the sissies, it is true. [laughs] But the violence of Anton Chigurh is not the violence of the rugby pitch. Anton kills because he enjoys it and because he believes he has no choice. Yes, I can crush a man’s bones to powder with the strength of my little finger. It is true. But the crack of a collarbone or the crunch of collapsing cartilage is simply a part of the game. An excuse. Anton needs no excuses. When I hunt Josh Brolin, I —or Anton, if you prefer—will puncture his skull like a doomed steer as his brown eyes meet mine.

CH: Right. Well. Javier, I thank you for your time, but I think we’re, uh, all out. Please don’t hurt me.

JB: Excuse me?

CH: Oh, I said, “He’s so wordy.” But not you. Josh Brolin, of course.

JB: …Right. Now, before I go, may I borrow a quarter for the drink machine?

(Note: This is a work of fiction. Please don’t sue.)

Academy Awards, Oscars, Javier Bardem, Anton Chigurh, No Country for Old Men, Josh Brolin