Hello, readers. Another year is winding down, along with the stock market, the DVD industry, popularity for the Iraq War and our President, and box office receipts. There still seems no end in sight to re-released, re-invented, re-packaged DVD titles – everyone’s doing it, from Criterion to Synapse to the majors. Here at FIR, we’ve hopefully kept you amused and informed with timely reviews, Camp Davids, filmusic coverage, and film fest reports. And we’ve got an idea or two how to improve things even more:

We’ve just added a donation button to our homepage. As I think you know, Films in Review has never paid its writers, or its editors (!), in its fifty-seven year history. Prior to that, when we were called The National Board of Review Magazine, the same policy was in effect. All those lovely articles, all those career bios, all the film/dvd/music/book reviews, even all the fine webmastering, has been on a volunteer basis. Niche magazines such as ours are known to resort to these arrangements to keep our overhead under control.

However, we are now trying to raise money to make FIR better. Some of our new projects are: putting up the archives, all 50+ years of them; a new design for the site; competitions in which readers reap film-related gifts, and more reviews.

If you love FIR, which is a national treasure of a publication, and feel like donating to our ongoing efforts, please do. In the meantime, we struggle along, providing you with the unique insights of our creative staff.

SO LONG, ROBIN

Robin Little presents D.W. Griffith Award to Roy Frumkes

My predecessor as FIR editor was Robin Little, a feisty blond lady who undertook more than I could ever have, and spun a lovely digest-sized publication out of her rambling apartment on 72nd Street in Manhattan. Her background in the publishing world served her well. She was practically a one-woman editorial machine.

I’d been writing articles and reviews for her for many years before, in 1984, Robin was instrumental in my receiving a D.W. Griffith Award (as it was known then) for my docu-drama, BURT’S BIKERS, and immediately thereafter asked me if I would like to co-produce the annual Awards Ceremony, which I did for a decade, working with the likes of Paul Newman, Bette Davis, Sean Connery, Sidney Poitier, Richard Widmark, Morgan Freeman (who spearheaded, via some friendly-but-pointed remarks, the Award’s name-change to the “NBR’s”), Tony Randall, Shirley Temple, Jimmy Stewart, Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy, Jose Ferrer, and many, many others. I’ve got a book-load of stories about those years. Or at least a great chapter.

I often met Robin for lunch at a Greek Restaurant on 2nd Avenue near 72nd, where we would talk movies and FIR, and she would nurse a glass of white wine or two or three. I would indulge in at least one glass myself, and I can’t say that I clearly remember the exact nature of all those discussions. I wish I did.

Robin passed away this Summer, and all of us at FIR, and in the National Board of Review of Motion Pictures, will long remember her contribution to the organization and the magazine.

KENNETH ANGER

Special mention goes to Fantoma for enduring the financial and emotional hardships that must have dogged them to completion of the two-volume collection of alternative (he dislikes the word ‘experimental’) filmmaker Kenneth Anger, whose short works on film influenced Marty Scorsese, me, and who knows how many other filmmakers throughout the 40s, 50s, and 60s. The second volume, recently released, contains yet another, nearly brand-new film by the maverick filmmaker who, now deep into his 70s, continues to create his visions for us.

These collections are among the most important we have been given in recent years of a major film artist’s work which, not being studio vaulted, were always in danger of perishing. Anger supplies commentary tracks for the marvelously-remastered films. For me, his crowning achievement is SCORPIO RISING (1965). Oddly, he doesn’t address how daring SCORPIO was, coming out in that period. I caught it at the Bleeker Street Cinema where it was being touted as the first theatrically booked film to show male frontal nudity in the U.S. It didn’t matter if you were gay or straight – you simply had to see it for its cutting edge impact. The glimpses were fleeting, but exciting – subliminal cuts, really. On the disc, far better balanced for exposure (J) than it was even at the Bleeker Street, there’s more frontal nudity to be seen. (And then there’s the stop-frame function…) But Anger never talks about that aspect of the film during his commentary, dwelling rather on the serendipity involved with the appearance of much of the source material. Also, I wasn’t aware that someone actually died on camera, which is even more impressive than the frontal nudity, and lends something grim and satanic to the proceedings – a kind of negative serendipity, if you will. Anger, with his Aleister Crowley connections, would understand and appreciate the compliment, I’m sure.

On Thursday, September 21st, I boarded Jet Blue flight 1069, stocked up with socks and undies, pills and drops, my STREET TRASH belt buckle (created by a Navajo Indian in Tucson) and STREET TRASH t-shirt, some Levitra – just in case…, my airline ticket, and a copy of “I Wake Up Screening’ a fun read by John Anderson and the lovely Laura Kim (marketing and publicity exec at Warner Independent Pictures) , and flew uneventfully down to Austin, Texas for the 2nd annual Fantasy Film Fest at the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, which my friend Oren Shai, who’d had a film (HEAVY SOUL) in competition at South By Southwest, also held there, claimed was the best movie theater he’d ever seen, and insisted I had to go down if for no other reason than to experience it.

I’d been invited primarily by Kier-La Janisse, one of the Alamo’s four programmers, formerly the founder of Canada’s Cinemuerte, who harbors a particular fondness for STREET TRASH, and persuaded (without too much persuading, I’m told) her fellow programmers that it should be included as a retro piece, a popular concept at most major fests.

The Original Alamo Drafthouse, which I visited, had been a parking garage, which Tim and Karrie League purchased, thereafter implementing their grand design: every other row of seats was torn out, to be replaced by a long table on which movie patrons would drink the beer and food they ordered, and have a rousing good time with whatever (often audience interactive) flick was playing (the night I dropped by it was THE TERMINATOR – with a ‘Mystery Science Theater’ styled trio ribbing the film mercilessly). It was a fabulous idea and a real labor of love of cinema, bringing, as I saw instantly, a sense of grand fun back into movie-going in these far-too-expensive movie-going times. And though eating, boozing, and participating in screen/stage activities are enthusiastically encouraged, annoying ‘living room’ chatter is not, and patrons can summon bouncers who will instantly put a stop to that kind of counterproductive behavior.

That was in ’97. The New Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, where the Fantasy Fest was held, opened in 2005, and was formerly a supermarket. Austin is a youth-dominated city, an art-conscious, film-lovers’ city, and this kind of venue, and this kind of film fest, was right up Austin’s collective alley. (Surprising, therefore, that attendance at the STREET TRASH and THE MELTDOWN MEMOIRS screenings were a bit thin…but those who showed were a knowledgeable batch who asked interesting, and sometimes loaded, questions). There was a Portland, Oregon precedent to this kind of architecturally revisionist movie theater, but it’s the first I’d seen of its kind, and the food was great – prepared and delivered by a staff which, at any given time, numbered perhaps fifty. In all, 130 people are employed by the theater, and I was truly impressed by their uniform professional, friendly, and courteous demeanors I’ll never forget Justin (one of the theater managers)’s kindness for that bowl of Amy’s Mexican chocolate ice cream with Ghiradelli sauce…truly beyond the call of duty. Mike & Eddie were swell shuttle-bus commanders. And while at the Hotel, I got to see tens of thousands of bats swirl out into the twilight sky. The bridge under which they hang, dormant, by day was lined with tourists like myself, eager to witness the spectacle. On that particular day, the wind was fierce, and blew the acrid cloud of bats back into our faces! What an experience!

I had been told there was no ‘fine’ dining in Austin, but plenty of ‘good’ food. Maybe that’s true in Austin, but within an hour radius, I must tell you, their modesty is revealed to be merely a myth. Among the delirious delights of which I partook (with the fest organizers’ generous assistance) was a little trip to Lockhart, Texas, to visit Smitty’s Market, said to serve the best barbecue in the state. I’m a barbecue aficionado, if not a barbecue gourmet, and I was utterly thrilled to be driven to this small, unassuming, extremely quiet town, and once there to be taken into an equally unassuming building, down a long corridor, assailed by the smell of barbecue, and the heat of the ovens. The cooks, who I glimpsed in their natural habitat, were straight out of central casting. I couldn’t help but think of THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE…

There was a bright, air-conditioned room where families sat at picnic-type tables and gorged themselves on barbecue, but our host (Karrie League), always pushing for the most authentic experience, insisted on a communal table right next to an open, blazing oven/kiln. This seemed ultimately a smart maneuver, since we were instantly sweating off all the fat and grease that was sliding down our gullets. A mounted antelope-head shield with a baby alligator skull on top adorned the wall. The plates were not plates, but greasy wax paper. I devoured some pop-in-your-mouth sausage, followed by some of their renowned, superb brisket. There were also ribs and prime rib, which I sampled…and no utensils – just white bread, a kind of variation on eating Ethiopian. Beer and RC cola washed it all down.

It was also a nice opportunity to meet some of the other filmmakers, who took the journey to Lockhart with me, an eclectic bunch from as far away as Germany and Sweden. The social environment at the Fest was definitely five star.

Multiple auditoriums were screening horror and sci-fi flicks all evening long at the new Alamo. Resident film critic (for Ain’tItCoolNews.com)/co-programmer Harry Knowles was either holding court in the lobby, or just outside the entrance to the theater. The night STREET TRASH played, a sci-fi flick called GamerZ out-drew us attendance-wise, and I heard it was quite good. One I caught and liked was ISOLATION, which everyone felt was ALIEN on a cow farm, a dark and creepy idea, well-made and well-acted.

THE MELTDOWN MEMOIRS, which I’ve seen projected theatrically several times, never looked as good as it did that day. Most of the myriad fests and horror cons that have sprung up around the country throw together makeshift screening rooms which miserably represent one’s work, but it’s accepted as more or less the nature of the beast. To their credit, the Alamo’s projection systems are superior set-ups, an indicator of the pride the organizers take in their work.

A surprise screening was APOCALYPTO, unfinished, with Mel Gibson in attendance. It was his first public appearance, I was told, since the scandal (check Victoria’s review of APOCALYPTO elsewhere on the site), and a feeling of dread was circulating among the staff that someone would bring up his recent faux pas during the Q & A. But it never happened – Austin was well-behaved. The film, several steps from being fully edited, timed and scored, was more commercial than I’d expected (not a negative thing) and featured the most incredible casting in years. I can’t imagine how long the process took. Art direction was almost equally memorable. An audience member invoked ROAD WARRIOR as a comparison in that regard, not a bad link to have made.

I had such a good time that I’m considering speeding up my usual snail’s pace and completing THE DEFINITIVE DOCUMENT OF THE DEAD in order to qualify for a possible invite back next year…

Some day there may only be IMAX. Some day, when home theaters reach their greatest potential, normal theater going will hold no attraction to us, but the IMAX experience will still be something we cannot replicate in our living rooms. It will still be a reason to shell out the bucks for a ticket, the mool for a baby-sitter, the dough for a soda.

And so, in recent years, possibly with just that in mind, IMAX has been dabbling in the presentation of Hollywood feature films. The cartoons are phenomenal, particularly in IMAX-3D. The features vary – SUPERMAN RETURNS was powerful but the 3D sections didn’t deliver the impact that I was expecting – they seemed a bit thin and green-screened. And now, for the Xmas season, we have NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM.

First the film itself, since IMAX can’t rescue the irredeemable. I’d heard nothing about this film prior to the appearance of its ads. I’m not a Ben Stiller fan, and the thought of seeing him on that monster screen, every pore and makeup stroke staring down at me, several stories high, was not getting my adrenalin up. And the concept seemed… confining.

Wrong.

The first act is weak – both the director (Shawn Levy) and screenwriters (Ben Garant & Thomas Lennon) couldn’t seem to side-step the clichés of the dreamer-father who disappoints his child. Been there, many a time. And the three night-watchmen at the museum were (initially) less than inventively played by Dick Van Dyke (still in fine form, however), Mickey Rooney (great to see him ambulatory, but he was awful – one- note, abrasive, never funny), and Bill Cobb (adequate, but with the least to do).

However, when the second act kicks in, and the pandemonium starts, things begin to look up. Sequence by sequence the narrative gains power, the script becomes complex and genuinely witty, and by the third act, it was a wonderful experience. It’s true, audiences forgive a bad first act if they’re given a great third act. Unfortunately critics can’t. But I ended up really liking the film in balance, and with the caveat of enduring act one, I’m recommending it. Also, the kids in the audience seemed happy, and I think it has a sincere message for families to share.

Stiller, despite my reservations about him, is quite good. Robin Williams is even better than that, a positive-yet-tentative Teddy Roosevelt – playing off the fact that he is, after all, just wax. Sacajawea (Mizuo Peck), playing the bulk of her Indian guide exhibit role without dialogue, gets through to our hearts from frame one. And the secondary and tertiary roles are not neglected – Attila the Hun (Patrick Gallagher), for instance, or the female tour guide at the museum (Carla Gugino), are written and directed into endearing, full-bodied performances.

And then there’s the IMAX presentation itself. The (35mm) transfer to IMAX is glorious. It’s a very busy film – scores of little people (as in six-inches-tall) running around, lots of out-of-focus exhibits stomping about in the background – and on that screen, while you may be a little overwhelmed by it all, you definitely get to see it all. Perhaps I didn’t have to witness the imperfections in Mickey Rooney’s skin so microscopically, but them’s the breaks when you get all the other elements displayed in such remarkable relief. The layering and sharpness of the sound is also a joy to bombarded with.

In terms of structure, in terms of anticipating and giving the audience everything it could possibly want, NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM is one of the best screenplays of the year. And editor Don Zimmerman deserves nearly equal praise. This thing really moves.

Coming up is the Annual NBR event, to be held in a new venue this year – Cipriani’s restaurant – on January 9th, 2007. Eli Wallach is our Career Achievement honoree. Other winners or recipients are LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA (Best Film), Martin Scorsese (Best Director), Forest Whitaker (Best Actor), Helen Mirren (Best Actress), VOLVER (Best Foreign Film), AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH (Best Documentary), Irwin Winkler (Career in Producing), Ryan Gosling (Breakthrough Award – Actor), Jennifer Hudson and Rinko Kikuchi (Breakthrough Performances – Actress), Jonathan Demme (Career in Directing), and THE DEPARTED (Ensemble Performance), WATER and WORLD TRADE CENTER (Freedom of Expression). Tickets are available as of this writing, and it’s going to be a great evening.

“Wasn’t that the best dinner? I didn’t have lunch, so that helped. That fishy thing…it was so good, and it was easy to eat with one hand, allowing you to shake hands with the other. I was blown away.”

All those encomiums referring, of course, to the elegant meal served to approximately 550 attendees at the NBR Awards Gala. But who was it that said such things? Was it our proud President, Annie Schulhof? Was it me (it certainly could have been: those desserts!!)? Or was it the Tavern on the Green’s chef, in a boastful mood?

It was, in fact, Jeremy Irons, during his presentation speech to Annette Bening for Best Actress, and he added, “I ate it all, and so did Annette.” He was sweet, casual and self-deprecating, with that endearing Boris Karloff lisp. It was another memorable weave on the loom, hundreds of which combined to make the event the colorful fabric we enjoy year after year in one of New York’s most festive settings.

January 11th was the earliest we’ve ever thrown this shindig. And yet we had good weather. I don’t remember it ever being so mild. The perennial throng of photographers flanked the entrance as vehicles arrived and guests made their way in. NBR’s Executive Director, Bob Policastro, and the organization’s Managing Director, Carol Rapoport, were on the move at all times, overseeing the ebb and flow of the event as it unfolded. Attentive NBR aids, mainly students from The School of Visual Arts and Marymount College, kept the stream of humanity moving along the corridor of mirrors toward the pre-dinner rooms where cocktails and hors d’oeuvres flowed generously. and a few celebrity faces made their appearance.

Then 7:00 pm came, and we all moved into the two dining rooms, where tables were situated in a less cramped configuration than last year, allowing for more space to travel to and from the podium – not unlike the new legroom one gets on American Airlines between aisles 13 and 30. At this point it became clear, as it always does about this time in the evening at an NBR event, that we were knee-deep in luminaries. It was a toss-up between eating and gawking. Fortunately my wife chose to gawk, allowing me to swipe her dessert!

At 8:00 pm Annie Schulhof took the podium, not an enviable slot in the evening lineup due to the fact that the crowd was still in food-epilogue-mode, chatting enjoyably and not focused on the dais. But Annie handled them with aplomb, rattling off a tongue-twisting script penned by Historical Consultant John Gallagher in which every celeb in attendance was somehow connected to Kevin Bacon by fewer than six degrees of separation. It was a clever intro, got everyone thinking, and Annie was smiling widely as she left the stage, to be followed by the evening’s Master of Ceremonies, Jon (SWINGERS, MADE, and Host of IFC’s ‘Dinner For Five’) Favreau. He was an inspired choice, as it turned out. There was no doubt that he was on top of his game as he led off with “In the interest of time, let’s have the first ten winners come up and get their awards.” After the laughter settled down, he trumped himself with “We honor the ‘Best Film Without Jude Law In It’.”

First up was the Animated Feature Award, presented to THE INCREDIBLES by Thelma Adams, who related a longish story, the second act of which could have been judiciously pruned. After the director accepted, Favreau added, “It was a great film and hopefully some day, commercially, these films will be viable as well.”

Marc Forster, the director of Best Film FINDING NEVERLAND, gave the music award to Polish composer Jan A. P. Kaczmarek (read Max Pemberton’s filmusic review elsewhere on the site). Then Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber presented the Female Breakthrough Award to THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA’s leading lady, Emmy Rossum. He looked up at the over-the-top décor of the Tavern and said, “The National Board of Review makes you feel at home. I thank them for renting out these chandeliers.” That got a big laugh. Emmy, alabaster-skinned and visually perfect (the ideal Dario Argento ‘giallo’ heroine, which I mentioned to her before the meal started, and she seemed intrigued), accepted in a tactful-yet-sexy white dress.

Jamie Foxx got Best Actor, but was a no-show. Accepting was his co-star, Kerry Washington, who played Mrs. Ray Charles. She won us over by saying, as she admired the award, “We’ll see if he gets it…” In the film, one of the few things that bothered me was the lack of chemistry between them. However, in the recently released DVD, restored footage fixes that problem.

The William K Everson Award for Film history went to Richard Schickel, and was presented by previous Everson Award winner, and newly elected NBR Board of Directors member Janine Bassinger, who bawled out Favreau for mispronouncing her name. Schickel, who recently was involved in the restoration of Sam Fuller’s THE BIG RED ONE, recalled, “Bill was a kindly and generous man.” And about Everson’s lifelong devotion to film, he acknowledged, “In those days it must have been a very lonely passion.” Which made me recall a day at the School of Visual Arts decades ago when Everson was teaching his film history class, and a student asked if it would be alright if, on the following week, he didn’t show up because it was a Jewish holiday. Everson assured him that it would be alright, but added, “To me, the only true religion is Cinema.”

Milos Forman received the Billy Wilder Award for a career in directing. A dreadfully edited tribute reel from the San Francisco Film Society preceded his appearance, as did a sweet presentation by his producer, Saul (ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST, THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING, AMADEUS) Zaentz, who related a Wilder story: Billy was playing poker with five friends, all of whom were attacking an absent filmmaker. Finally Billy tapped the table and said, “Enough. Let’s not even bother to ignore him.”

Forman, who had presented the award eleven years earlier to Wilder the first time it was given (Sidney Lumet was the recipient on Wilder’s behalf that evening), acknowledged two writers in the audience – Jean Claude Carriere and Robert Lans.

Then came the moment many felt was the pivotal point in the evening’s energy level. Rosie Perez took the podium to present the Best Original Screenplay Award to Charlie Kaufman for ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND. She had been in the film made from Kaufman’s screenplay HUMAN NATURE, and gushed first about his work, and then about him. She yakked and yakked, explaining how sexy Kaufman was on the set, not despite, but because of his horrible beard, flannel shirt and socks with earth shoes, all of which alchemized somehow into sex personified. “If I was single, I would do this man in a hot second.”

Kaufman came quietly forth and said, “Jesus, if I’d only known.” His economical response to her stream of consciousness was great screenwriting. I never had more appreciation for his work than I did at that moment. And Favreau one-upped both of them with his final appraisal: “Those of you who had Charlie Kaufman in the over-under pool, you’re looking pretty good for the speech-length competition.”

Time for the Freedom of Expression Award, one of our indigenous prizes. It was presented by teacher/historian Annette Insdorf, who was quick to point out that VALMONT was not in the selection of clips used to illustrate Milos Forman’s career, but despair not, she was going to be showing it momentarily at the 92nd Street YMCA. She also said, “A film never ends on the screen, it’s when you talk about the film afterwards, when you argue, and when a motion picture forces you to take a position, to define how you see life and yourself, and not just the way people are telling you to do so.” It was Annette at her eloquent best. She presented to “THE PASSION OF CHRIST – which re-imagines theology,” to Michael Moore for FAHRENHEIT 9/11, and to John Deery for CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE.

Moore lumbered up. “I hope this award helps me to express myself freely in the future.” He related an interesting piece of his past in which, as a teenager, he started and ran an art house, using 16mm projectors, showing impossible-to-see-in-Flint Ingmar Bergman films, etc. And he ended with a provocative tale, which seemed to support his bizarre thesis that “I wouldn’t be a filmmaker if it wasn’t for the Bush family.”

The Special Achievement in Filmmaking, reserved for those multi-faceted creatives who essay more than two roles in a production – Billy Bob Thornton and Mel Gibson having been recipients in the past – went this year to NBR fave Clint Eastwood, for Directing, Producing, Starring in, and Scoring MILLION DOLLAR BABY. John Gallagher’s rhapsody of six degrees refocused itself as Favreau introduced Kevin Bacon himself, as Eastwood’s presenter. Bacon could pass for Eastwood’s son; so similar are their facial structures. He took the podium with loosened tie, and quipped, “Apparently on his next film he’s also gonna be catering.”

Eastwood, laconic and cool in his green sport jacket, blue-gray shirt, and gray tie, allowed “It’s great to follow Michael [Moore]. We have a lot in common.” After the laughter died down he continued: “Actually we do. I believe in freedom of expression very much. Very glad to be in a country where we can do that. (beat) But Michael, you ever show up in front of my door, with a camera…you’re dead meat, man. Dead meat!”

Some misquoted headlines were spun out of this in the press, but the truth is Clint spoke in good-natured fun, and Moore took it entirely in the right spirit.

Dennis Quaid presented the Male Breakthrough Performance Award to Topher Grace for IN GOOD COMPANY and P.S. Referring to Eastwood’s earlier declaration that anyone under 50 was a young actor, Quaid offered “Thank you, Clint, I’m 50; I guess that puts me right on the cusp.” And Grace, when his turn at the microphone came, generously thanked his co-star thusly: “I never went to an acting class, but actually acting with Dennis and Laura (Linney) for three months straight, I got schooled.”

Caleb Deschanel received our Career Achievement in Cinematography Award, and his climb to the dais was preceded by a beautifully assembled video-montage, as well as a presentation by Walon Greene, the screenwriter of THE WILD BUNCH, and for me one of the most exciting celebs of the night. “I’d like to praise his work tonight openly,” he began. “It’s a chance to say things in a public forum that I would never do in private, out of deference to his modest nature, and my own inability to convey true sentiment.” Also, a lovely observation was made about what distinguishes Deschanel’s work: “Tradition that goes back to the classical Greeks. True art communicates not only information but emotions.”

The modest Deschanel acknowledged THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST and BEING THERE, aligning these disparate films by stating, with droll intent, “I like characters that can walk on water.”

Best Adapted Screenplay went to SIDEWAYS, presented by Virginia Madsen and Thomas Haden Church to Jim Taylor and Alexander Payne. Said Payne, “First of all, can we turn up the heat, please.” Deference was paid to Milos Forman, whose TAKING OFF and FIREMAN’S BALL influenced their work.

Jeremy Irons presented to Annette Bening, but then that’s where we came in. Annette thanked Annette (Insdorf). And she went on thanking a lot more people, an Academy Award speech rather than an NBR speech, really. On the other hand it was good she got it all out of her system and hopefully they all heard it (or about it), because a few months later, Hillary Swank knocked her out of the ring for the second time in five years. I remember Ms. Bening when she was young, green and sweet, at a screening of the Robert A Harris produced film noir, THE GRIFTERS. What a long way she’s come.

The Best Documentary Award went to BORN INTO BROTHELS, presented by the father of the modern documentary, Albert Maysles, who was soon to embark on his latest documentary about Christo’s work, this time the shower curtains of Central Park. He had recently appeared at a documentary symposium presented by the NBR. When Zana Briske and Ross Kauffman ascended the dais, they confessed to having snuck into the Tavern during the opening night party for the Lincoln Center Film Festival’s PULP FICTION. ( I remember that event well – particularly the Lincoln Center screening, where a member of the audience went into convulsions during the syringe-in-the-heart sequence, the lights went on as doctors bolted in the poor man’s direction, and you could see Tarantino staring nervously down from the celebrity box on the left.)

Supporting actor went to Thomas Haden Church, presented by director Payne. Church, a friendly guy with a sculptured face, gave generous thanks to Paul Giamatti.

Directorial Debut went to Zach Braff for GARDEN STATE, the DVD of which is apparently for sale on the street already. George C. Wolf presented, and picked up a previous thread by affirming that “…you’re correct, Mr. Irons. The fish was amazing.”

Best Supporting Actress went to Laura Linney for KINSEY. Bill Condon, former winner for GODS AND MONSTERS, accepted in her absence, reporting that Laura was in Vancouver, devastated at not being there, and that the most important thing she stressed he should do was send her love to Clint, who she considers a surrogate father. (I’m guessing that Clint was gone by then.)

Special Achievement in Producing went to Jerry Bruckheimer. This is an interesting award, fliying in the face, as it does, of the Oscar’s uncomfortable tradition of having the producer accept the Best Film award, leaving the bewildered TV audience to wonder why this person is up there instead of the director. The past century is strewn with brilliant producers whose mark can be found on the films they helped create (often in the very veneer of the production, a sign that the director and his team were protected, coddled, and respected). Sam Spiegel, Alexander Korda, Bert Schneider, Saul Zaentz, Dino de Laurentiis, Howard Gottfried, Pierre Spengler, Darryl Zanuck… even Robert Evans. A TV series should be done on the subject (perhaps it already has?).

Bruckheimer was a wonderful choice, highly visible because of his successful mainstream product, much loved by creative people in the industry, and by the NBR. It was one of the warmest sequences of the evening. Clips were shown from PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN, BLACKHAWK DOWN, BEVERLY HILLS COP, THIEF, and CSI. Those alone would have merited Award recognition, but his list goes on and on. Presenting was Nicolas Cage, former NBR winner for Best Actor, who can be relied on to give an articulate speech. In this one he mentioned the indelible mark Bruckheimer has made on all the popular art forms – film, TV, and music – over four decades, and that, remarkably, he has never lost his enthusiasm. 30 Academy Award nominations have come his way. Bruckheimer modestly thanked his colleagues.

Sigourney Weaver, who left her speech at home, but aptly labeled it “a terrifying view of romance and relationships”, presented the Ensemble Award, another of the NBR’s cannier ideas, to the foursome from CLOSER. Clive Owen accepted, thanking Mike Nichols for giving them “…the most safe, place to explore that material…”

The five Best Foreign language films were: THE MOTOCYCLE DIARIES, LES CHORISTES, MARIA FULL OF GRACE, BAD EDUCATION, and for Best of the Year, THE SEA INSIDE. Javier Bardem, who copped the best Actor award in 2000 for BEFORE NIGHTFALL, presented to director Alejandro Amenabar, who remembered the NBR Q&A screening fondly, as did the directors of BROTHEL and GARDEN STATE.

Excellence in Filmmaking Honorable Mentions were announced by Kyra Sedgwick, who was sporting a slash of red lipstick under a dishevelment of blond curls. One of them was for THE WOODSMAN, a strong vehicle for Ms. Sedgwick’s husband.

Michael Mann received the Best Director award for COLLATERAL, one of the best films of the year in your editor’s humble opinion, simultaneously sporting one of the year’s worst titles. I still haven’t met anyone who’s been able to explain to me exactly what it refers to. And I’ve asked quite a few. Dais-shy Daniel Day-Lewis, former NBR Award winner (and Hawkeye in Mann’s THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS) presented. Lewis was visually mind-boggling in a dark plaid beret and green plaid sport jacket, underneath which was a rose sport shirt and a pink ascot. Not to mention the single gold earring. If it weren’t Daniel Day Lewis…and even if it was… As part of his presentation, he noted of Mann “His mind belongs to that of a bygone age when the arts and sciences were indivisibly part of the same adventure of discovery.” He then doffed his hat to the director.

Said Mann in return, “Daniel does not like to appear in public, so I really appreciate it.” And he acknowledged one of Lewis’s analogies about the film. “It was a nocturne.”

Best Film went to FINDING NEVERLAND. There was a well-chosen clip. The presenter was John Irving (former recipient for Best Adapted Screenplay for CIDERHOUSE RULES) to Richard Gladstein and Nellie Bellflower. Irving recounted his receiving the NBR award with Lasse Hallstrom, tying the story into an explanation of what a producer does.

The Final Award, the Career Achievement, was for Jeff Bridges. Clips from 1950, as a baby in THE COMPANY SHE KEEPS, all the way to THE DOOR IN THE FLOOR, were shown. It was a beautifully chosen and scored compilation. The presenter was Joan Allen (who had co-starred in THE CONTENDER and TUCKER with Bridges). Thin and so pretty, blonde and radiant, she told a wonderful story about a Cherokee grandfather and two wolves.

“It’s getting kinda late,” Bridges led off. He made loving reference to his parents, and to “My beautiful wife, Susan, who I’ve been with for thirty years now.” He also praised the creative film experience: “Collaboration, man, that’s the high for me.”

And then the party ended, and the throngs exited to the strains of PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, carrying a myriad of souvenirs from the tables. CD scores from PHANTOM, FINDING NEVERLAND, and THE AVIATOR. INCREDIBLES memorabilia. The latest film books. And of course, the NBR Award Ceremony program, the loveliest yet produced.

I’ve been to all but two of these events over the last 25 years. I’ve even produced ten of them. And so I can say, with a reasonable approximation of authority, that there has never been a more successful gala then there was on Tuesday, January 13th, and it was immensely pleasing to be there, uninvolved except as a proud NBR member, soaking in the energy and joy of the evening.

At the '97 NBR's, Rocco Simonelli Thanks Denis Leary for turning down the lead in

Credit for this can be split into three areas:

First is the dedicated team who toiled ceaselessly for the months preceding the evening, including NBR’s recently elected President Annie Schulhof, who dove into her first awards event with great determination; the dedicated team of Bob Policastro and his elegant cohort Carol Rapoport – entitled ‘Gala Chairs’ though no moniker could have been farther from the truth, since they hardly got to sit down; former NBR President Inez Glucksman, who whipped up the most comprehensive and useful Gala journal we’ve ever had; and Megan Henry Pilla , NBR’s Publicist (our name has been everywhere since the early December vote results). Kudos must be doled out, as well, to Bd Member/filmmaker/film historian John Gallagher, who always scripts the event so cleverly, and succinctly.

Second: for reasons perhaps in part relating to the pristine results of the NBR teamwork, but this we can never know for sure, the performances of the presenters and recipients rose to a level of eloquence I may have only seen once or twice before.

And lastly, we cannot discount the contribution of Fate, because the event fell smack in between the two worst cold fronts we’ve had in NYC since World War II. Less than twenty-four hours after we’d wrapped, planes were being turned away from our airports. But the night of the gala we had tolerable, invigoratingly cold weather. Clearly someone, or something, was on our side that night.

Who could have predicted that all these elements would have fallen into place. Instead of a ‘perfect storm’, we had a ‘perfect event.’ There were those who carped – it wouldn’t be America if they didn’t, right – about the evening running fifteen minutes too long…about our Master of Ceremonies being a little out of his element…etc. [I myself felt there were probably two awards too many.] But these were mere trivialities when balanced against the evening’s successes. I left feeling that if I never attended another NBR gala, I had lived to see it reach its zenith

And now for the details.

Again, as over the past several years, we were in that Hollywood set disguised as a restaurant, Tavern on the Green. As I sit here writing and reminiscing, the mournful, passionate score from THE LAST SAMURAI is playing on my stereo system, setting the mood. This CD, as well as a dozen others, were stacked on my table like some avant-garde architecture, along with books, hats, NBR flashlights, a miniature model of Harvey Pekar from AMERICAN SPLENDOR complete with bobbing head – in short a virtual holiday grab bag of film-related goodies to help us relive the evening. I can remember when all one took away was a folded program.

My brother, Lewis, a fellow member of the Board of Directors, was not in attendance for the first time in twenty years. His wife, Alana, was hosting another event that evening. She asked him which one he was planning to go to. He replied, “Yours.” To which she replied, “Smart decision.” My wife Janet and I sat at his table in the company of his son Timothy, daughter Amber, five of their friends, and Jill Krementz, wife of Kurt Vonnegut.

Before dinner there had been drinking, hors d’oeuvres, schmoozing and star gazing from 6:00 to 7:00 p.m. School of Visual Arts Film Chairman Reeves Lehmann corralled Sophia Coppola. Mike Ruggiero, head of Acquisitions at the IFC Channel, strolled by. I spotted New Line President Bob Shaye, who I’ve known very slightly over the years since my friend Wes Craven put his company on the map with A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET. I approached Shaye and told him that I was happy New Line was going into production on one of my screenplays, SLAY THE BULLY! He admitted to not having read it, but confirmed that the feeling around the company was very high about the project. Then he paused and added “Next time I hope you pick a better title…”

The lights began to blink. Janet and I headed to our seats. The appetizers were already waiting for us, though what they were, we were never quite sure at the time. (They were Seasonal Vegetable Napoleans with Goat Cheese, Baby Greens & Balsamic Dressing [if menu prose imitates proper film credit etiquette, then an ampersand means they were placed on the goat cheese together, whereas an ‘and’ would have meant that one got up on the goat cheese first, followed later by the other]) Nonetheless I ate half of mine, and the closest I could come to identifying it was thinking that it probably provided my daily minimums of both vegetables and cholesterol. Meanwhile, John Gallagher was at one of the front tables, sitting against the podium curtain, distracting us all with his stunning blonde companion.

Next came the main course: Pan-Seared Striped Bass in Lemon Beurre Blanc, on a bed of Vegetable CousCous and garnished with Garlic Spinach. It was the safe and tasty choice, and as I poked at that, and nursed my wine, I kept staring back at a man at the table behind us.

Finally it dawned on me. I excused myself, went over to his table, leaned in toward him and said, “Paul?” He turned, looked at me, and rose, saying “The face looks familiar.” “38 years ago,” I replied, “at Tulane University. I’m Roy Frumkes. You were in the Theater Department, I was the Entertainment Editor of the school newspaper.” He remembered, or certainly seemed to. I was happy to see him again, after all this time, and to tell him how pleased I’d been at his career, first on Starsky and Hutch, then directing features like THE RUNNING MAN. When he asked me what I was up to, I told him I’d produced ten features, all of them independent. He said that he was writing indie scripts now, and that we should stay in touch. Paul Michael Glaser had been the star performer at Tulane. The University’s theater department in the ‘60’s, and its publication ‘The Tulane Drama Review,’ were hailed all over the country. Experimental theater director Richard Schechner was the head of the department. I never became friendly with Schechner, but he did make me aware that Tuna and Swiss on rye tasted better than a plain Tuna sandwich, and for that I’m grateful.

However, in the final analysis I’m a dessert man, and soon there came two alternating delicacies: Glazed Banana Passion Fruit Tarts with Passion Fruit Sorbet, and Dark Chocolate Caramel Tortes with Fresh Whipped Cream. Did I also mention that I’m a chocoholic? I got myself sick wolfing down those desserts.

Finally the ceremony started. Charles Busch (star of this year’s DIE MOMMIE, DIE!) was our Master of Ceremonies, following in the footsteps of such notables as Tony Randall, Jose Ferrer (a run of six years, curtailed only by his death), Peter Reigert, Jerry Orbach, Rita Moreno, Stacy Keach, Cliff Robertson & Dina Merrill, Robert Preston, Richard Brown, Ron Silver, Lynn Redgrave, Jane Powell & Dickie Moore, Eli Wallach & Anne Jackson, and Chazz Palminteri. Though Busch’s frame of reference was a little outside the mainstream, he was nonetheless warm, articulate, and moved things along at a jaunty pace, which is the most important thing an NBR emcee must do.

Now I didn’t bring a tape recorder, so I’m going to be paraphrasing here. The lineup of presenters and recipients was stupefying. Here are some highlights.

Best Supporting Actor: Alec Baldwin for THE COOLER. A tanned and theatrical Christopher Plummer introduced Baldwin, both doling out praise and touching on a negative attribute or two…but somehow keeping it affectionate. Baldwin asked if anyone could tell from Plummer’s delivery that he was currently appearing in King Lear. He also said he’d never won an award before, which took the audience by surprise.

Male Breakthrough Performance: Paul Giamatti in AMERICAN SPLENDOR. Introduced by Stanley Tucci, who depicted the winner as a man who read and acted, and had utterly no life beyond those two activities, by the time Giamatti took center stage he was regarded with reverent wonderment. And he was deferentially quite amusing.

Carol Rapoport, FIR's Editor, Laura Linney & Clint Eastwood at the NBR's screening of

Best Actor: Sean Penn, for both MYSTIC RIVER and 21 GRAMS. The introduction, by a reclusive Robert de Niro, triggered a wave of awe in the audience. Penn walked up to the podium, receiving a spontaneous standing ovation (as opposed to an obligatory one, of which there were a few that evening), and I sensed it was because he is perceived as a bad boy who eschews this kind of public affair, but also as a serious artist. Turning to the audience, a pleased Penn first referred to the one-sheet of a grim, arms-folded Morgan Freeman, and asked if the crowd didn’t think that the lifetime-career-recipient seemed a bit disapproving of Penn’s receiving the award. The joke went over well, and he even mimicked the pose to drive the gag home. Then he delivered one of the memorable statements of the evening: “Russell Crowe has been a prick for ten years. (pause, while the laughter settled down) I’ve been a prick for twenty years.” The implication was clear – if Crowe got one, he deserved at least one. Very funny, very well taken.

Best Actress: Diane Keaton for SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE. She looked beautiful and was full of the good old mannerisms we’ve all known her for, now slightly mellowed into a mature grace, and she commented that she was happy to receive an award for a film in which its two lead actors’ ages totaled a hundred and twenty-five.

Female Breakthrough Performance: Charlize Theron for MONSTER. There was no doubt she had to get some kind of award that night, even if it was for Best Make-up of the year (which it was). Suffering from stage fright, she admitted to seeing circles in front of her eyes, which was so cute, though having been alerted of that, I half expected her to pitch forward at any minute and land on one of the front tables. Given her nervous state, she got through about a million acknowledgments in no time at all, reading the list with the speed of an auctioneer.

Best Foreign Film: THE BARBARIAN INVASIONS. Presenter Dan Aykroyd barreled up onto the stage, imbued with lunatic energy, and burst into song – “Hey, Everybody…!”, exhorting the assembled throng to join in. It was a Blues Brothers moment, I guess, and the audience loved it even while they didn’t know what to make of it. His intro to Denys Arcand, the Canadian director, was slightly more low key, informed, and complimentary. When Arcand took the stage, he confessed that he’d been urged to be funny, but after that intro, he was not going to attempt it.

Best Original Screenplay: Jim Sheridan and daughters Naomi & Kirsten for IN AMERICA. The main thing I took away from their delightfully anecdotal acceptance speeches was how both of Sheridan’s daughters charmingly pronounced the word ‘film’ as ‘filum’.

Kathy Baker, presenting to Anthony Minghella for Best Adapted Screenplay (COLD MOUNTAIN), was clearly an adorable person, shooting impish looks at her peers. Very pretty in person, too, in a muppetish kind of way. I even got a cute smile from her myself.
Clare Danes, another presenter with a comical yet beautiful face, begged off improvising, but then proceeded to pepper her prepared script with sharp little asides. In fact, all but about two or three of the presenters and presenteds were in their finest articulation mode. Those who fell a few choice words short included Hope Davis and Jeffrey Wright.

The Ensemble Award: LORD OF THE RINGS. Several of the cast members came up, including three hobbits and Liv Tyler. What was weird about this was how she towered over the rest of them, suggesting to me that there might have been fewer forced perspective special effects than I’d thought. The acceptance speech was given by Sean Astin , who played Sam in the films, a character I’d grown pretty bored with by the third part, until things suddenly got rather dark and I really grew to like him.

The Billy Wilder Award for a Career in Directing was given to Norman Jewison. I’d been on the set of THE CINCINNATI KID back when I was in college in New Orleans, and had found it inspiring to watch Jewison work, and to meet Edward G. Robinson, Karl Malden, Steve McQueen and Ann Margaret. I even made the cover of American Cinematographer Magazine in 1965, hovering near Jewison as he directed a scene on location at the Royal Orleans Hotel. It was good to see him receive this award, and he seemed thrilled, as well as a bit incoherent, referring to us more than once as “The New York Board of Review”, and imploring us that Canada and the US should be friends. His intro had been delivered by a truly eccentric John Patrick Shanley (screenwriter of MOONSTRUCK), hunched over, talking like someone out of Damon Runyon, tossing the pages of his speech over his shoulder as he finished each one — and a great speech it was.

Best Film: MYSTIC RIVER. Janet kept pestering me about how they could give it Best Film and not give Eastwood Best Director. That’s a question I’ve heard often over the years, and while sometimes I can explain it, all I can say most of the time is that it boils down to the intricacies of a group vote. Clint Eastwood was introduced by Laura Linney, and he was the only recipient of the evening to drag others up with him, namely his two intimidated producers who stuttered out their words of thanks. Clint later returned to the podium to present:

Roy Frumkes greets Morgan Freeman at The 1989 D.W. Griffith Awards Ceremony, unaware of what was coming....

The Career Achievement in Film Award to Morgan Freeman who, by 10:40, suggested that although he’d prepared some words, he agreed with a previous recipient that “…we all gotta pee” and cut it short. I wondered if he’d remembered his last, precedent-setting appearance at our Awards Ceremony. It was back in 1989, on my watch. He was presenting an award to Denzel Washington, and took the opportunity to chide the Board, in a painless enough way, about the irony of his being asked to present a ‘D W Griffith’ Award, as it was called then, and to be presenting it to another black actor no less. Cut to the following year, and the Award’s name had been changed from “D W Griffith” to ‘NBR’.

As part of the prelude to Hans Zimmer’s Achievement in Filmusic Award, a deft montage of film and score clips of the composer’s work had been prepared. In fact, knowledge and taste had been hallmarks of all the edited clips shown that evening, save for one: as an intro to Ed Zwick’s Best Directing award, the clip chosen for THE LAST SAMURAI felt improper, a battle sequence reeking of second unit work. Something that better showed off the ‘imminence’ of the cinematography and the sense of the Zwick’s direction would have been more appropriate. But all the clips, I’m told, were prepared by the studios, so I’m glad I loved as many of them as I did.

Janet’s favorite presenters were Tom Brokaw (to Errol Morris for THE FOG OF WAR) and Lauren Bacall (for the Ensemble Award). We talked about these, and the other celebs, all the way home, and will be recounting the highlights of the evening to friends for many weeks to come. I wish our loyal readers all could have been there.

As a postscript, let me mention that there were several lovely coffee-table books on our tables that evening, including ones for COLD MOUNTAIN (Newmarket Press), THE LAST SAMURAI (Time Inc Home Entertainment), and THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING (Harper Collins), including pictures of Christopher Lee, who did not make the final theatrical cut, much to his fans’ chagrin.

And for those eager to get a little deeper into middle earth on an intellectual level, there’s another book which wasn’t on the tables that night which I can recommend: ‘Tolkien: A Cultural Phenomenon’ by Brian Rosebury (Palgrave Macmillan)

New York, NY, December 4, 2002 – The National Board of Review of Motion Pictures named Paramount’s The Hours 2002 Best Film of the Year. The following honorees will be presented with awards at the annual gala on Tuesday, January 14, 2002 in New York City.

TOP TEN FILMS OF 2002
1. The Hours – Best Film
2. Chicago
3. Gangs of New York
4. The Quiet American
5. Adaptation
6. Rabbit-Proof Fence
7. The Pianist
8. Far From Heaven
9. Thirteen Conversations About One Thing
10. Frida

TOP FIVE FOREIGN FILMS OF 2002
1. Talk to Her – Best Foreign Film
2. Y Tu Mama Tambien
3. 8 Women
4. City of God
5. El Crimen del padre Amaro

Best Actor: Campbell Scott, Roger Dodger
Best Actress: Julianne Moore, Far From Heaven

Best Supporting Actor: Chris Cooper, Adaptation
Best Supporting Actress: Kathy Bates, About Schmidt
Best Acting by an Ensemble: Nicholas Nickleby
Breakthrough Performance Actor: Derek Luke, Antwone Fisher
Breakthrough Performance Actress: Maggie Gyllenhaal, Secretary

Best Director: Phillip Noyce, The Quiet American and Rabbit- Proof Fence
Best Directorial Debut: Rob Marshall, Chicago
Screenwriter of the Year: Charlie Kaufman, Adaptation, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Human Nature

Best Documentary: Bowling for Columbine
Best Animated Feature: Miyazaki’s Spirited Away
Best Film Made for Cable TV: The Laramie Project

Special Award for Visionary Cinematic Achievement: George Lucas
Career Achievement: Christopher Plummer
Special Filmmaking Achievement: George Clooney, Director, Producer, and Star of Confessions of a Dangerous Mind
Career Achievement – Film Music Composition: Elmer Bernstein
Career Achievement – Cinematography: Conrad Hall

Humanitarian Award: Sheila Nevins

William K. Everson Award for Film History: Annette Insdorf for her book “Indelible Shadows: Films and the Holocaust ”

Special Recognition of Films that Reflect the Freedom of Expression:
Ararat, Bloody Sunday, The Grey Zone, Rabbit-Proof Fence

Special Mention for Excellence in Filmmaking
The National Board of Review, in keeping with its long tradition of recognizing excellence in filmmaking is proud to salute the following films, crafted by visionary artists which demonstrate the creativity and determination which have always been vital to the film industry:
Frailty
The Good Girl
The Guys
Heaven
Igby Goes Down
Max
Personal Velocity
Real Women Have Curves
Roger Dodger
Sunshine State
Tadpole
Tully