Devious Maids

Can somebody tell me why somebody isn't out there in the Australian film industry trying to adapt some of these plays that companies are bringing to local theatregoers? Maybe it's just because this year has been a rather empty in regards to local films, but I have been infinitely more excited about this trailer for the Sydney Theatre Company's performance of The Maids than any film. I know any film adaptation would struggle to get a cast as amazing as Cate Blanchett, Isabelle Huppert, and Elizabeth Debecki (well, they could certainly get Debecki). The latter's name you may not know, but she was so fabulous as Jordan in Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby that one wishes F Scott Fitzgerald had written more for her to do back in the 1920s (or that Luhrmann had taken a bit of creative license and made her a part of the film's climax in some way).


The play by Jean Genet was adapted once into a film in 1974 with Susannah York and Glenda Jackson, but as far as I am aware it's not very well known and it never received any awards attention so it probably isn't as good as the original material's reputation might suggest. That just makes the prospect of modern day adaptation all the more tantalising of a prospect. And, just by the way, adapting a famous international work whether it be a play or a book would certainly help with getting distributor attention across the globe. America and the UK adapt works from across borders all the time. And, hey, you got Isabelle Huppert to visit Australia to perform in the play, who says she wouldn't be willing to come back for a film version?

This promo trailer for the production (which features a new Australian adaptation, just by the way) is even filmed in a way that could be mistaken for a film trailer. There's certainly moments that look more interested in representing the material in a way that wouldn't possibly have the same effect on stage. The image below is just one instance - although looking at the way the stage is set up, it appears that there is a large screen hovering above the stage that allows the production to do certain things with lighting and staging that a play typically could not.

I dunno. I just wish Australian filmmakers were a bit more adventurous with what they choose to bring to the screen. I wasn't the biggest fan in the world, but Unfinished Sky from several years ago, adapted from a 1998 Dutch film, showed a keener awareness than one might initially think. Mostly, of course, I'm just really jealous that people in Sydney get to see this play and I don't, and isn't that what adapting theatre to the screen is all about?

Tony Tony Tony Awards (Brief Thoughts)

Today, over at The Film Experience, I look at Cyndi Lauper's win at last night's Tony Awards and what it means for her chances of claiming the EGOT. Basically, she's close if only she'd embrace writing songs for film more often than not. I think she could easily win an Oscar and complete the quad of entertainment industry awards, but she needs to try a bit harder than stuff like (the admittedly very awesome, but so not Oscar material) "Hole in My Heart (All the Way to China)" from Lauper's only attempt at leading lady status, Vibes.

Gosh, watching that music video is rather scary, isn't it? I have no idea what Vibes is all about from watching it, but I suspect there's a lot of racist representations of Asian culture. I'm not surprised to read that Cyndi was a bit embarrassed by the whole and stopped performing it until audiences in (where else?) Australia were so insistent. The song was a hit here and New Zealand and nowhere else, but considered a well-known under-appreciated gem by fans.

Speaking of the Tony Awards though, I definitely think my favourite part of the ceremony (which, just by the way, is the breeziest award show around, especially with Neil Patrick Harris at the helm) was the musical number as performed by Harris, Megan Hilty, Andrew Rannells, and Laura Benanti in an ode to Broadway stars and their cancelled television series. Smash, The New Normal, and Go On respectively. Take a look and try not to agree with me.


Okay, so if you said the opening number or the Pippin performance were better then I wouldn't argue. I would if you said the Matilda one was, though. That performance was meant to get me into the theatre, wasn't  it? Yikes. I still love this moment there with its trifecta of NBC stars on stage at a CBS-affiliated award show singing about the hardships of being on series that networks consider the runt of the litter. All four performers were amazing, although Benanti's drunken taken on "The Ladies Who Lunch" was a particularly hoot - "both my shows were cancelled, it's true / no show (hah hah), not one show, but two!" -  and, yes, Andrew Rannells (a Grammy winner already, maybe he's on his way to EGOT thirty years down the line if he keeps doing theatre, television, and film) was looking majorly dapper. That had nothing to do with my enjoyment of the piece though. No, none at all. What? Stop looking at me like that.

Sidebar - how strange was it that multiple Smash cast-members were in the front row? Good on the theatre community for not shunning them and the series that at least attempted to bring Broadway to audiences on more than one night a year. Cheers all 'round, I say.

Dolly Parton by Andy Warhol?

39 Stupid Moments from Texas Chainsaw 3D

As is my usual disposition, I eventually got around to seeing the latest entry in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise. I had so wanted to see it in cinemas, especially given the 3D gimmick that should have at least added a little added novelty to a film that seemed to be offering nothing that the recent "remake" and its prequel didn't already give us. It has to this day gone unreleased in Australia and I missed its US release by a month or so. I finally caught up with it following its release on home entertainment and the franchise's ratio of good to bad continues to slide down the wrong way. Making the film even more of a shame is that is positions itself as the one true direct sequel to Tobe Hooper's 1974 original. If they hadn't have bothered with that needless twist on the franchise then Texas Chainsaw 3D (no "massacre" for some unnecessary reason) then John Luessenhop's film would have been inessential but hardly an offence of filmmaking. As it stands, the direct link to Hooper's masterpiece causes all sort of problems of narrative, drama, and general old fashioned storytelling. It's a mess.

Texas Chainsaw 3D (no 3D on this DVD, which itself raises a whole world of problems) is 91 minutes long and there is almost always - and I repeat, always - something incredibly stupid happening on screen during every single one of them. Why 39? Well, the film doesn't really warrant all that much mental energy put on it so I gave up at that number. Still, I live with the comfort provided by knowing I put in more of an effort than the filmmakers. Spoilers abound, believe me.

1. The opening credits are layered across scenes of Tobe Hooper's 1974 original as filtered through an Instagram filter, which I presume was meant to get the audience into the atmospheric state of dread that the original dwelled in to such powerful effect. I imagine the filmmakers thought doing this would give them a leg up, allowing Hooper's film to do the work that they knew they were incapable of. Sadly, it just lays the groundwork for disappointment by so overtly referencing how great the original was. Even in these near context-free snippets it's genuinely hard not to be creeped out. Shame the director seemingly hadn't even seen the original to figure out what the hell made it so creepy.

Introducting Tremaine 'Trey Songz' Neverson as... Terry McMinn's butt?

2. I'm sorry, but what is a "Trey Songz"? Okay, I'm being facetious - I know that Trey Songz is a singer of some sort, although I wouldn't be able to recognise any of his songs if you asked me to. Apparently he has five albums under his belt, which is news to me. But, then, I don't generally listen to the radio anymore so I wouldn't have the slightest idea what the hell he even sings.

3. Their plan to revitalise the memory of Hooper's film fails them dismally the moment they cut to the new film proper. This movie has been filmed in appalling unattractive digital that performs a complete 180 to the intent, aesthetic, and effect of Daniel Pearl's cinematography of 1974. Where the original worked so hard and yet looked so effortless in creating its sense of realistic, sun-drenched terror, this sequel's camera work by Anastas Michos is incredibly unforgiving to the creation of mood as well as to the sets in general which never look anything other than fake.

In fact, the cinematography is, perhaps, the film's biggest biggest failure. These films demand atmosphere, but it's hard to have that when the middle of a country night is lit by floodlights. There's a joke to be made in the cinematographer's name being credited alongside one of the most terrifying moments from the original film, too, but I'm not going to make it since I'm already heaping so much scorn upon it. Look, far be it from me to suggest how a filmmaker should have done something, but wouldn't it have made more sense to feature this 1974 flashback prologue in the same sort of rough hand-held style? At least would have made the transition somewhat easier, I think,

4. I guess given the film's problems with such concepts as time and logic (which we will get to soon) I'm surprised they even remembered to have the empty semi-truck on the road, the swing in the front garden, and the saw marks in the front door.  I do question whether this small, hick-filled Texas town would have an African American sheriff. Anyone?

5. Not sure where all these Sawyer family residents came from, but wouldn't it make sense for them to lay low until the "Texas chain saw massacre" stories have subsided before then carrying on the family tradition that they're all so very proud of?

6. Bad visual effects, bad.

7. This is Paul Rae as "Burt Hartman". When he appears again later in the movie you will notice that he hasn't aged.

Just one of many moments where it becomes obvious Texas Chainsaw exists in a universe where time doesn't exist in the same way as it does on Earth.

Via

Drive like a Maniac

It was just last month that we were discussing the festival sales poster for Greg McLean's Wolf Creek 2 blatantly ripping off the design of the Evil Dead remake from earlier in the year (not to mention the earlier startling reappropriation of the Prom Night poster in the design for Patrick remake). Well, now another high profile horror flick has gone and unashamedly mimicked another film's poster for their own game. This poster for Maniac, which is finally getting a release even though it feels like it's been around for years, is so obviously trying to replicate Drive that the mind boggles.

This time it's even stranger though, since I had already commented in my Maniac review that the film's opening scene seems to have been lifted beat for beat from that of Drive. The bass-heavy soundtrack, the night-time Los Angeles car cruising, and the heavily stylised European look were so glaringly obvious that it was downright off-putting (much like a lot of the rest of the film). And now the poster? Hmmm. It all seems remarkably fishy. If people have already noticed the similarities, why would you then go and create a poster that evokes Drive as well? 

Especially disappointing is that the poster for Maniac that I had seen just prior to this one was incredible.

This is actually how it's done, folks. It's thematically relevant, sure, but it is disturbing and inventive and it pulls the unique trick of requiring the viewer to take more than a single look. It's just a shame all the other posters have been so disappointing and in today's case just a bit ridiculous.

Travelling the Mystery Road

Ivan Sen's Dreamland remains the best film I can recall having seen that never actually got a release. When the end of the decade comes along and we're discussing the best films of the last ten years, Dreamland will be there right towards the tippity top and it will have never been seen by more than a few hundred people. What a crying shame. No, really, if I had properly functioning tear ducts I would probably cry over this (alas, my infamous inability to cry at the drop of the cinematic hat permits me from doing so). I saw it at its Melbourne International Film Festival screenings in 2010 on opening day and it remained the strongest film I saw for the entire festival. I heard rumblings that it was being re-edited into a more conventional picture, but I shudder to think at Sen's hypnotic, spiritual, experimental, elliptical masterpiece being tinkered and tailored into something more traditional. This article at Inside Film mentions a St Tropez festival screening as well as a very limited release in Paris, France, so hopefully a few more people out there had a similar reaction to mine.

I bring this up because the trailer for Sen's next film has been released. Mystery Road has several elements of Dreamland that made me recall that earlier film. Elements like Tasma Walton (now given the chance to speak more than one or two line) and the barren open space of the desert (Australia rather than New Mexico's area 51 this time). Those are, however, the only similarities. In fact, the trailer for Sen's pseudo-western reminds me more of the Australian film I saw directly after Dreamland - Patrick Hughes' Red Hill. This genre has sort of popped up in the Australian industry since - and please correct me if I'm wrong - John Hillcoat's The Proposition made such a splash in 2005. It also helps that our landscape really adheres itself to these raw, stripped versions of the genre.


Sen's Mystery Road has been quite heavily buzzed and I wish I was at the Sydney Film Festival see its premiere (it is the opening night selection). I wasn't too keen on Toomelah, the film he made between Dreamland and Mystery Road, and I'm super keen to see what he does with the genre elements and that wonderful cast. Aaron Pedersen, Hugo Weaving, Ryan Kwanten (who coincidentally starred in Red Hill), Jack Thompson, David Field, Tom Barry, Robert Mammone, Roy Billing, Bruce Spence, and even the seemingly long lost Zoe Carides make up a wonderful cast (most of which are barely glimpsed or not at all in the trailer). Not just them, but there's also a Blue Heelers reunion with Tasma Walton and Damian Walshe-Howling. I wonder if local press will at all pick up on that or if it's just my Blue Heelers loving self who's excited for that.

There is always a "rookie cop out of his depth", isn't there?

It will be interesting to see how Sen responds to the more mainstream-baiting elements at work here, or whether it's just a trailer skewed at getting a few more bums in seats by marketing it as something closer to a thriller than it really is. If the film is good, like I suspect it might, then I hope it finds an audience. I think Sen is one of the most vital filmmakers in this country - my issues with Toomelah had nothing to do with his artistic credibility; he made a final directorial achievement with it - and while a film with that cast and that story have no chance of falling into the abyss ala Dreamland, it might be nice if he struck upon a hit and allowed that previous film to finally see the light of day.

Five Observations About the Trailer for Insidious: Chapter 2

I was a big fan of James Wan's original Insidious. I thought it did a lot of things right that so many similar films do wrong - for instance, it had a score that was incredibly effective, and it rather easily got around the whole haunted house issue of "well, why don't you just leave?" - but it did have its problems. I just watched the trailer for Insidious: Chapter 2 and here's some thoughts.


1. Wait, didn't somebody die at the end of the original Insidious? I could've sworn they did.

2. Hopefully the success of the original convinced the financiers to give Wan enough money to actually make a third act that isn't just set in a black room with some floating sheets and dry ice. Hopefully.

3. I'm never much a fan of scary children, but I'm totally okay with children that make evil circle them. Because children are evil. Some of the mystery figures that populate this trailer look creepy as all get out and I can't wait. Gas masks are never not scary, you know?

4. Nice to see Barbara Hershey's same face is still on there. That's a sequel we do not need.

5. Friday the 13th, you guys! Always a solid excuse to watch a stretch of horror films at a time. Also, despite having seen several horror movies already at the cinema since moving to America (way more than I had in Australia in recent times since, as I've mentioned before, they so rarely get released there) none were on opening night. I'm thinking a trip to go see Insidious: Chapter 2 on Friday the 13th is definitely on the cards. I hope it's mad like the opening scene of Scream 2. Just, you know, without all the chop chop.

Blanche Devereaux: The Movie

Did you see that The Golden Girls was only ranked no. 69 on the WGA's list of the 101 best television series of all time? While there's some appropriate comic value to be found in a show as sexually liberated as The Golden Girls ranking at that position on the chart, there's also the glaringly obvious fact that it is insanely too low. As Blanche Devereaux would say...


I am assuming that since this is the WGA's list they are ranking their list in order of "best written" shows and not simply "best shows", although some of the other rankings make me think otherwise. Twin Peaks (no. 35) for as much as I covet it is surely more of a directorial achievement, especially given the second series' infamous descent into kooksville that happened once David Lynch more or less left the show for other projects. Likewise, how do shows like Dexter (no. 67) show up higher when it got dull from a writing perspective after only several seasons. And as much as I love Sex and the City (no. 39), like Modern Family (no. 34), and casually enjoy Everybody Love's Raymond (no. 63), I refuse to believe that any professional writer would hold them in higher esteem than the groundbreaking, uncharted, side-splitting laughs of The Golden Girls. Or, for that matter, the equally groundbreaking, uncharted, side-splitting laughs of Roseanne (no. 72), Murphy Brown (no. 74), and Absolutely Fabulous (no. 92). Apparently there are 68 series better written than this:



Of course, as per usual, the list is filled with titles that were initially met with lack of enthusiasm like The Wire (no. 9), Arrested Development (no. 16 - I wonder if that would be lower if they'd seen the much-maligned season 4?), Friday Night Lights (no. 23), and Battlestar Galactica (no. 38 - remember how it was only nominated for one WGA award in its five seasons, and Mary McDonnell never received a single Emmy, Golden Globe, or SAG nomination?) which isn't to say they don't deserve it (they certainly do; it's one of the benefits of lists), but that's the nature of art. They certainly deserve to be there more than, oh, The Good Wife (no. 50) and Downton Abbey (no. 43). And if you're going to freely acknowledge mainstream procedurals like House (no. 75), I don't see why The Closer couldn't find a ranking.

Once again.


That little introduction ended up being far longer than I had expected. However, speaking of Blanche Devereaux (yes, this blog was originally meant to be about something else entirely and barely even related to that oh betwixt nightingale of a southern belle, but now can one resist going off on such a tangent?), I saw Jezebel this last weekend at MoMA and it's basically Blanche Devereaux: The Movie.

William Wyler's 1938 film hailed itself as "the greatest romance in the south", but then a year later Gone with the Wind came along so it didn't hold the mantle for too long. It doesn't help that, despite the incredible Bette Davis performance at its centre, the film isn't very good. It's a perfectly nice confection of hoop skirts, cotillion balls, and exaggerated emotions, but in the end it lacks the weight of another Davis romance, Now Voyager, or the aforementioned Gone with the Wind. It's the story of a woman who is strong-willed, unashamed in her womanhood, and rallies against societal norms like, er, wearing a red dress to a ball where unmarried women always wear white (I guess women didn't have all that much to scandalise with at the time) who then finds herself losing the man she loves due to her own stubbornness. Stupid woman, obvs lol!

I enjoyed Jezebel in fits and flourishes - I especially loved when Davis' Julie stands her ground against the potential of being hit with a can by her brash fiancée, or when Julie admits her wiser perception of the world with quotes like "I'm sorry, I forgot I'm a child. I'm not supposed to know about things like [red light district] Gallatan Street. I'm just supposed to flutter around in white," but then she will turn around and act like the very character she seems to be fighting against.

Still, apart from Bette Davis' Oscar-winning performance, the best thing about Jezebel are the humorous similarities between Julie and Blanche Devereaux as played by Rue McClanahan. All the odes to the old south and its traditions (hatin' on the Yankees and flitting between courting bachelors, basically) mingled with the feisty personality and sexually risque attitudes that are somewhat cover-ups for a more fragile personality.  Blanche is even called a "jezebel" (in comical, if derogatory fashion) several times throughout the series. It's all there. I like to imagine Blanche's mother was a fan of the movie and raised her daughters accordingly. Maybe, to quote one of my favourite lines from the '80s smash sitcom, "her mother was a slut, too." Much like the mountain due on the honeysuckle as the golden sun rises over the majestic Rocky Mountains and the Mississippi River, that bringer of energy and salvation, Blanche is a Jezebel loud and proud. Now, wouldn't Blanche Devereaux: The Movie make a much more entertaining enterprise? I think so.

American Fame

I really don't know what to say about this. That the Lifetime network have made a television movie based on the life and times of Anna Nicole Smith is hardly surprising. They're not exactly known for their prestige and award-winning drama. However, what is surprising - and, quite frankly, a little depressing - is that The Anne Nicole Story (even the name sounds like glam-trash, which is befitting, I guess) is directed by one Mary Harron. Yes, the director of masterpiece American Psycho is now forced to direct TV movies about Anna Nicole Smith. And, let's be honest, this doesn't look like a Soderbergh-making-Liberace-for-HBO scenario, but rather a director taking whatever she can to survive in the industry.

The film (admittedly sight unseen) appears to signify a most startling fall from grace for the director that had proven to be such a unique feminine voice in the American arthouse scene. With I Shot Andy Warhol, The Notorious Bettie Paige, and one of the very few best films of the 2000s American Psycho, Harron's film's were rich and complicated, constantly flirting with female and male sexuality in ways that were far from the norm for both mainstream and the American mainstream flirting era of independent cinema that rose so prominently in the 1990s. In that regard The Anna Nicole Story makes some thematic relevance to her career - I have not seen her teen-lit adaptation The Moth Diaries, but I suspect that fits in with her favoured themes as well - but it's hard to ignore the basic fact that this just doesn't look particularly good.

Set to a cover of Irene Cara's "Fame", The Anna Nicole Story has a plot that everybody knows. When she was alive, Anna Cover was a walking, talking cliché. I have no doubt that Harron will be able to wring something out of her story, and it's nice to see Agnes Bruckner again who I don't think I've seen since Blue Car many years ago, but I can't help but wish she would get back together with former writing partner Genevieve Turner and make something as ferocious as American Psycho. Watch the trailer below and be as confused as I am.

I do notice that the cast includes Martin Landau and I can only hope that means he's playing her feeble octogenarian husband. What a confounding one minute of video. And furthermore, speaking of Agnes Bruckner and Blue Car, that film's director Karen Moncrieff has a new film coming soon, too. Something called The Trials of Cate McCall.

Armie Hammer is "Wanted"

Well, never let it be said that from time to time Hollywood does indulge in a bit of "truth in advertising". For all the excessively Photoshopped visions of beauty and plot misdirects, occasionally they do just put the truth out there for all to behold. I took this photo at the AMC Loews on Broadway and I can't seem to find a digital copy online, so, er, forgive the bad photography. I wasn't aware I'd be having to use it. Ultimately though all that matters is that, yes, Hollywood, I do want Armie Hammer. I want him all for myself.

And, really, who wouldn't?

RIP(?) Smash

It seems silly to eulogise the NBC series Smash. The show seemed to make self-loathing an art form. One that it wasn't particularly good at, but occasionally struck magical gold. I've discussed many times both here on the blog and in the real world (something of which the Smash writers know absolutely nothing about if their second season efforts are anything to go by) about how there wasn't just potential in the series, but in each scene. There was always something brilliant waiting to break out from all the wilted melodrama and whingeing entitlement, but it never got there. And during the second season, it never even got to the glorious camp-ridden heights of the first. I'm sad to see the idea of Smash gone rather than Smash itself because, with its failure brings the sad knowledge that television networks won't even try something like it again any time soon unless its aimed at the youth set like Glee (a show that has had its own fair share of problems, but benefited by a willing audience with pocket money and an iTunes account).

It doesn't feel like an axing, really, but more a mercy killing on NBC's account. I was surprised to read that second season showrunner Josh Safran had actually long ago concocted a season three plot arc. That the arc involved the intolerably self-righteous Karen Cartwright moving to the big screen and filming a big Hollywood musical (in New York City, natch, in order to keep contracted actors in a job) shows that even to this day nobody seems to have figured out why the show was eventually such a disaster: Katherine McPhee. She's certainly a pretty woman and a half-decent singer and performer with the right material, but she was the wrong fit for Smash. That executive producer Steven Spielberg thought it was Megan Hilty that was the problem speaks volumes. The second season's obsession with Karen, Jeremy Jordan's petulant Jimmy, and Hit List, the fictional musical inspired by Rent (even down to killing off the book's writer for sympathy/plot contrivance) that had a plot nobody could follow, was a failed experiment at juggling two shows at once - a good idea in theory, but poorly executed - that ultimately destroyed any good will us Smash fans once had. I guess it was its own ability to be occasionally brilliant made it impossible for the rest of the show to keep up.

By the last three or four episodes, the production seemed so obviously rushed that I would have sworn they knew the axe was going to fall (the entire season was filmed before airing, which could explain season one's insistence of Karen as Marilyn, but why the continued devotion to her in season two when she was clearly unpopular). By the season finale that aired last night, the inevitable cancellation that hung over the series for fans all season long seemed a natural fit given they were tying up loose ends left and right, giving happy endings to (almost) every major character, and providing a general sense of "it's over". The opening performance of Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure" was bold italic underlining the sentiment. I guess it just shows how off the behind the scenes people really were as to what people wanted to see.

The biggest casualty of Smash's new direction was character. By the end they'd almost all lost direction: Ivy Lynn was legitimately considering keeping her baby (with Derek Wills of all people) and leaving her thriving Broadway career behind to be a "Mr and Mrs Smith" like she sings about on stage eight times a week; Tom and Julia both had separate plot lines that involved them utilising mobile phones in darkened theatres, something any lover of theatre would cringe at, while Tom began acting like a horny, ravenous dog by the end; Anjelica Huston's Eileen Rand was flipping and flopping all over the place, changing her attitude from scene to scene by the final episode; and the potential delicious evil of the Daisy Parker character was entirely misjudged making me long for the days of Ellis. That her character ended up celebrated flies in the face of reality given the general public's obsession and bloodthirsty nature for slut-shaming.

Furthermore, characters were introduced and ditched at a moments notice. The season's opening storyline involving Jennifer Hudson was entire superfluous to everyone that came before and after. They couldn't even get her back for a cameo in the finale. Jesse L Martin, too, who was criminally not asked to sing once on the show, was curiously missing from the final several episodes. Curious given he shepherded Hit List and he apparently had no desire to watch its premiere or attend the Tonys? I think not. And speaking of the Tonys. Wow. That has to have been the worst fake awards show I have ever seen. So cheap and tacky - nothing at all like the real show that is big and shiny and fun. Such a missed opportunity, too, given the prevalence of theatre stars they could have had guest star - Sutton Foster, Anika Noni Rose, Harvey Fierstein, and Audre McDonald were just one of the names mentioned. And then there's the after party, which looked as if it was held in a bar in Brooklyn with maybe 60 people in attendance. This is the climax of the New York theatre season, it doesn't die in a whimper. Although, given that apparently no other shows apart from Bombshell and Hit List seemed to exist in this alternate universe, it was probably a good choice for Sutton Foster to stay at home on the couch. It seriously was like nobody involved in the writing and directing of this show had ever actually been to the theatre. I'd genuinely like to know when Josh Safran last went.

See how mad this show made? And we didn't even a reprise of "Let's Be Bad", instead getting a baffling Roxie and Velma style duet between Ivy Lynn and Karen. I'm sorry, what? Who could tell by the end, really. Who was mad at who, who was bonking who, who was rich and who was poor. It was all a crap chute, which is a crying shame. Thankfully not everyone will emerge out of the show covered in muck. Anjelica Huston is Anjelica Huston and will continue to work whenever she wants while Debra Messing never embarrassed herself and even in fact did the best work of her career. Megan Hilty, meanwhile... well, if she decides to return to Broadway after the end of Smash and having released a CD who would blame her? They'd certainly welcome her back with open arms and without a wind-machine aided Karen Cartwright to steal her spotlight.

You were a strange ride, Smash. Frequently frustrating and maddening; occasionally brilliant. By the end you swerved too close to a literal reading of your finest achievement - that'd be "Let's Be Bad" (below) - to last, but it was wild having Broadway on the box once a week while it lasted.

12 Thoughts from the Cannes Film Festival Awards Presentation

By now you're probably aware that Abdellatif Kechiche's three-hour lesbian romance drama Blue is the Warmest Colour (also known as La Vie Adele - Chapitre 1 & 2 in its native French, a rare case of the international retitling making for a somewhat more interesting and beguiling choice) has taken the Palme d'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival. It feels like a surprise given the sort of films that jury president Steven Spielberg tends to make - of course, as we should all know, what one artist creates and what they choose to ingest are not always the similar - but with the likes of Nicole Kidman, Ang Lee, and Lynn Ramsay on the jury alongside him, the critical raves the film received were surely too big to ignore.

Still, for all the surprise over not just the winning film, but the winning recipients - stars Adele Exachopoulus, so good in The Round-Up and I felt like the only person who knew who she was before the festival began, and Lea Seydoux were included in the historic Palme d'Or - the ceremony provided many funny, strange, and cringe-worthy moments that are also worth discussing.

One can only hope that Jane Campion - who prior to this evening was the only female Palme d'Or winner, although that title still does sorta stand just with a big ol' asterisk above it as she's still the only female director to win - was using this two week sojourn in Cannes to network for her Top of the Lake follow up, whatever that may be. Maybe Mads Mikkelson here could be a good foil for her once she's wrapped on the next season on Hannibal. Of course, it's hard not to hope and pray to Movie Jesus that she and Palme juror Nicole Kidman were gasbagging backstage and throwing around ideas for another collaboration. Is that too much to ask?

At some 85 years old, French filmmaker - and, really, a pioneer of sorts - Agnes Varda continues to be an amazing, entertaining gal. Her magical bob of coloured hair and her way with words. Even dubbed, her "hats off" remark made me giggle. And paired with the gorgeous (if criminally underseen in films that make it outside of Asia) was an odd juxtaposition, but hey... I wish more award ceremonies threw together combinations like this more often.

DIVINE GODDESS. It must be said that Kidman has been virtually flawless at this Cannes Film Festival with her fashion. She's said that portraying Grace Kelly in the upcoming Grace of Monaco re-inspired her with fashion and it definitely showed throughout. Just look at this or this and was there even any reason for anybody else to bother? I think not. Even the way Spielberg introduced her was like he was admitting her divine goddess-like immaculate nature. DIVINE GODDESS.

Alexander Payne - who's actually quite good looking although maybe he's turning into Patrick Duffy? - was accepting the male acting prize for Bruce Dern, the star of Payne's Nebraska. Despite my loathing of Payne's The Descendants, I might be okay with a Dern awards season run if he decides to bring daughter Laura Dern along for the ride (especially since Dern gave her best performance in Payne's best film, Citizen Ruth so it's nice symmetry), which she did at the film's premiere.

Still, what we cannot ignore is the fact that there was apparently a entire alternate universe between the perceptions of men and women in the pre-presentation speeches. The men, after being given a list of previous illustrious winners, are described as having "touched our hearts and given their all". They "overwhelm us" and are labelled "nobel" (can anybody make out what the lady says after "nobel"?) and deified as the champions of cinema. The women, on the other hand, during Orlando Bloom's opening ramble, are labelled as little more than property. "An actress doesn't belong to herself, she belongs to those who watch her." Lovely sentiment (by Ava Gardner, no less) and now I wonder if we can utilise this newfound ownership to make them do better projects? If I'd known all along that I owned Nicole Kidman, you guys...

I obviously haven't seen Asghar Farhadi's The Past - just like everything else at Cannes, us mere mortals must wait and wait and wait - but I'm super stoked by Berenice Bejo who won for Best Actress. I enjoyed her greatly in The Artist, even if her Oscar nomination for best supporting actress a bit iffy, and am glad she didn't use the fact that her American introduction was in a silent movie to smoothly sashay into American productions. It could have been so easy given so few have actually heard her speak, but instead she went to a French production by an Iranian auteur. Good on her, I say.

Asia Argento was positively on the verge of orgasm throughout her presentation of the screenplay prize to Jia Zhang-ke for A Touch of Sin. Actually, she always seems like she is on the verge of orgasm most of the time, but this seemed like a particularly peculiar time to be so. Steven Spielberg was certainly wondering what the hell was going on, trying to remain stony faced throughout her entire speech.

Speaking of Zhang-ke, I hope A Touch of Sin is anywhere as good as Still Life. Each of the films of his that I have seen since have been... well, not good. I hope to catch the Chinese director's last Cannes competitor, 24 City, at MoMA's retrospective on Chinese documentary. I hope.

Why isn't Rossy de Palma in the new Pedro Almodovar film again?

The host for the evening was Audrey Tautou. She's French, I guess. She got to look like a massive pixie, as if she's just walked in off the set of her new Michel Gondry film, and got to say stupidly written awards banter. The oddest of which was her "ooh la la" intro for Uma Thurman. Women are pretty and that's all that's worth mentioning! Along with realising I now own all the actresses I have ever seen in a movie, this was a very enlightening awards ceremony. Who needs "I Saw Your Boobs", hey?

"I'm pretty and wearing a great dress and I'm in the new Lars Von Trier movie..."

"Bitch, don't even think of entertaining the thought of being as divine and brilliant as me, okay? Smile, Nic."

"A Palme d'Or can take place in Cherbough, Rome, Paris, or in Texas. A Palme d'Or can be about a man and a woman, a dancer in the dark, or a taxi driver. It could blow up like a pulp fiction, or trigger the apocalypse. Now because of a Palme d'Or one of you will discover what la dolce vita is."

LOL, Uma. The scriptwriters worked overtime trying to stuff all those famous Palme d'Or winners into your introduction. And they couldn't get in an All That Jazz reference? Ugh. The Emmy-nominated guest star of Smash (!!!) was very pleased with herself.

I like that Steven Spielberg got up to announce the most prestigious film festival prize in the entire world with little more than a piece of scrap paper torn out of a binder book. It was a contrast to the usual white and gold cards that were used to announce all the other categories and, in retrospect, was a sign that he was about to do something somewhat off script. Actually, I wonder how much the festival itself knew about the tri-award announcement given the paper situation or Steven simply didn't want to forget to say anything and they couldn't fit it on one of their official cards.

Adele Exarchopoulos with her Palme d'Or scroll under her arm. I don't think at this stage that she and Lea Seydoux had quite figured out what had happened, but then neither had most people. I was super glad to hear during the festival that IFC's Sundance Selects picked up Blue is the Warmest Colour for an American release, but I was much more worried about Australia. It would have been incredibly disappointing if the film had remained consigned to film festivals. I was glad to read just a short while ago that Transmission Films acquired it and that's excellent news for everybody. Granted, a 175-minute explicit lesbian drama is never going to get a wide release and I worry about censorship given the already famous 20-minute sex scene, but at least Aussie audiences will get the chance to see the film at some point. Its win will certainly give the film leverage when it comes to defending that sex scene with the local censorship bodies that will inevitably raise a fuss. It'll definitely be a story worth following.

Well done to everyone involved in Blue is the Warmest Colour and I look forward to seeing it as well as whatever other Cannes titles make their way down the pipeline over the next couple of years.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot: The Talented Mr... Seale

It has admittedly been a few years since I have watched Anthony Minghella's The Talented Mr Ripley. And yet I remember it so vividly in my mind. So much so that years removed I can still remember invidivual sequences and shots. I seem to remember the camera repeatedly looking up and down, as if the entire film is told from the perspective of where Matt Damon's "Mr Ripley" sees himself being and where he sees everyone else. I didn't rewatch the film to prepare for this week's Hit Me With Your Best Shot - a series at Nathaniel Rogers' The Film Experience dedicated to viewers finding their favourite shot amongst a designated title of the year - but I skimmed through and found myself immersed in a treasure trove of gorgeously lensed moments from Mr John Seale.

John Seale is an Australian four-time Oscar nominee, winning for Minghella's earlier picture, The English Patient. I was surprised to find he wasn't nominated for The Talented Mr Ripley. Apart from being a beautiful movie in general, it really is fabulously filmed and all those European locations certainly don't hurt matters. But, then again, The Talented Mr Ripley and the Oscars had a weird relationship that year that had Harvey Weinstein basically jump ship to the (curiously over-performing) The Cider House Rules, leaving Minghella and co to flounder about racking up a (still very respectable) five nominations. The five that were nominated are certainly a stellar bunch, so Seale (nor I) should really be able to complain. Still... I would have expected more than mere Chicago and Las Vegas to stump for the guy.

Okay, so this one's just because Jude Law is so freakin' good looking. I can't. I just can't.

I love the mirror between these two shots from different scenes in the movie. Ripley down front with Dickie in charge at the back, and then vice versa when the tables are turned.

Tom Ripley literally sees himself (or, projects himself as doing so) as so small that he could be crushed under foot.

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I greatly enjoy the way that once Jude Law exits the picture - er, spoiler? - everyone begins having to question who they're even conversing with (they should, alas they don't). This moment of Cate Blanchett's return to the picture is divine, almost like a Hitchcock cameo in the beginning. At first the viewer may not notice her in the background, but then neither does Tom.

My favourite shot, however, is this one. Tom has finally risen not only in social standing, but within myself. And at this moment as the potential for all of his lies to become unravelled he stands up the top and, in actual fact, is guiding everything like a puppeteer. Out of sight he plays the characters of Gwyneth and Cate with the skill of a marionette master, laying the foundation for what comes next.