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Ray Pride

By Ray Pride Pride@moviecitynews.com

Advanced cricketeering: Wolcott on Oscar

James Wolcott‘s drowsy Oscar live-blogging proffers a few fine, feathered jabs: “Jackie Earle Haley looks as if he’s about to star in the Alistair Crowley story and Peter O’Toole’s outfit looks as if it has hidden magic compartments, but otherwise everybody’s perfect in every facet of perfection… If there’s a dominant style in wolcott97070.jpgmovies today (there isn’t, but let’s pretend there is), it’s jagged-edged, impressionistic realism with a smoke trail of the apocalyptic, as best seen in Children of Man, Babel, and that documentary from Iraq that lost out to An Inconvenient Truth. It’s the present as a futuristic glimpse of life as a free-fire zone where all of the formal structures have broken down and the only way to survive is to keep moving. Whereas what this year’s Academy Awards reflect is the willful believe that hope is on the way, the worst can be averted, and that—oh, maybe I’ll finish that thought tomorrow, if I can reconnect the dots.”

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“Would I like to see Wormwood in a theater on a big screen? You betcha. I’d be disingenuous to argue otherwise. But we’re all part of, like it or not, an industry, and what Netflix offers is an opportunity to do different kinds of films in different ways. Maybe part of what is being sacrificed is that they no longer go into theaters. If the choice is between not doing it at all and having it not go to theaters, it’s an easy choice to make.”
~ Errol Morris

“As these stories continue to break, in the weeks since women have said they were harassed and abused by Harvey Weinstein, which was not the birth of a movement but an easy and highly visible shorthand for decades of organizing against sexual harassment that preceded this moment, I hope to gain back my time, my work. Lately, though, I have noticed a drift in the discourse from violated rights to violated feelings: the swelled number of reporters on the beat, the burden on each woman’s story to concern a man “important” enough to report on, the detailed accounting of hotel robes and incriminating texts along with a careful description of what was grabbed, who exposed what, and how many times. What I remember most, from “my story” is how small the sex talk felt, almost dull. I did not feel hurt. I had no pain to confess in public. As more stories come out, I like to think that we would also believe a woman who said, for example, that the sight of the penis of the man who promised her work did not wound her, and that the loss she felt was not some loss of herself but of her time, energy, power.”
~ “The Unsexy Truth About Harassment,” by Melissa Gira Grant