Tuesday, March 01, 2005

"Too Much Of The Mummy Returns"

Of course the Oscars are meaningless; as the gimlet-eyed fame professionals at Fametracker remind us on an annual basis, they are constructed on the lascivious whims of five identical clones of Karl Malden. I just wish they'd give one to Martin Scorcese one of these years, because the fact that Clint Eastwood, Kevin Costner, and Mel Gibson have been so honoured is... well, the conclusion to that sentence is unacceptably hackneyed, but the beginning bears repeating now that Eastwood has been elevated even above the field of Costner and Gibson as an elite director of our times.

Certainly, Scorcese's films are becoming less and less interesting as he devolves into explicit Oscar-baiting, and this is a real shame. I am convinced that there exists, somewhere, a passable cut of Gangs of New York, one that is approximately an hour shorter and from which Cameron Diaz's character has been wholly excised. And more Daniel Day-Lewis. Can't have too much Daniel Day-Lewis. In fact, just extend the scene with him tapping his eyeball with a knife so that it lasts for five minutes. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap! As for The Aviator, really, blah. I say this as the only person in the world convinced that Bringing Out The Dead counts as A-grade Scorcesiana, mind you.