As I told you yesterday, Enthusiasts, the instantly irreplaceable documentary Long, Strange Trip will be coming back to theaters for limited runs in New York and Los Angeles; I did not mention the reason. The spectacular film and its heroic director, FoTotD Amir Bar-Lev, are up for some prizes. The Critics’ Choice Documentary Awards has an illustrious history stretching all the way back to 2016, when trolley cars ruled the avenues and baseball was still segregated. So the critics have a chance to see the flicks before voting, they’re all screened in a theater before the show.
Literally none of that is true. You made all of that up.
Who gives a shit?
History. History will care, and history will judge you for your intellectual malfeasance.
Explain to me what intellectual malfeasance is, and I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.
Just try to get information correct.
That is most assuredly not my job around here, bucko.
The awards ceremony is being held November 2nd; the Los Angeles run isn’t until the 3rd.
There might be Time Sheath technology at play here.
There is not. You made up the thing about why LST is going back to theaters. You saw there was an awards show and you conflated the two ideas in your head without thinking about it any further.
Get your shit together.
I’m ignoring you.
The world’s ignoring you.
Anyway, the movie’s up for Best Music Documentary and Amir’s up for Best Director. The betting door at Offtrack Betting on the Dead (OtBotD) is now open.
Though I have seen only one of these films, I can confidently say that the one I saw was the best. Not a strong field of horses here, if we handicap with an objective eye, and no eye is more objective than mine, as not only have I not seen these films, I have not heard of them. Even with this paucity of facts, I’d hesitate to place money on LST in this one. Very tough to beat the Eagles of Death Metal in this one. On the other hand, I would still pony up a bet as the lead singer of EODM is a repugnant man who managed to make himself unsympathetic despite having been the target of a terrorist attack. You have to be an immense asshole to pull that one off, and Guy Who Isn’t Josh Homme is just that kind of asshole. This might split the vote, enabling a third movie to win with a plurality.
Rumble is about the role of Native Americans in rock and roll. I called him Morgan is about a trumpeter who shoots his wife. Contemporary Color is 90 minutes of color guards throwing flags around while Ad-Rock raps. The Grateful Dead is better than all of these things, especially that color guard bullshit. The Indian movie sounds interesting, but no one in the Grateful Dead fell victim to a series of plagues in the 16th and 17th century, so that makes them the winner.
Nobody in the Grateful Dead ever shot anyone, let alone their wives, so it beats the trumpet movie.
Why the pause?
I had to stop and think about whether anyone ever got shot.
Yeah, okay. It’s like: someone should have gotten shot.
By accident, at least. Mickey should have shot a teenager in the foot while yoinking merch. Or Garcia winging Rock in that basement they hid in.
It’s a miracle they made it out alive.
A lot of them didn’t.
True. What about the Clive Davis movie?
I think they’re making movies now for the sole purpose of padding out Netflix.
That means you’ll watch it.
Of course. I’m currently reading a memoir written by the drummer from the Spiders from Mars. I have a problem. Let’s get off of me. The topic is LST‘s odds, and OtBotD sets the line at 3-1. Gonna be tough to climb over all those dead French kids.
What? I’m talking about gambling. I’m being hard-boiled.
You’re being wicked. You’re a devil-person with wrong thoughts and you shouldn’t share them with the nice people.
May I continue?
To hell. You may continue on the path to hell.
Thank you. The other category we (this is now a communal undertaking) have a nod in is Best Director. Let’s see who we got:
First of all, Critics’ Choice Documentary Awards, this is too many people. You should have eliminated Morrison, Nichol, and Orlowski right off the bat for having boring names. In a similar but opposed fashion, Agnés Varda & JR are disqualified for having too interesting a name. Evgeny Afineevsky is also out, and that’s a personal thing between me and the Russians right now. Nothing against Evgeny. Irene Taylor Brodsky has three names, so fuck her. Frederick Wiseman sounds like a old-time movie star who appeared in horror movies, so he’s scratched. Matthew Heineman is just as boring a name as Morrison, Nichol, or Orlowski; I don’t know why I didn’t group him in with the others; I apologize to you for the oversight. Ceyda Torun is Star Wars character, and therefore nixed.
Amir wins. Odds of victory: 3-1.
You gave him 3-1 on the last one.
I don’t actually know how betting works.
You are bad.
Yes. We end with demands. Amir will most likely be present for one or more of the screenings in New York and Los Angeles, so I have two:
Enthusiasts in New York
Please bother Amir and take pictures.
Amir in Los Angeles
Please bother famous people and take pictures.
I would also like to be thanked from stage, but have just decided that I will write the acceptance speech. It is forthcoming.