Kudos conundrum: Lobby or lay low?

'Munich,' with Eric Bana and Geoffrey Rush, is courting kudos even as Spielberg plays it cool.

As the kudo season looms, the studios and their filmmakers are warily positioning themselves for an arduous campaign.

George Clooney and Stephen Gaghan are ubiquitous on the talkshow-and-cocktails circuit, holding forth on their films and philosophies. By contrast, Terrence Malick is headed for his bunker, as is his custom. Peter Jackson, an exuberant advocate of his "Lord of the Rings" trilogy four years ago, seems oddly timorous thus far this year. Woody Allen is out there behind "Match Point," but will only agree to chat it up in concert with his principal cast.

And then there's Steven Spielberg. Having proclaimed that "Munich" must stand on its own, with no interviews granted, he magically materialized last week on the cover of Time magazine, which promptly declared his film "a secret masterpiece."

Apparently, the combination of a guaranteed cover, an adulatory article written by an occasional collaborator and an unstintingly positive prereview proved seductive to the world's most powerful auteur.

Surely no facet of the film business is subject to more second-guessing than pre-Oscar positioning. Blasting off too early is risky -- remember how "Shakespeare in Love" snuck up on "Saving Private Ryan?" No one wants to appear too aggressive -- think Martin Scorsese -- yet no studio can afford to be too laid back.

Rob Marshall was an asset to "Chicago," but thus far has remained quiet on "Memoirs of a Geisha." The ads for this complex film have set a new standard for aesthetic excellence, but who will be its advocate?

Spielberg's reticence (except for Time) supposedly stems from his fervor to avoid ideological debate. But that, indeed, may be his problem. "Munich" takes such pains to avoid advocacy that it neuters its narrative. The story's thrust repeatedly stalls as all sides of an issue are didactically propounded.

Having gone to such excruciating pains to explain that there is no "right" and "wrong" in the Middle East (thus adding to the film's exhaustive length) the filmmaker understandably wants to avoid the angst of the interview circuit.

And whatever Steven wants, Steven gets. His clout in the industry goes beyond mere final cut. He has final everything.

By contrast, Clooney and Gaghan's films are singularly aggressive in putting their ideological positions on the line. There is no ambiguity about the heavies in "Syriana"; Gaghan's film does not grind to a halt while both sides are explicated. And Clooney's message about McCarthyism and the state of television is both daunting and direct.

To be sure, the filmmaker who has the most to gain through his own advocacy is Peter Jackson, who is superbly adept at switching roles -- a disciplined filmmaker one moment, a slightly cockeyed Kiwi the next.

My first encounter with Jackson occurred four years ago during the initial screening of the first movie in his trilogy, "The Fellowship of the Ring."

The event was to take place at the Egyptian Theater on Hollywood Boulevard under the auspices of the Cinematheque, of which I am a board member. To introduce the movie, I had agreed to do a one-on-one with Bob Shaye, the chief of New Line who had boldly backed the trilogy -- surely one of the most daring gambles in movie history.

As I was taking the stage with Shaye, I spotted Jackson hovering behind a column at the side of the theater. He had been nervous about this screening and had thus let it be known that he would be "unavailable." But even as he hovered there, unkempt and shoeless as always, I could tell that he was eager to partake of what was, after all, a sort of coming-out party.

I beckoned to him. He made a sprint for the stage. The three of us now walked on together.

And Jackson was delightful, spinning anecdotes about the production, acknowledging his years of angst and his debt to Shaye. Here was a totally accomplished filmmaker engaged in persuasive salesmanship of his product. And the boy-from-the-backwoods routine worked superbly in his favor.

Today, Jackson is downright Spielbergian in his power and wealth, thanks to his gross position in "King Kong" At three hours-plus, his film is too long, yet clearly poised to be a mega-hit.

And an ape has no ideological baggage to tote around.