The Oscars are almost here! Yeeeeees! YEEEeEEEsesesesslfmgfdgmdfg;m!!!!!
Truth be told, I wish I was that excited.
In fact, I wish I cared.
No wait, I don't care that I don't care. Yes, that sounds about right.
After sitting through the interminable ceremonies for the Golden Globes and BAFTAs, I shall be hard pressed to find any strong motivation to sit through yet another Kate Winslet awards speech. Watching 30 Rock sweep up the television awards was quite the ghastly sight. And don't even get me started on Slumdog Millionaire. *vomits*
So this is the part where I complain about the nominations for the 81st Academy Awards, knowing full well that my opinion is fruitless, has no bearing on the results and will ultimately be respected by noone. Sick.
The Best Picture category is always a topic of hot debate. Last year, the competition featured some astounding cinematic gems in the shape of No Country For Old Men and There Will Be Blood, alongside Brit hit Atonement and surprise (albeit quality) nominee Michael Clayton. Juno was thrown in to lighten the mood, and what we had was a collection of films that the Academy, critics and film buffs could see eye to eye on, for the most part. When No Country picked up the award in late February, there was little complaint. Actually, a few asswipes whinged incessantly, on the grounds that the ending "made no sense". Hey, I hear 10,000 BC is out on DVD.
This year's nominees include The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon, Milk, The Reader and Slumdog Millionaire. I have seen three of these films, yet I am more than inclined to make presumptious sweeping statements concerning the quality of those I have still to view. Bear with me here.
Benjamin Button seemed like a shoe-in, and I'm happy it was included. I will see it later in the week, my anticipation currently at high levels. Am I excited? Not in the conventional sense; this is a film so divided between those whose film opinion I trust, whereas such favourites of mine from last year like There Will Be Blood and No Country were universally praised. Heading into a film and knowing it has a mixed reception is an invigorating feeling - you have no idea on which side of the fence you will fall, and for what reasons. The entire aesthetic of Benjamin Button appears to suggest that it will no doubt be an emotional experience, and I just hope that the emotion is honest and not superficial. The cinematography I have witnessed so far from trailers and clips tells me that this could either be a rather ill-disciplined fable of high pretensions, or an honest, good-natured journey aided by a delectable visual style. Either way, it's good news that Fincher got some awards recognition this year, after the shameful Zodiac snub of 2007.
Frost/Nixon and Milk were enjoyable films, although stating how much I appreciated them, and which I find to be superior, would surely spoil my forthcoming Top Films of 2008 list. More on these films to come.
The Reader? Really?? If you're going to honour Kate Winslet at all this year, let it be for the strikingly devastating adapation of Richard Yates' Revolutionary Road. That film screams relevancy, and doesn't make it so apparent that the awards season is in its crosshair.
Rumour has it that Harvey Weinstein bullied the Academy into nominating The Reader. Fair enough, pander to this man, but you're only validating the claim made by Ricky Gervais in his comedy series Extras, that shooting a film about the Holocaust will guarantee you an Oscar. Now, I haven't actually seen The Reader, but it is painfully obvious that the whole thing is your typical Oscar-bait, so-called "imporant film". Everyone I have spoken to has told me that they wanted to turn it off after 30 minutes, and I fear I will wish to do the same. However, for the sake of fair judgement, I will force myself to watch every single melodramatic, maniuplatively cliched moment from start to finish. Hey, this is the guy that was watching The Bank Job with a friend, and requested it be kept on, despite protestations, so that he could give a proper opinion in regards to its quality. It's shit, by the way.
Gervais' prescient potshot in Extras is only further proof that the Academy are essentially still a collection of irrelevant old farts, out of step with public opinion, and even critical opinion (The Reader currently sits at around 60% on Rotten Tomatoes' Tomatometer). The nomination is truly an insult to superior films released in 2008, although outside of a win for Winslet, there isn't any need to worry about The Reader scooping up Best Picture. Not when you consider our final nominee...
Slumdog Millionaire. I'm going to save my extensive thoughts for my Top Films of 2008 post (it's coming!), but I will say this much: Slumdog Millionaire is over-stylized, shallow, meaningless garbage. It is packed to the brim with flashy techniques and heart-attack pacing that don't so much highlight the dangers of Mumbai's streets as turn them into a playground for endless swarms of running children gallavanting to the sound of M.I.A.'s entire album. Sure, this film has a pulse, and it has a nice look, but in all seriousness, it is two hours of having your head bashed around repeatedly with so many hackneyed plot devices and manipulations that require no audience response, leaving the nearest braindead cinemagoer ready to stand in applause at the sight of the end credits - which are equally horrific as the film that preceeded them!
There is nothing to take away from Slumdog Millionaire, and it's a shame it has become so well-received, because Danny Boyle has made far superior films in Trainspotting, 28 Days Later and Sunshine. What do these films have in common? They make you feel something, they have a little more to say about humanity. Slumdog Millionaire has nothing to say. It is a shallow fable, and it will sweep an Oscar in addition to its Golden Globe and BAFTA awards because it is, above all, feel-good.
Yes, there's all a perfectly good explanation for this. You see, last year's aforementioned Best Picture nominees weren't exactly uplifting examples of US cinema. Hell, even the token quirky indie Juno dealt with the weighty issue of abortion and adolescent uncertainty. There Will Be Blood told us the story of an oil man who despised himself and others. Michael Clayton was a man on the brink of self-destruction. The romance of Atonement wasn't so much unrequited as it was decimated. The gold medal went to No Country, the final scene of which depicted Tommy Lee Jones' aged sheriff pour his heart out over the despair and helplessness he felt when faced with the darkness of the modern world. Holy fucking shit, bleak or what?
Then things changed, in the USA at least. Obama rose and rose, embedded himself in the hearts and minds of the American citizens, until he finally became the first black President of the United States, inaugarated in January 2009. George W. Bush was out for good, and the spectre of the Iraq war could at least take momentary backseat to the hope for change promised by the charismatic Barack Obama.
Look at the Best Picture nominees. We're back to reflecting upon wars of the past with The Reader, a good few decades from our current turmoil. With Milk, the inspiration borne out of the martyr of Harvey Milk provides hope that more than overshadows his tragic assassination so close to the end credits. Most importantly, Slumdog Millionaire is sweeping the board and will continue to do so because it has the classic fairytale ending. We don't want bleak anymore - we want a ray of happiness.
Well this is all well and good, but I'd prefer an actual good film to be recognised as Best Picture of the year.
So what missed out? I could go for hours on the many wrong decisions that the Academy have made this year... Bruce Springsteen not securing a nomination for his song 'The Wrestler'...Sally Hawkins ignored for her role in 'Happy-Go-Lucky'...no love for 'Vicky Cristina Barcelona'...
However, what peeves me the most is the lack of nomation for Aranofsky's The Wrestler. Yes, Rourke may be getting a lot of attention, but a lot of credit has to go to Aranofsky's direction in this extraordinary tale of a fighter unable to exist within reality.
This is the kind of film that the Academy should be honouring. Utilising 16mm handheld, and refusing to resort to the cue-card tricks of the Oscar-bait melodramas, what results is a painfully honest portrayal of not just Rourke's character, but the experience of a wrestler and the wrestling industry as a whole. This one hit me pretty hard, no pun intended.
You're probably wondering how I got this far without mentioning The Dark Knight. Heh. Fanboys have been bitching about its Oscar snub ever since the nominations were announced, so in a sense I feel my work has been done for me. Interestingly enough, I don't feel The Dark Knight should be given Best Picture. "But Ed, you said it was Film of the Year!" Oh, I know, but that was a week after having seen it, and I sure was excited. Don't get me wrong, me opinion hasn't been lowered significantly, but various rewatches have allowed me get a little perspective long after the dust has settled, and ultimately acknowledge that The Dark Knight is a deeply flawed film in many areas. Haters and hypers be equally damned!
It's still great, though.
Alluding to what I said about the feel-good factor, The Dark Knight may have been a bit too bleak in its subtextual focus on terrorism. A more plausible explanation would be that the Academy are consistently retaining their snobbery in regards to summer blockbusters. Although, it would perhaps have been beneficial for the Academy to hand The Dark Knight its Best Picture nom, for the sake of their own popularity. They really were stupid to ignore it so easily. It's no secret that the ratings for the awards ceremony have been dropping with each passing year, and the inclusion of The Dark Knight amongst the Best Picture nominees, along with its immense popularity ensuring that it had a significant chance of taking the prize, would have had millions tuning in to see the result.
We'll all now be looking for better things to do with our time on February 22nd, instead of biting our nails over the prospects of The Reader.
Except for me. I'll probably still be watching.
