by Joyless Staff
As the 88th Academy Awards approach we are faced with an unhappy reality. Once again every single acting nominee (and nearly every director, screenwriter, cinematographer, etc.) is white. In light of this, we at Joyless Creatures have decided to forego our ordinary Oscar Feature and instead hone in on something more obvious about the Academy Awards: they suck. Not only is the Academy a hotbed of racism, classism, sexism, cronyism, and basically every other negative -ism in the book, but it is also notoriously bad at picking a good movie.
Sure, with hindsight, it's easy to see the sore thumbs sticking out in the history of the Academy Awards (here's looking at you Crash) but this institution has been consistently atrocious at predicting whether a film would become a classic. So to show solidarity for #OscarsSoWhite, we at Joyless Creatures have decided to look back at the worst Academy Awards ever given.
Sure, with hindsight, it's easy to see the sore thumbs sticking out in the history of the Academy Awards (here's looking at you Crash) but this institution has been consistently atrocious at predicting whether a film would become a classic. So to show solidarity for #OscarsSoWhite, we at Joyless Creatures have decided to look back at the worst Academy Awards ever given.
Best Actor
Historically speaking, the Best Actor award has been one of the least interested in craft--like Best Picture, this award is part popularity contest, part lifetime achievement award, and part social-issue award. This isn't to say that great actors haven't won but many of those wins have been make-up for previous films when they were snubbed. It's a chain reaction that continues to this day.
Consider this: John Wayne won his Best Actor Oscar for True Grit, beating out Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight, both nominated for Midnight Cowboy. Wayne should have won many times before, if not for Stagecoach or The Searchers (the two best westerns ever made) then for Rio Bravo, Red River, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, and the list goes on, but if anyone seriously thinks Rooster Cogburn made a bigger impression on the acting world than Midnight Cowboy they are dreaming.
Marlon Brando won for The Godfather--strange in itself because there is a zero percent chance that Don Corleone is the lead character in that film--but not for Last Tango in Paris (he was beat by Jack Lemmon in Save The Tiger) or A Streetcar Named Desire (beaten by Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen). Lemmon should have won years prior for his masterworks, The Apartment and Some Like it Hot, but lost to more established Hollywood names (Charlton Heston and Burt Lancaster). Bogie too should have won an Oscar prior for any number of films (Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, etc.). The idea that his grizzled steamboat captain demonstrates a better performance than Brando's spitfire of unbridled ultra-masculine emotion is laughable. Paul Newman's masterful role in Cool Hand Luke was beaten out by Rod Steiger in In the Heat of the Night. (Steiger should have won for On The Waterfront, The Big Knife, or Al Capone.) When Newman finally did get an Oscar (for Scorcese's forgettable The Color of Money) he beat out the deserving Bob Hoskins (Mona Lisa) and the un-nominated Kyle McLachlan and Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet.
This year, the Best Actor award will almost certainly go to Leonardo Di Caprio, whose best leading performance was probably in Titanic way back in 1997. The winner that year? Jack Nicholson for the gag inducing As Good As it Gets. The real best actor of the year, Michael B. Jordan, will just have to win an award for some schlocky film he makes 20 years from now.
It's worth noting what it really takes to win this thing. In 88 years, a measly 6 of those awards have gone out to men of color so Jordan may be perpetually out of luck. (The only more monochromatic category is Best Actress for which Halle Berry is the sole winner of color.) The vast majority of winners have been actors in their 40's and (since 1988) the majority of winners have been playing characters with some kind of mental or physical disability or illness. Can these strange criteria really be what the Academy considers the craft of acting? (Jeremy Meckler)
Consider this: John Wayne won his Best Actor Oscar for True Grit, beating out Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight, both nominated for Midnight Cowboy. Wayne should have won many times before, if not for Stagecoach or The Searchers (the two best westerns ever made) then for Rio Bravo, Red River, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, and the list goes on, but if anyone seriously thinks Rooster Cogburn made a bigger impression on the acting world than Midnight Cowboy they are dreaming.
Marlon Brando won for The Godfather--strange in itself because there is a zero percent chance that Don Corleone is the lead character in that film--but not for Last Tango in Paris (he was beat by Jack Lemmon in Save The Tiger) or A Streetcar Named Desire (beaten by Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen). Lemmon should have won years prior for his masterworks, The Apartment and Some Like it Hot, but lost to more established Hollywood names (Charlton Heston and Burt Lancaster). Bogie too should have won an Oscar prior for any number of films (Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, etc.). The idea that his grizzled steamboat captain demonstrates a better performance than Brando's spitfire of unbridled ultra-masculine emotion is laughable. Paul Newman's masterful role in Cool Hand Luke was beaten out by Rod Steiger in In the Heat of the Night. (Steiger should have won for On The Waterfront, The Big Knife, or Al Capone.) When Newman finally did get an Oscar (for Scorcese's forgettable The Color of Money) he beat out the deserving Bob Hoskins (Mona Lisa) and the un-nominated Kyle McLachlan and Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet.
This year, the Best Actor award will almost certainly go to Leonardo Di Caprio, whose best leading performance was probably in Titanic way back in 1997. The winner that year? Jack Nicholson for the gag inducing As Good As it Gets. The real best actor of the year, Michael B. Jordan, will just have to win an award for some schlocky film he makes 20 years from now.
It's worth noting what it really takes to win this thing. In 88 years, a measly 6 of those awards have gone out to men of color so Jordan may be perpetually out of luck. (The only more monochromatic category is Best Actress for which Halle Berry is the sole winner of color.) The vast majority of winners have been actors in their 40's and (since 1988) the majority of winners have been playing characters with some kind of mental or physical disability or illness. Can these strange criteria really be what the Academy considers the craft of acting? (Jeremy Meckler)
Best Visual Effects
The first time I heard audible gasps in a movie theater was the brachiosaurus reveal shot in Jurassic Park. By last summer's Jurassic World, twitchy teens were checking their phones during the climactic dinosaur battle. The innovation of computer-generated imagery (CGI) has transformed our appreciation of movies in the span of a generation, which makes the Academy Award for Best Visual Effects one of the more intriguing categories to track over the course of history. That Jurassic World wasn't even nominated for an Oscar this year pretty much says everything that needs to be said about how high the bar has been raised in terms of visual spectacle. Nonetheless, let's briefly review how this category has developed since 1928 (for a visual review, check out this excellent compilation).
Initially the category was awarded for Best Engineering Effects, then as a Special Achievement Award for Special Effects, before becoming Best Special Effects, then Best Special Visual Effects, and finally Best Visual Effects by the 1990s. In short, the Academy didn't know what to even call this type of work until just about the time Jurassic Park arrived (and won). Today the category is firmly established and in fact in 2010 was expanded from three to five nominees. Maybe it’s just as well because there weren't enough films to compete until this millennium anyway (in 1973 no award was even given). The early winners were films that attempted the most daring stunts and developed new methods of cinematography; even make-up and costume design played a major role in the visual effects.
By the 1950s, model scale sets made new worlds possible for films like Fantastic Voyage (that said, Mary Poppins still won in 1964). Bizarrely, Jaws wasn’t even nominated in 1975, but by the late 1970s Star Wars had mastered outer space. Computer effects blossomed in the 1980s but initially were considered cheating, which explains why Tron was disqualified in 1982, and why in hindsight it’s one of the biggest snubs of all time. Then James Cameron arrived, and would go on to dominate the category for the next 30 years: Aliens, The Abyss, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Titanic, Avatar (even True Lies, which was nominated but lost). I’d argue Cameron has been the most influential visual effects director in history, but that's an analysis for another time.
By the 1990s and 2000s the use of green screens and motion-capture made the visual effects field a literal playground for filmmakers. Who can forget the revisionist history of 1994 winner Forrest Gump, for example? The ability to create entire worlds from nothing inspired adaptations of timeless classics (each of The Lord of the Rings films won) and eventually brought us to Inception, Life of Pi, and Interstellar. My vote this year would go to Ex Machina, though as an understated piece of visual magic it almost certainly won’t win. But even if (when) the Academy gets it wrong this year or next, I’ll try to appreciate this era of incredible cinematic innovation. (Daniel Getahun)
Initially the category was awarded for Best Engineering Effects, then as a Special Achievement Award for Special Effects, before becoming Best Special Effects, then Best Special Visual Effects, and finally Best Visual Effects by the 1990s. In short, the Academy didn't know what to even call this type of work until just about the time Jurassic Park arrived (and won). Today the category is firmly established and in fact in 2010 was expanded from three to five nominees. Maybe it’s just as well because there weren't enough films to compete until this millennium anyway (in 1973 no award was even given). The early winners were films that attempted the most daring stunts and developed new methods of cinematography; even make-up and costume design played a major role in the visual effects.
By the 1950s, model scale sets made new worlds possible for films like Fantastic Voyage (that said, Mary Poppins still won in 1964). Bizarrely, Jaws wasn’t even nominated in 1975, but by the late 1970s Star Wars had mastered outer space. Computer effects blossomed in the 1980s but initially were considered cheating, which explains why Tron was disqualified in 1982, and why in hindsight it’s one of the biggest snubs of all time. Then James Cameron arrived, and would go on to dominate the category for the next 30 years: Aliens, The Abyss, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Titanic, Avatar (even True Lies, which was nominated but lost). I’d argue Cameron has been the most influential visual effects director in history, but that's an analysis for another time.
By the 1990s and 2000s the use of green screens and motion-capture made the visual effects field a literal playground for filmmakers. Who can forget the revisionist history of 1994 winner Forrest Gump, for example? The ability to create entire worlds from nothing inspired adaptations of timeless classics (each of The Lord of the Rings films won) and eventually brought us to Inception, Life of Pi, and Interstellar. My vote this year would go to Ex Machina, though as an understated piece of visual magic it almost certainly won’t win. But even if (when) the Academy gets it wrong this year or next, I’ll try to appreciate this era of incredible cinematic innovation. (Daniel Getahun)
Best Cinematography
Truthfully, the cinematography award has, at points throughout Oscar’s history, been a bright spot in a sea of nominees that rarely honors innovation. You can go all the way back to the very first ceremony for evidence: the winning cinematographers in 1927 were Charles Rosher and Karl Struss for Sunshine, the masterful silent film directed by German expat F.W. Murnau, which indeed contains some of the most magical images ever conjured by a Hollywood film. Over the next few decades, even the most jaded anti-Oscar cinephile would have to admit some worthy cinematographers received commendation: Gregg Toland for Wuthering Heights, Guy Green for Great Expectations, Jack Cardiff for Black Narcissus, Robert Krasker for The Third Man, and so on. While the films themselves rarely received the top prize, at least their ravishing imagery was recognized for its startling beauty.
Right around the early 1960s, though, the category started suffering from a misconception to which it still occasionally succumbs: it often honors picturesque beauty over audacity. This probably seems like a minor misfortune, or not even a problem at all; don’t we watch movies to be awed by their incredible sights? But every technician in Hollywood is a professional; every cinematographer knows how to light a scene, how to rack focus, how to use various lenses and film stocks. In an industry of top-notch proficiency, making pretty pictures doesn’t (or shouldn’t) suffice; the cinematography award should be about advancing the art form.
Take a look at the winners from the early ‘60s. Leon Shamroy won for the bloated, garish Cleopatra; Harry Stradling won for the similarly tacky My Fair Lady. These films were released in 1963 and 1964, years that contained such striking films as 8½, Contempt, The Leopard, Lord of the Flies, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, Woman in the Dunes, Kwaidan, Red Desert, I am Cuba…the list of international, groundbreaking classics goes on. Of course, you might say, the Oscars have always been known for their Anglocentrism, but these years also offered Shock Corridor, The Birds, The Haunting, Dr. Strangelove, A Hard Day’s Night, and The Pawnbrokers, so Oscar voters unwilling to read subtitles still had a plethora of visually powerful movies at their disposal.
Maybe it was the ubiquity of television, cemented by the end of the 1950s, that spurred Oscar voters to favor the gargantuan and opulent, even if such imagery had the antiseptic sheen of cliché. For every year that the industry got it right, there was another in which a visually crude and lifeless movie was lauded for its aesthetic: the year after Sven Vykvist deservedly won for Cries and Whispers, for example (1973), the award went to The Towering Inferno (!) even though John A. Alonzo was also nominated for the astoundingly seedy vision of moral corruption, Chinatown. Fast forward to today: recipients in the new millennium are almost evenly balanced between the worthy (Robert Elswit for There Will Be Blood, Robert Richardson for the jaw-dropping Hugo) and the shameful (Maurio Fiore for the rave-colored Avatar, Dion Beebe for Memoirs of a Geisha). The honored work in this category might not be as undeserving as the Best Picture category, but seeing how it is artists and technicians in the industry that cast their ballots, defiantly original work that pushes the boundary of the art form rarely gets notice (recent examples include Daniel Landin’s photography for Under the Skin and the warped visual style of Computer Chess, shot by Matthias Grunsky). This year, Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography for The Revenant seems like a given—that movie would amount to very little without his breathtaking images—but one wishes that Edward Lachman (Carol) or Roger Deakins (Sicario) would be honored for their truly unique contributions. (Matt Levine)
Right around the early 1960s, though, the category started suffering from a misconception to which it still occasionally succumbs: it often honors picturesque beauty over audacity. This probably seems like a minor misfortune, or not even a problem at all; don’t we watch movies to be awed by their incredible sights? But every technician in Hollywood is a professional; every cinematographer knows how to light a scene, how to rack focus, how to use various lenses and film stocks. In an industry of top-notch proficiency, making pretty pictures doesn’t (or shouldn’t) suffice; the cinematography award should be about advancing the art form.
Take a look at the winners from the early ‘60s. Leon Shamroy won for the bloated, garish Cleopatra; Harry Stradling won for the similarly tacky My Fair Lady. These films were released in 1963 and 1964, years that contained such striking films as 8½, Contempt, The Leopard, Lord of the Flies, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, Woman in the Dunes, Kwaidan, Red Desert, I am Cuba…the list of international, groundbreaking classics goes on. Of course, you might say, the Oscars have always been known for their Anglocentrism, but these years also offered Shock Corridor, The Birds, The Haunting, Dr. Strangelove, A Hard Day’s Night, and The Pawnbrokers, so Oscar voters unwilling to read subtitles still had a plethora of visually powerful movies at their disposal.
Maybe it was the ubiquity of television, cemented by the end of the 1950s, that spurred Oscar voters to favor the gargantuan and opulent, even if such imagery had the antiseptic sheen of cliché. For every year that the industry got it right, there was another in which a visually crude and lifeless movie was lauded for its aesthetic: the year after Sven Vykvist deservedly won for Cries and Whispers, for example (1973), the award went to The Towering Inferno (!) even though John A. Alonzo was also nominated for the astoundingly seedy vision of moral corruption, Chinatown. Fast forward to today: recipients in the new millennium are almost evenly balanced between the worthy (Robert Elswit for There Will Be Blood, Robert Richardson for the jaw-dropping Hugo) and the shameful (Maurio Fiore for the rave-colored Avatar, Dion Beebe for Memoirs of a Geisha). The honored work in this category might not be as undeserving as the Best Picture category, but seeing how it is artists and technicians in the industry that cast their ballots, defiantly original work that pushes the boundary of the art form rarely gets notice (recent examples include Daniel Landin’s photography for Under the Skin and the warped visual style of Computer Chess, shot by Matthias Grunsky). This year, Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography for The Revenant seems like a given—that movie would amount to very little without his breathtaking images—but one wishes that Edward Lachman (Carol) or Roger Deakins (Sicario) would be honored for their truly unique contributions. (Matt Levine)
Best Documentary
In some ways, the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature has been one of the Oscars' most interesting, adventurous, and politicized categories in the nearly 75 years since it was introduced. As early as 1965, the Academy had recognized one of the earliest mainstream “mockumentaries” -- Peter Watkins’ speculative take on nuclear armageddon The War Game -- effectively stretching the definition of its own category to make room for filmmakers’ burgeoning creativity. Just over a decade later, it awarded Barbara Kopple’s Harlan County, USA, an unflinching and subtly polemical look at a Kentucky miners strike. And in 1984, The Times of Harvey Milk claimed the prize nearly 25 years before the gay politics pioneer’s story got the glossy Hollywood treatment from Gus van Sant and Sean Penn.
But the Best Documentary Feature has become more formulaic in the ensuing decades, and like the big-ticket categories, its pattern of victories has come to define a sort of prescription that filmmakers follow in pursuit of Academy recognition. The financial meltdown recap Inside Job, the show-business sagas Searching for Sugar Man and 20 Feet from Stardom, and the examination of Japanese dolphin hunting practices The Cove are all fine films that tell interesting stories. Other recent awardees are less inspired--2006 winner An Inconvenient Truth, important as its impact may have been, is every bit as mind-numbingly dull as a TED talk (which were coincidentally invented in the same year), while March of the Penguins is effectively a glorified Animal Planet special--which is fine, but certainly should make it undeserving of being called 2005’s best documentary. But what all of these films have in common is a safe, glossy take on the documentary genre, sometimes with politely politicized subject matter but never boasting an adventurous approach to form or style. When the Academy passes over a feature-length documentary as strange and radical (or, for that matter, as universally acclaimed) as The Act of Killing, it’s a sign that even one of its most forward-thinking awards has become just as predisposed towards a moribund formula as the end-of-the-night honors. (Peter Valelly)
But the Best Documentary Feature has become more formulaic in the ensuing decades, and like the big-ticket categories, its pattern of victories has come to define a sort of prescription that filmmakers follow in pursuit of Academy recognition. The financial meltdown recap Inside Job, the show-business sagas Searching for Sugar Man and 20 Feet from Stardom, and the examination of Japanese dolphin hunting practices The Cove are all fine films that tell interesting stories. Other recent awardees are less inspired--2006 winner An Inconvenient Truth, important as its impact may have been, is every bit as mind-numbingly dull as a TED talk (which were coincidentally invented in the same year), while March of the Penguins is effectively a glorified Animal Planet special--which is fine, but certainly should make it undeserving of being called 2005’s best documentary. But what all of these films have in common is a safe, glossy take on the documentary genre, sometimes with politely politicized subject matter but never boasting an adventurous approach to form or style. When the Academy passes over a feature-length documentary as strange and radical (or, for that matter, as universally acclaimed) as The Act of Killing, it’s a sign that even one of its most forward-thinking awards has become just as predisposed towards a moribund formula as the end-of-the-night honors. (Peter Valelly)
Best Original Song
Director Tanya Hamilton’s 2010 Night Catches Us is a terrific small film. It’s a melodrama about life, hope, and mistrust a decade after the promise and hope of the Black Panther Party. Kerry Washington and Anthony Mackie led the bill just before they became major stars, and it has a few great walk-on performances by Wendell Pierce, Jamie Hector, and Tariq Trotter, of the Roots. It could probably have stood for a few awards. The young Jamara Griffin brought us through a child’s quiet and overwhelming relationship with unknown family history.
The Roots scored the film, bringing in deep cuts from Philadelphia R &B and Soul, alongside moody improvisations and meditative tonalism. It’s a beautiful and melancholic soundscape for a quiet classic. And as the credits roll, “How I Got Over,” by the Roots, a song that was a radio hit, starts to play. The film should have won best song. Instead, the award went to Crazy Heart's "The Weary Kind", exactly the kind of derivative, emotionally overwrought doggerel that exemplifies the words "Oscar Bait". (Joseph Houlihan)
The Roots scored the film, bringing in deep cuts from Philadelphia R &B and Soul, alongside moody improvisations and meditative tonalism. It’s a beautiful and melancholic soundscape for a quiet classic. And as the credits roll, “How I Got Over,” by the Roots, a song that was a radio hit, starts to play. The film should have won best song. Instead, the award went to Crazy Heart's "The Weary Kind", exactly the kind of derivative, emotionally overwrought doggerel that exemplifies the words "Oscar Bait". (Joseph Houlihan)
In 1979, "It Goes Like It Goes" won for Best Original Song. If you haven't heard of it, you aren't alone, it featured in the Norma Rae soundtrack and soon thereafter faded out of our memory. When the award was announced, Washington Post critic Tom Shales called it "the already forgotten ballad." The same year featured a song by Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher performed by Jim Henson as Kermit the Frog. "Rainbow Connection" belongs on the short list for the best songs ever nominated for this award, and the fact that it was beaten out by a schmaltzy ballad is puzzling bordering on disgraceful. Maybe the Academy was wary to give the award to a film that wasn't "serious" enough, but "Rainbow Connection" and The Muppet Movie sure are more appealing in 2016 than "It Goes Like It Goes." (Jeremy Meckler)
Best Director
Critical discernment has rarely been evinced by the Academy of Motion Pictures. A brief survey of filmmakers who’ve never won for achievement in directing is telling: Chaplin, Hitchcock, Welles, Lang, Hawks, Lumet, Penn, Kubrick, Peckinpah, Cassavetes, Altman, De Palma, Malick, Lynch, Fincher and on and on. It’s as baffling as it is embarrassing, and an indicator of just how often the Academy exceeds the barometers of good taste. For me, the Academy’s most egregious misstep took place at the 63rd Academy Awards.
That Kevin Costner could beat Martin Scorsese, one of cinema’s greatest stylists, for an award in direction is a testament to the Academy’s complete insanity. Goodfellas is not just the culmination of more than 20 years of filmmaking prowess; it’s also the end of an unofficial trilogy of crime pictures that began with Scorsese’s earliest street films. His remarkable debut, Who’s That Knocking at My Door?, focuses on the lives of would-be gangsters. In his breakthrough film, Mean Streets, he elevates his paisans to smalltime gangster status. With Goodfellas, Scorsese’s gangsters become larger-than-life and perhaps even larger-than-the-truth. These three pictures taken together are something of a history lesson in the evolution of cinematic gangsterdom.
The scope of Goodfellas is enormous. It engages in a cinematic conversation with Scorsese’s own films and influences, and more broadly with the history of cinema itself, from Edwin S. Porter’s Great Train Robbery to Mervyn LeRoy’s Little Caesar and Fellini’s I Vitelloni. It’s a picture that revels in its stylistic excesses. With 42 blistering pop-rock singles, dozens of stylish freeze-frames and jump cuts galore, the picture is a frenetic blast of pure cinema that only someone of Scorsese’s caliber could pull off. Conversely, Dances with Wolves is a picture with no special visual distinction. Pauline Kael infamously called the film “a kid’s daydream of being an indian.” And the film is so fatuous and light you wonder if Costner realized he’s perpetuating the same old mythology of the heroic white cowboy saving the day. What’s just as bad in terms of filmmaking is the film’s languorous 3 hour running time. So little happens in the way of drama you wonder if Costner could even direct his way out of a paper bag, which is probably why one critic said “the indians should have named him Plays with Camera.”
Of the 5 nominees for Best Director, only Scorsese and Stephen Frears (for The Grifters) were actually deserving of recognition. 1990 may not have been a banner year for cinephiles, but there were two amazements snubbed by the Academy: the eroticized high-comedy Henry and June, chronicling Henry Miller’s life in bohemian Paris, by Philip Kaufman, and Robert Altman’s devastating masterpiece, Vincent and Theo, about the van Gogh brothers. And if that’s not enough to dismay you, 1990 also saw the release of Miller’s Crossing, Jacob’s Ladder, Wild at Heart, Where the Heart Is, Cadillac Man, and The Freshman, all of which are vastly superior to Costner’s movie. All of these pictures combined earned one nomination: Henry and June for Best Cinematography, and of course it lost to Dances with Wolves. (Michael Montag)
That Kevin Costner could beat Martin Scorsese, one of cinema’s greatest stylists, for an award in direction is a testament to the Academy’s complete insanity. Goodfellas is not just the culmination of more than 20 years of filmmaking prowess; it’s also the end of an unofficial trilogy of crime pictures that began with Scorsese’s earliest street films. His remarkable debut, Who’s That Knocking at My Door?, focuses on the lives of would-be gangsters. In his breakthrough film, Mean Streets, he elevates his paisans to smalltime gangster status. With Goodfellas, Scorsese’s gangsters become larger-than-life and perhaps even larger-than-the-truth. These three pictures taken together are something of a history lesson in the evolution of cinematic gangsterdom.
The scope of Goodfellas is enormous. It engages in a cinematic conversation with Scorsese’s own films and influences, and more broadly with the history of cinema itself, from Edwin S. Porter’s Great Train Robbery to Mervyn LeRoy’s Little Caesar and Fellini’s I Vitelloni. It’s a picture that revels in its stylistic excesses. With 42 blistering pop-rock singles, dozens of stylish freeze-frames and jump cuts galore, the picture is a frenetic blast of pure cinema that only someone of Scorsese’s caliber could pull off. Conversely, Dances with Wolves is a picture with no special visual distinction. Pauline Kael infamously called the film “a kid’s daydream of being an indian.” And the film is so fatuous and light you wonder if Costner realized he’s perpetuating the same old mythology of the heroic white cowboy saving the day. What’s just as bad in terms of filmmaking is the film’s languorous 3 hour running time. So little happens in the way of drama you wonder if Costner could even direct his way out of a paper bag, which is probably why one critic said “the indians should have named him Plays with Camera.”
Of the 5 nominees for Best Director, only Scorsese and Stephen Frears (for The Grifters) were actually deserving of recognition. 1990 may not have been a banner year for cinephiles, but there were two amazements snubbed by the Academy: the eroticized high-comedy Henry and June, chronicling Henry Miller’s life in bohemian Paris, by Philip Kaufman, and Robert Altman’s devastating masterpiece, Vincent and Theo, about the van Gogh brothers. And if that’s not enough to dismay you, 1990 also saw the release of Miller’s Crossing, Jacob’s Ladder, Wild at Heart, Where the Heart Is, Cadillac Man, and The Freshman, all of which are vastly superior to Costner’s movie. All of these pictures combined earned one nomination: Henry and June for Best Cinematography, and of course it lost to Dances with Wolves. (Michael Montag)
Best Actress
For me, the Oscars are all about regrets and retribution, makeups and do-overs. The Academy wants to teach a lesson to the blockbuster-builder Steven Spielberg, so no award for Whoopie in The Color Purple. The best example of this is the indomitable Katherine Hepburn, who, after winning in both 1932 and 1935, was taken down a notch by inexplicably losing her bid for a third Oscar in 1940 with the great Philadelphia Story to Ginger Rogers in Kitty Foyle (?!). But that push-pull of payback and takeaway comes full circle when she later beats out Faye Dunaway in Bonnie and Clyde for her somewhat lackluster performance in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967). Sigh.
The early years are filled with an auspicious list of nominees and winners; seems that for the most part, incredible actresses were given their due: Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh, Ingrid Bergman. I’m going to give a pass to the maudlin Joan Fontaine, at least she appeared in fantastic movies and in good company. Surprisingly, several international actresses were honored with nominations and some wins: the incredible Anna Magnani from Italy; Luise Rainer and Marlene Dietrich from Germany; and Greta Garbo from Sweden, to name a few. Sophia Loren even won for her non-English speaking role in Two Women (1961).
The most confounding aspect of this award is the inconsistency. One year there are no real performances of note (I’m looking at you, 1964), and the next we are blessed with so many acting riches. It’s not the same as a “snub,” but in its way, harder to swallow. Talented Jessica Lange gave the performance of her lifetime in Frances (1982). Unfortunately for her, Meryl Streep blew all comers away in the same year, with Sophies Choice. How do you choose between Susan Sarandan and Gina Davis in Thelma and Louise, the breathtaking Laura Dern in Rambling Rose, and the ultimate winner, Jodie Foster in the The Silence of the Lambs (1991)? Ellyn Burstyn was fabulous in 1974’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Any More, a product of its time and of significance for that reason, but the performances of Faye Dunaway in Chinatown, and the revelatory Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence of that year are enduring, indelible. They transcend the year in which they were made.
I love a good surprise win, like Glenda Jackson in the sadly forgotten 1970 film Women in Love (although, how one forgets a naked wrestle match on a bear skin rug, is something I cannot fathom), over Ali McGraw in the popular syrup-fest Love Story. (And no, I’m not bitter about being named after McGraw’s character, along with thousands of other Jennys growing up in the seventies. Well, maybe a little.) Applause to the Academy for Louise Fletcher’s win for her portrayal as the wretched Nurse Ratched in 1975’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest--sometimes the bad guys win as they should--though not always. I take issue with Sissy Spacek’s 1980 award for Coal Miner’s Daughter over Mary Tyler Moore in Ordinary People. Time after time, the Academy will pick epics over personal films, and who wants to champion our beloved Mary as a subtly seething, angry-under-the-surface, all-around bad mom?
My vote for worst winner of all time: Helen Hunt in As Good as It Gets (1997). Must I explain? (Jenny Jones)
The early years are filled with an auspicious list of nominees and winners; seems that for the most part, incredible actresses were given their due: Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh, Ingrid Bergman. I’m going to give a pass to the maudlin Joan Fontaine, at least she appeared in fantastic movies and in good company. Surprisingly, several international actresses were honored with nominations and some wins: the incredible Anna Magnani from Italy; Luise Rainer and Marlene Dietrich from Germany; and Greta Garbo from Sweden, to name a few. Sophia Loren even won for her non-English speaking role in Two Women (1961).
The most confounding aspect of this award is the inconsistency. One year there are no real performances of note (I’m looking at you, 1964), and the next we are blessed with so many acting riches. It’s not the same as a “snub,” but in its way, harder to swallow. Talented Jessica Lange gave the performance of her lifetime in Frances (1982). Unfortunately for her, Meryl Streep blew all comers away in the same year, with Sophies Choice. How do you choose between Susan Sarandan and Gina Davis in Thelma and Louise, the breathtaking Laura Dern in Rambling Rose, and the ultimate winner, Jodie Foster in the The Silence of the Lambs (1991)? Ellyn Burstyn was fabulous in 1974’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Any More, a product of its time and of significance for that reason, but the performances of Faye Dunaway in Chinatown, and the revelatory Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence of that year are enduring, indelible. They transcend the year in which they were made.
I love a good surprise win, like Glenda Jackson in the sadly forgotten 1970 film Women in Love (although, how one forgets a naked wrestle match on a bear skin rug, is something I cannot fathom), over Ali McGraw in the popular syrup-fest Love Story. (And no, I’m not bitter about being named after McGraw’s character, along with thousands of other Jennys growing up in the seventies. Well, maybe a little.) Applause to the Academy for Louise Fletcher’s win for her portrayal as the wretched Nurse Ratched in 1975’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest--sometimes the bad guys win as they should--though not always. I take issue with Sissy Spacek’s 1980 award for Coal Miner’s Daughter over Mary Tyler Moore in Ordinary People. Time after time, the Academy will pick epics over personal films, and who wants to champion our beloved Mary as a subtly seething, angry-under-the-surface, all-around bad mom?
My vote for worst winner of all time: Helen Hunt in As Good as It Gets (1997). Must I explain? (Jenny Jones)
Best Picture: A Retrospective
Perhaps it's best not to talk about the 2016 Best Picture nominees. It's hard to find one to truly root for in this crop, especially because this year featured both Carol and Creed, neither of which was nominated. Seriously? The Martian?
Of all of the Oscars, Best Picture has been the worst at picking classics. Instead it often showcases how self-congratulatory Hollywood can be. The prominent Sight and Sound poll for the 100 best films of all time features just three Best Picture winners and two of them are titled The Godfather. This award goes to epics, issue films, and movies about movies. It goes to costume dramas and feel-good ensemble films. It is not and has never been an award about great films or great filmmaking, and nearly all of the greatest films have been missed by the crudeness of this award.
Just the last decade and a half has featured such anti-classics as Crash, Slumdog Millionaire, The King's Speech, The Artist, and Argo, those five films across a particularly dismal eight years. Has anyone rewatched these films since they won the Oscar? It's hard to picture someone cueing up Slumdog Millionaire on Netflix in 2016. But in case you have blocked them out, here are the last few seasons of Best Picture nominees. (Jeremy Meckler)
Of all of the Oscars, Best Picture has been the worst at picking classics. Instead it often showcases how self-congratulatory Hollywood can be. The prominent Sight and Sound poll for the 100 best films of all time features just three Best Picture winners and two of them are titled The Godfather. This award goes to epics, issue films, and movies about movies. It goes to costume dramas and feel-good ensemble films. It is not and has never been an award about great films or great filmmaking, and nearly all of the greatest films have been missed by the crudeness of this award.
Just the last decade and a half has featured such anti-classics as Crash, Slumdog Millionaire, The King's Speech, The Artist, and Argo, those five films across a particularly dismal eight years. Has anyone rewatched these films since they won the Oscar? It's hard to picture someone cueing up Slumdog Millionaire on Netflix in 2016. But in case you have blocked them out, here are the last few seasons of Best Picture nominees. (Jeremy Meckler)
2015 Academy Awards
| Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) Whiplash American Sniper The Grand Budapest Hotel | The Imitation Game Selma The Theory of Everything Boyhood |
Boyhood is a once-a-century kind of film, groundbreaking in production, execution, conception, and structure. It's the kind of film we'll see imitated for years to come. Spending years with the actors is the truest distillation of what Gilles Deleuze saw as cinema's most magical talent--the ability to change our relationship with time itself. Boyhood's win really seemed like a sure thing, but as usual, the Academy managed to mess it up. They came up against one of their cardinal rules and gave the award to Birdman, a movie about movies.
Last year's list featured a few notable films: Birdman is an interesting lark, but is it really going to live on further than that? The Grand Budapest Hotel is certainly one of Wes Anderson's best films, but how much is that really saying? And from there, the list goes downhill to its absolute bottom--the obligatory middle-brow costume dramas. The Imitation Game and The Theory of Everything are films of such a mediocre oscar bait quality, cookie cutter awards season filler, that it would be hard to tell them apart. Without looking it up, answer this: Who is the thin British actor in each film? Who is the quiet supportive ingenue? To see two films so unabashedly bland on the same slate of eight while leaving out such innovative work as Under the Skin, Gone Girl, and Inherent Vice demonstrates just how meaningless this award is. (Jeremy Meckler)
Last year's list featured a few notable films: Birdman is an interesting lark, but is it really going to live on further than that? The Grand Budapest Hotel is certainly one of Wes Anderson's best films, but how much is that really saying? And from there, the list goes downhill to its absolute bottom--the obligatory middle-brow costume dramas. The Imitation Game and The Theory of Everything are films of such a mediocre oscar bait quality, cookie cutter awards season filler, that it would be hard to tell them apart. Without looking it up, answer this: Who is the thin British actor in each film? Who is the quiet supportive ingenue? To see two films so unabashedly bland on the same slate of eight while leaving out such innovative work as Under the Skin, Gone Girl, and Inherent Vice demonstrates just how meaningless this award is. (Jeremy Meckler)
2014 Academy Awards
| Philomena Nebraska Captain Phillips The Wolf of Wall Street 12 Years A Slave | Her Gravity American Hustle Dallas Buyers Club |
Finally, in 2014, the Academy got one right! Or so it would seem. Steve McQueen's saturated slave epic was a beautiful and impactful film, as full of subtle artistry as anything the previous year had to show us.
But let's take a brief look at the competition. Philomena was too British to win an Oscar, and Nebraska too low budget. Captain Phillips is too mainstream (and socially conservative) and The Wolf of Wall Street is just a dreadful cinematic experience. Her is a legitimately interesting film, one that may in the long run prove to be more of a classic than 12 Years a Slave--time will tell on that one. But Gravity is a glorified video game and American Hustle is, like all of David O. Russell's recent resurgence, a glorified daytime soap. Dallas Buyers Club is a based-on-a-true-story heartwarming period piece about AIDS, the exact kind of film that Academy voters love. So the 2014 Academy deserves some kudos for not giving into their worst instincts, but really it feels like 12 Years A Slave won for the wrong reasons.
Like so many Best Picture winners, this one seemed to be picked for its subject matter more than its artistry, and any award that would paint 12 Years A Slave as an issue film is an award we don't need. (Jeremy Meckler)
But let's take a brief look at the competition. Philomena was too British to win an Oscar, and Nebraska too low budget. Captain Phillips is too mainstream (and socially conservative) and The Wolf of Wall Street is just a dreadful cinematic experience. Her is a legitimately interesting film, one that may in the long run prove to be more of a classic than 12 Years a Slave--time will tell on that one. But Gravity is a glorified video game and American Hustle is, like all of David O. Russell's recent resurgence, a glorified daytime soap. Dallas Buyers Club is a based-on-a-true-story heartwarming period piece about AIDS, the exact kind of film that Academy voters love. So the 2014 Academy deserves some kudos for not giving into their worst instincts, but really it feels like 12 Years A Slave won for the wrong reasons.
Like so many Best Picture winners, this one seemed to be picked for its subject matter more than its artistry, and any award that would paint 12 Years A Slave as an issue film is an award we don't need. (Jeremy Meckler)
2013 Academy Awards
| Silver Linings Playbook Amour Django Unchained Zero Dark Thirty Lincoln | Life of Pi Argo Les Misérables Beasts of the Southern Wild |
The 2013 Academy Awards were such a disappointment. The slim chance that a weird indie underdog (Beasts of the Southern Wild) might take home the big prize was intoxicating. And the slate featured some truly remarkable films. Michael Haneke's Amour became the ninth foreign film ever nominated for Best Picture, and is an incredibly personal film. Zero Dark Thirty (directed by the first and only woman to win a Best Director award) is a thrilling look at what may become a pivotal moment in American history. Lincoln, for all its schmaltz, is the best Spielberg film in a decade.
But of course, the winner was the blandest, most forgettable film of the bunch. Argo seems about 10 years too late, and has a staid, made-for-TV quality that is at its heart anti-cinematic. The closing credits, coupled with the "real news footage" that the film was based on put a capper on what is a uniformly tacky production. It is a good heist, but not a whole lot more. Will it stand the test of time? It's hard to believe it has a chance. A few films that should last weren't even nominated: Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master, Leos Carax's Holy Motors, David Cronenberg's Cosmopolis, and Rian Johnson's Looper. (Jeremy Meckler)
But of course, the winner was the blandest, most forgettable film of the bunch. Argo seems about 10 years too late, and has a staid, made-for-TV quality that is at its heart anti-cinematic. The closing credits, coupled with the "real news footage" that the film was based on put a capper on what is a uniformly tacky production. It is a good heist, but not a whole lot more. Will it stand the test of time? It's hard to believe it has a chance. A few films that should last weren't even nominated: Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master, Leos Carax's Holy Motors, David Cronenberg's Cosmopolis, and Rian Johnson's Looper. (Jeremy Meckler)
2012 Academy Awards
| The Artist The Descendants Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close Moneyball Midnight in Paris | War Horse The Tree of Life Hugo The Help |
The 2012 Academy Awards celebrated the best year cinematically since I’ve been alive. The collection of movies from that year is insanely impressive: directors around the world (both newcomers and established masters) gave us A Separation, Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, Pina, Certified Copy, Le Havre, Mysteries of Lisbon, and The Skin I Live In. American cinema seemed to step up its game, too, with Hugo, Take Shelter, Meek’s Cutoff, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and The Adventures of Tintin (not to mention The Tree of Life, though I don’t think that deserved the overzealous acclaim it received).
There were nine nominees for Best Picture in 2012; Hugo was the only one I thought came close to the best movie of the year. Indeed, in my eyes, no year better demonstrates the timidity and shortsightedness of Oscar voters than 2012 (at least since I’ve been paying attention). The Tree of Life will be remembered as some kind of classic, probably, and the ultimate winner--The Artist—was at least a charming compensation. But the other nominees include well-made middlebrow fare--The Descendants, Moneyball, and War Horse, the kind of thing French surrealistic critics (and later New Wave filmmakers) would have snarkily called a “cinema of quality”—as well as the kind of offensive, deluded “message movies” that represents Oscars at their worse (The Help, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close).
None of this is news. Those who try to keep up with contemporary cinema must already know that the Oscars don’t delineate the best movies of the year. It only scratches the surface; awards given by the National Society of Film Critics and lists published by Film Comment offer a truer snapshot of the best movies of the year (and still only provide a tiny sampling). The main thing, it seems, is to recognize the Oscars for what they are: a promotion for the industry, a pageant to recognize the A-list, fun in its own begrudging, stargazing way. It is well past the time when the Oscars should have started demonstrating more inclusivity for black and female artists, a shortcoming the institution needs to rectify. But in this matter and in others, “the Academy” often seems to lag a bit behind. (Matt Levine)
There were nine nominees for Best Picture in 2012; Hugo was the only one I thought came close to the best movie of the year. Indeed, in my eyes, no year better demonstrates the timidity and shortsightedness of Oscar voters than 2012 (at least since I’ve been paying attention). The Tree of Life will be remembered as some kind of classic, probably, and the ultimate winner--The Artist—was at least a charming compensation. But the other nominees include well-made middlebrow fare--The Descendants, Moneyball, and War Horse, the kind of thing French surrealistic critics (and later New Wave filmmakers) would have snarkily called a “cinema of quality”—as well as the kind of offensive, deluded “message movies” that represents Oscars at their worse (The Help, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close).
None of this is news. Those who try to keep up with contemporary cinema must already know that the Oscars don’t delineate the best movies of the year. It only scratches the surface; awards given by the National Society of Film Critics and lists published by Film Comment offer a truer snapshot of the best movies of the year (and still only provide a tiny sampling). The main thing, it seems, is to recognize the Oscars for what they are: a promotion for the industry, a pageant to recognize the A-list, fun in its own begrudging, stargazing way. It is well past the time when the Oscars should have started demonstrating more inclusivity for black and female artists, a shortcoming the institution needs to rectify. But in this matter and in others, “the Academy” often seems to lag a bit behind. (Matt Levine)
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