B&W Best Picture

The most recent black and white movie to win Best Picture was 1993's Schindler's List. (Good job, Angie from Cinema Obsessed!) The last black and white film before that to win the award was The Apartment, in 1960. The film also won that year's awards for Best Director (Steven Spielberg's) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Steven Zaillian), and was nominated for Best Actor (Liam Neeson) and Best Supporting Actor (Ralph Fiennes).

The film is, as I'm sure you already know, the story of Oskar Schindler, a greedy factory owner who seeks to earn millions by exploiting Jewish slave labor in World War II Germany, but who ends up becoming a humanitarian and using his factory to sabotage the war effort and save the lives of 1100 Jews who would otherwise have been killed in the concentration camps. Schindler starts out caring about nothing but money, amassing a huge fortune because of the outbreak of the war, but by the end of the film he has spent the entire fortune on bribing Nazi officials and ensuring that his munitions factory does not produce a single artillery shell that could help the German war effort.

Neeson was spectacular in the role of Schindler, and it would be unthinkable that he did not win the Oscar if the award had gone to anybody else that year other than Tom Hanks for Philadelphia. Schindler is the type of character whose change of heart is so total that it could easily become unbelievable if not handled just right. (Though the film does make him a bit more of a saint than he actually was, failing to mention that there was bribery involved in getting one's name onto Schindler's list.) Ralph Fiennes was chilling and thoroughly believable in his role as Amon Goeth, a Nazi official and concentration camp commander, a homicidal madman made all the more chilling by the fact that he commits his acts of brutality not with maniacal glee, nor even with cold calculation, but rather with casual disinterest. He kills Jews not because he wants to, not because he needs to, but because he gives the act no more regard than one might give to swatting a fly. In a film full of horror and brutality, perhaps the most terrifying sequence is the one in which Fiennes' character briefly stops his acts of random brutality, testing the concept suggested to him by Schindler that true power comes through forgiveness or pardon rather than through violence and the ability to kill without warning. As he pardons several of his prisoners for minor offenses for which he would normally kill them, the viewer sits watching, breathless with horrified anticipation, waiting for him to give up the pretense of humanity and start shooting again. Fiennes certainly had a flashier and more attention-grabbing role, but I had to wonder how Ben Kingsley's performance as Itzhak Stern, Schindler's accountant, the driving force behind his change of heart, and the humanizing face of the plight of the Jews in this film, did not warrant a nomination as well.

This film, earning Spielberg his first Oscar as Best Director, was also the sign of his coming into true maturity as a film director. Fascinated by the story, Spielberg bought the film rights to it in 1982, but fearing that he did not have the maturity as a director to do the film justice, he shopped it around Hollywood for 10 years. After being turned down by several directors, including Sidney Lumet, Roman Polanski, Billy Wilder, and Martin Scorsese, Spielberg finally decided he was ready to do the film himself - with the condition that he had to do Jurassic Park first, because if he didn't finish that one first, he felt he would be unable to do it after Schindler. The end result of the extra decade of waiting was most likely a better film than Spielberg could have made in 1983 - let's face it, Raiders of the Lost Arc and E.T. are certainly great films, but they just don't show the emotional complexity that Schindler's List required.

Movie trivia question: The only true tie in any of the major categories in Oscar history occurred in 1969, when these two women both took home the statue for Best Actress.

Always the groomsman, never the groom.

The actor who has gone zero for four in the lead acting category, but two for two in supporting actor wins is Michael Caine. The first of Caine's wins was at the 1987 Oscars for his turn in Hannah and Her Sisters. The film also won for Best Supporting Actress (Dianne Wiest) and Best Screenplay (Woody Allen), and it was nominated for Best Picture and Best Director (Woody Allen).

The film tells the intermingling stories of the titular siblings and their large cast of relatives, husbands, ex-husbands, business partners, etc. Hannah (Mia Farrow) is the one successful person among the group, and her success and generosity provide support for everybody around her, support that they resent her for despite their inability to get by without it. Hannah's husband (Caine) spends the first half of the film trying to star an affair with her sister Lee (Barbara Hershey), then spends the remainder of it trying to end the affair. Her other sister, Holly (Wiest), is constantly mooching money from her to start side-jobs in order to support herself (and pay off debts, and support an on-again-off-again cocaine habit) while waiting for her acting career to take off. Meanwhile, Hannah's ex-husband (Allen) has a health scare that forces him to face his own mortality, and she must hold together the tumultuous relationship between her parents (Maureen O'Sullivan and Lloyd Nolan), a not-quite-famous showbiz couple.

Hindsight has not been kind to this film. It is well-made, well-written, and well-acted, but in the end, I felt that it was very been-there-done-that. Which is not exactly fair to this film. Wiest, better know to most as the mother in Edward Scissorhands, builds a very believable character, flaky, needy, and falsely "unique," but not to the point of being entirely unlikable. Caine does a wonderful job in his role, in which he essentially plays the role of Woody Allen - a novel and interesting choice at the time that has since become such a staple of Allen's later films that the novelty has completely worn off in retrospect. The screenplay is complex and involving, seamlessly weaving together several interesting stories in such a way that each story makes the others feel fuller, richer, and more fleshed-out. But, at the same time, the action all feels very much like a stereotypical Woody Allen film - a bunch of neurotic, over-intellectual New York City dwellers, none of whom have to actually work for a living, spend all of their time screwing up all of their relationships and whining about their own insecurities. It is different enough from Annie Hall and Manhattan that, at the time, the film was still fresh. But when he followed it up with Crimes and Misdemeanors, Husbands and Wives, Deconstructing Harry, Celebrity, and so on, the films have all started to sort of blend together to the detriment of the entire catalog.

Movie trivia question: Part 2 of the question that this review started to answer. What was the other film for which Michael Caine won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar?

Biggest Losers: Oscar Edition

The two actors who received the most Best Actor nominations without winning an award were Peter O'Toole (to date, nominated 8 times - he was given an honorary award in 2003, but has yet to claim a competitive Oscar) and Richard Burton (who received 7 nominations before his death, and was never even given an honorary prize). The film that united them, for which they were both nominated for Best Actor, was 1964's Becket. Winner of the Best Adapted screenplay Oscar that year, it was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Director (Peter Glenville), and Best Supporting Actor (John Gielgud).

O'Toole earns his second Oscar nomination here playing King Henry II, ruler of England in the late 1100s. Burton earns his third nomination playing Thomas Becket, a drinking buddy promoted by the King to the role of Chancellor, and eventually to Archbishop, with the expectation that Becket will cater to his desires and end his troubles with the church. To the King's dismay, Becket takes the Archbishop position seriously, opposing the ruler more effectively that any of his predecessors ever dared. A vulgar and arrogant man who sees himself as the only civilized man in England, King Henry sees his subjects as dogs or possessions, spends most of his time drinking and eating gluttonously while his people starve, shows utter contempt for anything and anyone beneath him, and appoints Becket in order to get tax money from the churches to fund a war against France. Becket, though cold and distant, shows sympathy and compassion toward the people, tries to act as a civilizing influence on his King, and seeks to find a meaningful purpose in his life. When King Henry rules in such a way that the power, and possibly even the existence, of the church is threatened, Becket severs their friendship in order to ensure the church's survival, leading King Henry to seek revenge against his former friend.

An historical drama about a time and place with which I have almost no familiarity, centered around a hero who gives up a life of debauchery in order to come to the defense of the Church against the government, is not typically the type of film that I would find enthralling. But I was enthralled by this film, due almost entirely to the two lead performances. It is easy to see how both Burton and O'Toole lost the Oscar that year. Certainly both were worthy, but it seems likely that the two, being nominated for the same film, split their votes, leaving the award to go instead to the nominee for that year's Best Picture winner (Rex Harrison, for My Fair Lady). Of the two, Burton was probably more deserving of the award. O'Toole was thoroughly convincing as the monarch, a spoiled man-child torn between his obsessive love for his friend and his unflinching need to be obeyed in his every wish or command. However, his performance had an occasional tendency to fall back on overwrought emotion and loud yelling. Burton, on the other hand, was pitch-perfect in every scene, always finding just the right tone to make me believe in and sympathize with this man whose change of heart and of lifestyle could easily have come across as hokey, contrived, and unbelievable.

Movie trivia question: This actor, another frequent non-winner in the Best Actor category (0 awards out of 4 nominations) has had much better luck in the supporting category, winning both times he was nominated in that category. The two films for which he won will be reviewed soon.

Oscar Winning Debut

The first person to win a lead acting Oscar for their debut performance was Shirley Booth, who won Best Actress in 1953 for Come Back, Little Sheba. The film was also nominated for best Supporting Actress (Terry Moore). Other actors and actresses had won supporting performance Oscars for debut performances before this, but this was the first time for a lead. Three other women have since won Best Actress for their debut performances, but to date nobody has won Best Actor for a debut performance.

Booth plays Lola Delaney, a frumpy, unambitious middle aged housewife who rarely leaves the house and endlessly obsesses over her dog, Little Sheba, who disappeared weeks before. She rents a room to Marie (Moore), a young, pretty college student who draws an improper amount of attention from Lola's husband, Doc (Burt Lancaster), a self-conscious chiropractor who wants only to forget or outrun his past. He has a lot to want to forget, too - he dropped out of medical school to marry Lola when she got pregnant, only to have her lose the baby. Then he inherited enough money from the death of his parents to return to medical school, but became an alcoholic, losing the money and most of his patients because of his uncontrollable drinking and fighting. Doc's interest in Marie at first seems to be fatherly, but it eventually develops into temptation in more than one form. He resists the urge to cheat on his wife, an urge driven more by desire to recapture his lost youth than by lust, but he has a disastrous relapse into drinking.

Lancaster is captivating, as he always is, but he seems a bit miscast here. He is wonderful in the role, but his performance seems a bit hampered by his reputation. Lancaster, over his career, has played characters who are tough, confident, successful and self-assured. So as great as he is here, it is a bit of a challenge to accept him as somebody so weak-willed, meek, and lacking in control over his own life. Moore is good, but her character is more a means of driving the plot than as an entity of her own. But Shirley Booth really shines here. Her dotty, intrusive behavior, annoying at first, is gradually revealed to be her defense mechanism. She has suffered the same setbacks as Doc, and has had to be the source of strength to carry her husband through their difficulties. Her refusal to accept that Little Sheba won't return gives her a diversion, something to focus on so she doesn't have to think about her lost youth, her lost prettiness, her lost child.

Movie trivia question: What is the most recent black-and-white film to win the Oscar for Best Picture?

Multi-talented

The first person to direct himself to a Best Actor Oscar, and the first person to claim both Best Actor and Best Picture, was Laurence Olivier, for his 1948 adaptation of Hamlet. Olivier was also nominated as Best Director for the film, although he did not win, and it was nominated for Best Supporting Actress (Jean Simmons). To date, nobody has managed to win both Best Actor/Actress and Best Director for the same film. Olivier was more successful at Oscar time with this film than he had been two years earlier, with unsuccessful nominations for both Best Picture and Best Actor for Henry V, though he missed the Best Director nomination that year. Henry V did, however, get Olivier an honorary award for the feat of producing, directing and acting. One wonders, though, at the legitimacy of that honorary award, as Orson Welles had, in 1942, managed to get nominations in all three categories without being honored for the feat. And, in case you were wondering, the other person to get both Best Actor and a Best Picture Oscar was Michael Douglas, who won as a producer on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's nest, and a Best Actor statue for his performance in Wall Street.

The problem with so many of the films based on the works of Shakespeare is that they get too caught up in the staginess of the performances, and in the lyricism and poetry of the words being spoken, to the point that the story itself is pretty much forgotten. The most frequent victim of this unfortunate tendency is Hamlet. How familiar is the "To be, or not to be speech," delivered in a thundering, bombastic, triumphant tone. "TO BE... (dramatic pause) OR... NOT TO BE!!!" The speech is delivered so often in that tone, as though the actors don't even notice the meaning behind the words they are saying. This is not the speech of a conquering hero, as it is so often delivered. It is the mumbled ramblings of a sullen, angst-ridden youth, trying to decide whether he should kill himself rather than try to deal with the problems of his life. It is a speech to be muttered uncertainly, not thundered confidently. Olivier, for one, actually manages to get it right. Unlike so many before him, and unlike so many that came after, Olivier actually sees the source material as a story to be told, not just as a vehicle by which an actor can prove his greatness by reciting a famous speech or two.

This film truly is the best of both worlds, as Shakespeare goes. Olivier does not ignore the poetry of the words, he just doesn't let it override their meaning or overshadow the story that they tell. He doesn't dumb down the screenplay, or feel the need to update it to modern English just to make it more palatable to a more modern audience. He doesn't, as so many have done, feel the need to transplant the basic framework of the story into a more modern setting. In short, Olivier does not feel the need to rewrite Shakespeare. Shakespeare is Shakespeare for a reason. All things considered, if I had to pick a single film version of Shakespeare to watch, this would be the one.

That being said, I must admit that this film would not have been my pick to win either of its awards. Hamlet beat out The Treasure of the Sierra Madre for Best Picture, and Humphrey Bogart's wonderful performance in that film somehow failed to even get nominated alongside Olivier's. But, of course, that is just quibbling, and, as you are probably already guessing after my last review, I am a bit biased where Bogart is concerned. Certainly, that is just a matter of personal preference, not of unworthiness on the part of Olivier's film.

Movie trivia question: This film, winner of an Oscar for Best Screenplay, scored Best Actor nominations for its two stars. Coincidentally, the two went on to be the two actors with the most Oscar nominations to never actually win the statue. Who were the stars, and what was the film?

Who stole Bogie's Oscar?

Taking the Oscar for Best Actor in 1944, and leaving Humphrey Bogart empty-handed for one of the greatest film performances of all time, was Paul Lukas for Watch on the Rhine. The film was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Supporting Actress (Lucile Watson), and Best Adapted Screenplay (Dashiell Hammett).

In the opening days of World War II, just before Germany begins to take over its neighboring countries, an American woman, Sara (Bette Davis) returns to Washington DC after 18 years of living in Europe, bringing her family with her. Her family includes her German husband, Kurt (Paul Lukas) a former engineer who has spent the last several years working for an underground anti-Nazi movement, exposing his family to poverty, danger, and a nomadic lifestyle. As Kurt is getting older and his health is flagging, the trip to America is meant to be his retirement from the movement. Unfortunately, a Romanian count, a houseguest of Sara's mother with heavy debts due to his habit of gambling away money he can't afford at Nazi card games at the German Embassy, discovers Kurt's identity and decides to blackmail him.

Many of the performances in this film struck me as kind of strange. The dialogue is oddly formal, and the delivery of the lines from many of the characters is stiff and uncertain. In a weird way, this makes the performances of Sara's children more convincing - they are children speaking in a language that is not their native tongue, and they were very convincing as such. What was odd was that Sara's brother, an American speaking in English, seemed just as stiff and formal to me, and so his performance struck me as very unnatural. Lucile Watson, Oscar nominated for her role as Sara's mother, is very convincing and entertaining as the intrusive, obnoxious, but well-intentioned matriarch. Bette Davis, the big name star of the film, was cast against type in a way that doesn't entirely work for her.

But, of course, the performance with which I concerned myself in watching this film was that of Paul Lukas. Lukas does indeed give a strong performance here. He does a fantastic job of drawing the audience in, getting them to care about his character and his story. The bottom line, though, is this: does he deliver a strong enough performance to deserve the Oscar over Bogart's iconic turn in Casablanca? The answer, in my opinion, is no. Lukas was very good, and worth seeing here, but time has shown that Bogart's role has remained unforgettable through several generations, while most people have probably never even heard of Paul Lukas. It is, however, easy to understand why Lukas would have taken the award at the time. In the midst of World War II, with the outcome still uncertain and American patriotism and anti-Nazi sentiment at an all-time high, Lukas and Bogart play men who essentially make the opposite decisions in the same circumstances. Lukas plays a man who, as the Nazis begin to come to power, sacrifices everything in his life to devote himself to taking up the cause of fighting them. Bogart plays a man who, as the Nazis begin to come to power, does everything he can to distance himself from the fight, to refuse to take sides, and to look out for himself alone. In hindsight, it is easy to see that Bogie should have taken it, but it is also easy to see why, in the heat of the moment, the emotional response was to award it to Lukas.

Movie trivia question: This film marked the first time that an actor directed himself to a Best Actor Oscar. It also marked the first time that a person won Oscars for both Best Actor and as producer for Best Picture (a feat that has only been repeated one other time to date). Who is the actor/director/producer, and what is the film?

Short, but strong

The only short film to win in a non-short-film category is French film The Red Balloon, winner of the 1957 award for Best Original Screenplay.

A young boy, wandering alone through the streets of Paris, finds and befriends a red balloon, and he and it follow each other through various misadventures. The boy misses his bus to school because the driver will not allow him on the vehicle with the balloon. But soon, the balloon proves itself capable of following the boy on its own volition. The boy, apparently friendless, suffers many setbacks, as he gets into trouble for bringing the balloon to school, and finds himself harassed at the hands of a mob of schoolmates seeking to steal or destroy the toy.

The dialogue is minimal, with only a few spoken lines, most of which are the boy talking to the balloon, and the runtime of the film barely clears the 30 minute mark, but I came out of the movie feeling like I knew the boy better than most characters who spend two hours on the screen talking and interacting with others. Hell, even the balloon was a more developed character than some that I have seen. Empathetic, cute, and family-friendly, this would be a great choice to watch with young children.

Movie trivia question: As I mentioned in a previous post, Oscar nominees for best lead performance tend to go to actors and actresses who have already established themselves within their profession. There have been a few notable exceptions, though. What was the first role to win an Oscar for best lead performance for and actor/actress in his/her debut film acting performance?

Bellamy and Ameche

The Oscar winner featuring Don Ameche from 1937 was In Old Chicago, which won the award for Best Supporting Actress (Alice Brady), and was nominated for Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay. Ameche himself was not nominated for the film, but don't feel too bad, as he eventually went on to win the award for Best Supporting Actor in 1986 for Cocoon. Feel bad for Alice Brady, however. She missed her winning moment at the Oscar ceremony, providing an opportunity for an unknown man to somehow get on stage and accept the award on her behalf. The man's identity was never discovered, and the Oscar statue was never seen again.

Brady won her Oscar for playing Molly O'Leary, the owner of the cow that supposedly started the great Chicago fire of 1871. In the days leading up to the tragedy, O'Leary's sons find themselves political rivals, Jack running for mayor and pledging to clean up the city's corruption, while Dion is a master of dirty backroom deals. Elected as mayor, the virtuous brother, of course, works to reform the unsuitable waterways and rebuild the firetrap slums of the city, while the manipulative brother schemes to prevent the rebuilding. The fight delays the needed reforms long enough to allow the tragic fire to occur.

The film cost $1.8 million to make, one of the most expensive films ever made at the time. The fire that made up the climactic scene blazed for three days of filming. So, although it was a follow-up to the previous year's San Francisco, which chronicled the earthquake that almost destroyed that city in 1906, In Old Chicago was, in a way, decades ahead of its time, clearly an inspiration to the disaster movie trend of the 1970s (though the later films were, for the most part, not nearly as respected, more of a guilty pleasure for audiences and an opportunity for the stars to slum it a bit and grab a big paycheck). It was also, however, clearly a film of its own time, packed with 1930s film staples such as unnecessary musical numbers and "comical" stutterers. The writing was hackneyed and predictable, with lots of references throughout the film to fire, as a clumsy way of foreshadowing the climactic event. The story was ridiculously melodramatic, with the evil Dion mostly acting evil for the sake of being evil, and the virtuous Jack refusing to accept payment for the first case that he wins as a lawyer because he's just so gosh-darn gee-whiz excited about winning that that is reward enough in itself.. Even Alice Brady's Oscar-winning performance, while not bad, was not particularly memorable. The special effects paid of, given the limitations of the time, as the big fire did look like an entire city burning to the ground. But, other than that, there is not much to recommend about this film.

Movie trivia question: What Oscar-winner for Best Screenplay has the distinction of being the only short film to ever win an Oscar outside of the short films categories? The answer is my next review.

The Awful Truth (1937)

Winner of the 1938 Oscar for Best Director (Leo McCarey), nominated for Best Picture, Best Actress (Irene Dunne), Best Supporting Actor (Ralph Bellamy), and Best Adapted Screenplay.

With each catching the other in a mistruth that suggests infidelity, the Warriners decide to divorce. Given ninety days before the divorce is finalized, Mrs. Warriner (played by Irene Dunne, in a performance that is far and away better than her nominated performance six years earlier for Cimarron) begins to seek a new romance, receiving a proposal from a wealthy new beau (Bellamy) before the separation is even official. Mr. Warriner goes to great lengths to disrupt this new romance, and the race is on for the divorcing couple to figure out that they still love each other before it is too late.

Yes, it's pretty much a standard romantic-comedy plot - couple who are obviously meant for each other are kept apart by silly misunderstandings until love conquers all - but bear in mind that this film was made before the cliches became cliches. In fact, this movie works so well, it is clear to see that it is, in fact, the reason that those cliches became cliches. So, though the genre has now been done to death, at the time, this film had originality on its side.

It also, even now, has perfection on its side. The balance of slapstick gags and subtle barbs simply could not have been done any better. The writing was absolutely flawless, with the two leads being thoroughly ruthless with one another while never crossing the line into being unlikable. The film is an impressive feat of direction, writing, and performance, as the slightest misstep in any of these would have made the whole thing fall apart. Surprising then, that the film didn't get more wins, and that Cary Grant wasn't even nominated for his role as Mr Warriner, as I thought his performance was the best in the film. Admittedly, the ending of the film could have been a bit more conclusive - the truth behind the spouses' respective misunderstandings is never fully revealed, and it is implied, but not expressly stated, that the two leads return to one another, rather than to their new fiancees - but this is well worth seeing if for no other reason than to see what the romantic comedy genre was like before it became that dead horse that Hollywood continues to beat today.

Movie trivia question: Ralph Bellamy, nominated for Best Supporting Actor for this film, was hilariously paired with Don Ameche in the 1980s for the film Trading Places, and again for a brief cameo in Coming to America. In the same year as The Awful Truth, Ameche also starred in an Oscar winning film. What was that film? Answer coming later today, possibly.

Mister Roberts (1955)

Winner for Best Supporting Actor (Jack Lemmon), nominated for Best Picture.

You would think that the Best Supporting acting categories would be a bigger career boost. Not so much with the lead acting categories, as the roles that get nominated there tend to go to more experienced, established actors, but supporting roles should be where new careers are made. But, for whatever reason, a Best Supporting Actor/Actress win doesn't tend to launch a great new career. Sometimes it is because the award goes to an already established actor, but even when the award does go to a newcomer, it seems like most of the time there isn't much of a follow-up. The award is their highlight, and it all goes downhill from there. This film is a notable exception. The winner, Jack Lemmon, was an unknown actor at the time (he had only been in two previous films, both in minor roles), and from here he went on to get 7 subsequent Best Actor nominations (winning for one, Save The Tiger), and to become a legend, one of Hollywood's most respected actors. (The only other supporting actor win that comes close to this record is Robert DeNiro's win for The Godfather, Part II. DeNiro could be argued to be more popular and respected now than Lemmon, but DeNiro, to date, has only 5 Best Actor nominations and 1 win.)

Of course, the Oscar didn't make Lemmon's career. The award was just a sign of the strength of his performance, and the performance was an indicator of the talent and potential that he held. Lemmon gave a truly career-making performance in Mister Roberts. He stole every scene he was in, and was truly a stand-out in the cast. What is really amazing is that this newcomer managed to be such a stand-out against this cast, against such legends as Henry Fonda, James Cagney, and William Powell.

Mister Roberts tells the story of a US Navy cargo ship, stuck in the backwaters of the Pacific in the closing days of World War II. Anchored 5000 miles from the nearest action, the crew stagnates and shirks their duties, bored with the task of loading and unloading supplies and missing out on all of the glory of war. The titular character, played by Henry Fonda, is the lieutenant of the ship, acting as the go-between for the under-stimulated crew and their tyrannical captain while writing weekly letters attempting to get transferred to a more exciting, worthwhile post. The captain, played by Cagney, is harsh and arbitrary, calling down disciplinary actions for the most insignificant breaches of protocol while riding to success on the hard work of his lieutenant. Lemmon plays Ensign Pulver, a brash, libidinous, but ultimately cowardly young officer who dreams and schemes his big plans while doing everything he can to avoid any work or conflict.

Lemmon created a unique niche for himself through his roles. He had an image that projected dignity in the most demeaning circumstances, that commanded respect even while he was being meek or self-deprecating, that reflected morality and decency even when his characters were committing acts that were entirely socially unacceptable. All of this can be seen in the character of Ensign Pulver. In fact, while I certainly don't mean to suggest that Jack Lemmon was a one-note player who made an entire career out of playing the same character repeatedly, but everything that was great and memorable about Lemmon as an actor can be seen in this role.

Movie trivia question: As evidence that Oscar doesn't always award the most iconic nominee, Humphrey Bogart failed to capture the statue for his performance in Casablanca, one of the most memorable film performances of all time. Who did take the Best Actor award for that year? Answer coming soon.