OK, so I haven't had a chance to watch that longest Best Picture winner just yet. I had to settle for a much shorter film this time out, so I decided to go with another winner from 1932, the same year as my previous entry, Cimarron. Skippy was that year's winner for Best Director (Norman Taurog), and was nominated for Best Picture, Best Actor (for the film's young star Jackie Cooper), and Best Adapted Screenplay.
Skippy is a precocious rich kid, the son of a doctor during the Great Depression, who likes to spend his time in Shantytown, despite his father's wishes. Skippy's father, for the sake of public health and safety, is directing the city Board of Health to evict the residents of Shantytown. Skippy, for the most part, gets along better with the residents of Shantytown than he does with his own schoolmates from the right side of the tracks. A run-in with a Shantytown bully and his dog-catcher father leads to Skippy's new friend's dog being taken to the pound, and the boys have to scramble to get the fee before the dog is put down.
The film is carried on the shoulders of 9-year-old star Jackie Cooper, still the youngest actor to ever be nominated for a lead Actor/Actress Oscar. Most of the rest of the characters are the kids that Skippy hangs out with, so most of the cast are also child actors. This leads to an interesting contrast with Cimarron. The child actors were too young to have learned acting habits for silent films and stage that don't really work for movies with sound, so the acting across the board is more natural than in Cimarron. However, being children, they had not really had time to master their craft, so, other than the natural talent and appeal of Cooper, the acting in the film still cannot be said to be particularly good. In this film, however, if the actors are too loud at times, it is because of the child's tendency to say things louder when they are important, rather than over-enunciation due to and outdated acting style.
Skippy was based on a popular comic strip of the time, so its story is every bit as slight as Cimarron's was overwrought. It has remarkable insight into the mind and activities of a child - all the more remarkable considering the fact that it was directed by a man with the cruelty to tell his young star (and nephew) that his dog was going to be shot in order to make him cry for a scene. Beyond that, however, the story doesn't have much substance - a few gags as the kids go about their daily lives (none of which, apparently, involves going to school), a couple of manipulative tearjerker scenes, and an ending that is completely implausible. In short, the film is cute, but dated, and it has very little to recommend other than Jackie Cooper's performance.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Longest Best Picture
OK, so there may be some dispute over the correct answer to my last trivia question. If you go to Netflix, go through the list of Best Picture winners, and check how long each one is, it will tell you that the longest one, by about three minutes, is Dances With Wolves. That, however, is the length of the DVD release, which is the director's cut, which includes an extra hour of footage not included in the theatrical release of the film, which is the version that won the Oscar. The true answer, and the film that I am reviewing in this post, is Gone With the Wind. Winner of the 1940 Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director (awarded to Victor Fleming, though producer David Selznick actually burned through three directors during the course of this film - the others being George Cukor, who actually directed most of the really great scenes in the film, and Sam Wood, who was nominated in the same year for Goodbye Mr Chips), Best Actress (Vivien Leigh), Best Supporting Actress (Hattie McDaniel, the first African-American to win an Oscar), and Best Adapted Screenplay (by Sidney Howard), GWTW was also nominated for Best Actor (Clark Gable) and Best Supporting Actress (Olivia de Havilland) - making Gone With the Wind the first movie to lose an Oscar to itself.
As a lifelong film buff, it is pretty embarrassing for me to have waited this long to see this film. It is, of course, the prime example of epic Hollywood film-making. In what many consider to be the strongest year of movies in Oscar history, up against such classics as The Wizard of Oz, Stagecoach, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Wuthering Heights, and Of Mice and Men, Gone With the Wind almost managed to sweep the awards. (Its only loss, oddly enough, is for the one category that it most deserved, in my opinion, for Clark Gable's performance as pragmatic rogue Rhett Butler. It lost to Goodbye Mr Chips, directed by Sam Wood, who, as I mentioned before, was booted from directing Gone With the Wind mid-production.)
The story itself, I must admit, was difficult for me to get into at first. The romanticizing of the antebellum South, portraying it as the last noble time of knights and ladies, of masters and slaves as though that were something to be proud of, is rather hard to stomach. Tara, the plantation of the O'Hara family, is a land of fat, rich white men getting fatter and richer off of the work of the slaves, and of spoiled teenage white girls throwing themselves at every man in sight, not interested in the men at all, but rather in being the center of attention. The slaves are portrayed as loyal working men - why, they weren't mistreated at all! They were practically part of the family! And those evil Yankees! They simply had no business interfering in the noble Southern way of life! Heroic Southern plantation families bravely facing the injustices of the Civil War - this is whitewashed revisionist history, pure and simple.
Granted, there are many arguments to be made in the movie's defense. Story aside, as filmmaking goes, there is a reason that this is seen as the quintessential Hollywood epic. The set designs are lavish and extravagant, the story is involving and moving, once one gets past the moral issues of hailing a family of slave-owners as heroes, and the acting is a completely different artform than was seen in the films that I recently reviewed, which were made only eight years earlier. In defense of the story itself, it could be argued that Scarlett O'Hara cannot be blamed for being raised the way she was, that before the war she was simply living the life that she was raised into, and that during and after the war she was just doing what she had to do to survive. And it can be argued that the South did face injustice during and after the war, that Sherman's March was unnecessarily and excessively destructive. Certainly, there are few who would argue that the Reconstruction after the war was handled well.
But, as the film's fans will tell you, Gone With the Wind isn't really about the War. The War is just the backdrop for the love story between Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler. And as love stories go, this one, to me, is truly... unconvincing. Scarlett never shows any signs of affection for Rhett, nor for any of the other men she marries. She really loves Ashley Wilkes... or says she does. I rather think that she only wants him because she can't have him, because he is married to another woman. She marries men out of convenience - her first husband to hurt Ashley, and her second husband, and then Rhett, for financial gain. On the other hand, Rhett doesn't seem to love Scarlett either. He marries her for social status. His treatment of her is in turns demeaning, dismissive, and abusive, and his one great romantic act in the film is really nothing less than a drunken act of spousal rape. Throughout the film's four-hour runtime, the two treat each other with constant selfishness and cruelty, and they never once share a moment of mutual affection for one another. A love story for the ages? Only of the unrequited variety.
But, for all of my criticisms, I have to admit that the film is a classic for a reason. Yes, the film is a revisionist history lesson. Yes, it has at its heart one of the most cynical, least romantic love stories Hollywood ever told. But it all works. The performances are brilliant and utterly convincing. Despite being four hours long, I never felt that it was over-long or boring. And much as I may want to say that the characters were unsympathetic, and that it was hard to care about them, I can't say that I didn't want to find out what happened next. The last hour in particular held more surprises and more emotional development than most entire films manage to elicit, and showed me that, whatever rational reasons I had for not sympathizing with any of the characters, I was without doubt wrapped up in their story.
As a lifelong film buff, it is pretty embarrassing for me to have waited this long to see this film. It is, of course, the prime example of epic Hollywood film-making. In what many consider to be the strongest year of movies in Oscar history, up against such classics as The Wizard of Oz, Stagecoach, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Wuthering Heights, and Of Mice and Men, Gone With the Wind almost managed to sweep the awards. (Its only loss, oddly enough, is for the one category that it most deserved, in my opinion, for Clark Gable's performance as pragmatic rogue Rhett Butler. It lost to Goodbye Mr Chips, directed by Sam Wood, who, as I mentioned before, was booted from directing Gone With the Wind mid-production.)
The story itself, I must admit, was difficult for me to get into at first. The romanticizing of the antebellum South, portraying it as the last noble time of knights and ladies, of masters and slaves as though that were something to be proud of, is rather hard to stomach. Tara, the plantation of the O'Hara family, is a land of fat, rich white men getting fatter and richer off of the work of the slaves, and of spoiled teenage white girls throwing themselves at every man in sight, not interested in the men at all, but rather in being the center of attention. The slaves are portrayed as loyal working men - why, they weren't mistreated at all! They were practically part of the family! And those evil Yankees! They simply had no business interfering in the noble Southern way of life! Heroic Southern plantation families bravely facing the injustices of the Civil War - this is whitewashed revisionist history, pure and simple.
Granted, there are many arguments to be made in the movie's defense. Story aside, as filmmaking goes, there is a reason that this is seen as the quintessential Hollywood epic. The set designs are lavish and extravagant, the story is involving and moving, once one gets past the moral issues of hailing a family of slave-owners as heroes, and the acting is a completely different artform than was seen in the films that I recently reviewed, which were made only eight years earlier. In defense of the story itself, it could be argued that Scarlett O'Hara cannot be blamed for being raised the way she was, that before the war she was simply living the life that she was raised into, and that during and after the war she was just doing what she had to do to survive. And it can be argued that the South did face injustice during and after the war, that Sherman's March was unnecessarily and excessively destructive. Certainly, there are few who would argue that the Reconstruction after the war was handled well.
But, as the film's fans will tell you, Gone With the Wind isn't really about the War. The War is just the backdrop for the love story between Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler. And as love stories go, this one, to me, is truly... unconvincing. Scarlett never shows any signs of affection for Rhett, nor for any of the other men she marries. She really loves Ashley Wilkes... or says she does. I rather think that she only wants him because she can't have him, because he is married to another woman. She marries men out of convenience - her first husband to hurt Ashley, and her second husband, and then Rhett, for financial gain. On the other hand, Rhett doesn't seem to love Scarlett either. He marries her for social status. His treatment of her is in turns demeaning, dismissive, and abusive, and his one great romantic act in the film is really nothing less than a drunken act of spousal rape. Throughout the film's four-hour runtime, the two treat each other with constant selfishness and cruelty, and they never once share a moment of mutual affection for one another. A love story for the ages? Only of the unrequited variety.
But, for all of my criticisms, I have to admit that the film is a classic for a reason. Yes, the film is a revisionist history lesson. Yes, it has at its heart one of the most cynical, least romantic love stories Hollywood ever told. But it all works. The performances are brilliant and utterly convincing. Despite being four hours long, I never felt that it was over-long or boring. And much as I may want to say that the characters were unsympathetic, and that it was hard to care about them, I can't say that I didn't want to find out what happened next. The last hour in particular held more surprises and more emotional development than most entire films manage to elicit, and showed me that, whatever rational reasons I had for not sympathizing with any of the characters, I was without doubt wrapped up in their story.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Three Faces of Eve
Winner of the 1958 Oscar for Best Actress (for Joanne Woodward), no other nominations.
I will say this much for The Three Faces of Eve... It is admirable, particularly for the time that this film was made, that the filmmakers decided to give such a sympathetic portrayal of a woman with a psychological disorder. There is, however, a reason that this movie didn't get any other nominations besides Woodward's. Her performance is impressive. She is quite believable as each of Eve's distinct personalities, and the viewer can always tell with just a glance which of the personalities she is inhabiting at any given time.
Beyond that, however, the film is what it is: a portrayal of a complex medical disorder that had only recently been discovered, and about which very little was known at the time. What was then a riveting look at a mysterious disorder is now just dated and hokey. It is actually dated and hokey on two levels. One is the style of storytelling. The use of voiceover narration is meant, I'm sure, to give the film a more documentary feel, but it really just took me, as a viewer, out of the story, and made the movie feel old.
The other way in which the film feels dated is in the content itself. This is actually accentuated by the opening scene, in which journalist Alistair Cooke introduces the film and briefly lectures the audience about how most films that proclaim to be based on a true story bear little resemblance to the actual facts of the story that they tell, but that this film is different, and everything in it is absolutely true. The film goes on to give an entirely oversimplified portrait of multiple personality disorder. Eve White's doctors come to the instant conclusion that she has multiple personalities, despite the fact that, at the time, that disorder had only recently begun to be theorized about, and very few of the doctors who would have even heard of the disorder truly believed that it actually existed.
Eve is able to switch personalities at will, simply because the doctors ask her to. For one thing, most people who truly have multiple personalities are not even aware of the other personalities, much less able to switch between them at will. For another, if Eve was able to switch personalities at will, why didn't she simply choose the personality that she liked, and suppress the others. If she had that much control over it, it wouldn't have caused problems in her life.
Finally, the conclusion of the film wraps the disorder up entirely too quickly and easily. In actual cases of multiple personality, it is generally the case that many years of torturous physical, psychological, and/or sexual abuse must occur before the patient begins to manifest multiple personalities. The single traumatic event described at the conclusion of this film would not be nearly enough to create that level of psychological disorder. Presumably, the filmmakers had to soften the blow, to come up with an alternate trauma that would be more palatable to audiences, in order to get the film made. But the result is that the film is rather unbelievable and unsophisticated now that more is known about multiple personality disorder. In addition, in the film, as soon as Eve and her doctor uncover the traumatic event that caused her disorder, the discovery is enough for her to get over the trauma. Her alternate personalities instantly disappear, and she is all better. This is nothing but a Hollywood happy ending. The patient upon whom Eve was based first sought treatment in 1951. The film was made in 1958. The patient upon whom Eve was based was still in constant psychological treatment until the mid-1970s. Clearly, the film was not as 100% loyal to the facts as the introduction would have you believe.
Movie trivia: What was the longest film to win the Oscar for Best Picture? The answer, most likely, will be my next post.
I will say this much for The Three Faces of Eve... It is admirable, particularly for the time that this film was made, that the filmmakers decided to give such a sympathetic portrayal of a woman with a psychological disorder. There is, however, a reason that this movie didn't get any other nominations besides Woodward's. Her performance is impressive. She is quite believable as each of Eve's distinct personalities, and the viewer can always tell with just a glance which of the personalities she is inhabiting at any given time.
Beyond that, however, the film is what it is: a portrayal of a complex medical disorder that had only recently been discovered, and about which very little was known at the time. What was then a riveting look at a mysterious disorder is now just dated and hokey. It is actually dated and hokey on two levels. One is the style of storytelling. The use of voiceover narration is meant, I'm sure, to give the film a more documentary feel, but it really just took me, as a viewer, out of the story, and made the movie feel old.
The other way in which the film feels dated is in the content itself. This is actually accentuated by the opening scene, in which journalist Alistair Cooke introduces the film and briefly lectures the audience about how most films that proclaim to be based on a true story bear little resemblance to the actual facts of the story that they tell, but that this film is different, and everything in it is absolutely true. The film goes on to give an entirely oversimplified portrait of multiple personality disorder. Eve White's doctors come to the instant conclusion that she has multiple personalities, despite the fact that, at the time, that disorder had only recently begun to be theorized about, and very few of the doctors who would have even heard of the disorder truly believed that it actually existed.
Eve is able to switch personalities at will, simply because the doctors ask her to. For one thing, most people who truly have multiple personalities are not even aware of the other personalities, much less able to switch between them at will. For another, if Eve was able to switch personalities at will, why didn't she simply choose the personality that she liked, and suppress the others. If she had that much control over it, it wouldn't have caused problems in her life.
Finally, the conclusion of the film wraps the disorder up entirely too quickly and easily. In actual cases of multiple personality, it is generally the case that many years of torturous physical, psychological, and/or sexual abuse must occur before the patient begins to manifest multiple personalities. The single traumatic event described at the conclusion of this film would not be nearly enough to create that level of psychological disorder. Presumably, the filmmakers had to soften the blow, to come up with an alternate trauma that would be more palatable to audiences, in order to get the film made. But the result is that the film is rather unbelievable and unsophisticated now that more is known about multiple personality disorder. In addition, in the film, as soon as Eve and her doctor uncover the traumatic event that caused her disorder, the discovery is enough for her to get over the trauma. Her alternate personalities instantly disappear, and she is all better. This is nothing but a Hollywood happy ending. The patient upon whom Eve was based first sought treatment in 1951. The film was made in 1958. The patient upon whom Eve was based was still in constant psychological treatment until the mid-1970s. Clearly, the film was not as 100% loyal to the facts as the introduction would have you believe.
Movie trivia: What was the longest film to win the Oscar for Best Picture? The answer, most likely, will be my next post.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Cimarron
Winner of the 1932 Oscars for Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay, nominated for Best Director, Best Actor (for Richard Dix), and Best Actress (for Irene Dunne).
The Western has always been a staple of Hollywood filmmaking. The first feature film was a Western, and in the early days of Hollywood just about every film made was either a Western, a gangster movie, a war movie, or a musical. So it isn't surprising that it only took four years for Oscar to honor a Western as Best Picture. Much more surprising is the fact that, since that time, only one other Western has taken the same award. Movie trivia: which film was it? Answer at the end of this review.
The film tells the story of Yancey Cravat, the adventurous heir of a wealthy family, who packs up his wife and young son to head across the newly opened border of the Oklahoma territory in 1889 and into the Cimarron, or the wildlands. His wife, Sabra, is initially thrilled to be brought along, but quickly finds that Yancey's enthusiasm for frontier living often interferes with his abilities to keep his family safe. Within a few days, Yancey has become both sheriff of the town and proprietor of its only newspaper. Soon thereafter, he also becomes the preacher at the town's multi-denominational church. At about this point in the picture, the viewer expects that, by film's end, Yancey will have single-handedly civilized the West, cured all of the world's diseases, and invented a time machine to pre-emptively kill Hitler and prevent World War II.
By modern standards, the film is pretty laughable. Hollywood was, of course, still in transition from silent films to sound, and it shows here. The sound mixing is poor, with lines of dialogue frequently getting overwhelmed by background noise. More importantly, the acting is an embarrassment to the profession. The performances, across the board, are overwrought and hammy, clearly the product of a profession that had not yet adapted to the technology of the time. Actors were still used to giving either silent film performances, in which exaggerated gestures and facial expressions had to be used to compensate for words that could not be spoken, or stage acting performances, in which dialogue had to be loud and over-enunciated in order to ensure that the entire audience could hear. These performance styles left very little room for subtlety. What little subtlety may have been left was stomped into the ground by stereotypes, racial and otherwise. From the African-American servant boy who stows away with the Cravat family, to the Indians whose land is stolen to build up the frontier town, to the Jewish salesman, to the blue-blooded lady who sits next to Mrs. Cravat in church, to the stuttering newspaper editor, and so on, not a single performance in this film seems natural or true, not a single character believable or realistic in any way. Also, for somebody who is supposed to come across as a rugged, wilderness adventure seeker type, Yancey Cravat spends most of the movie looking suspiciously like somebody who just got out of a chair after getting make-up, a haircut, and possibly a manicure, rather than somebody who just got out of a gunfight or off of the dusty trail.
Action scenes in the film are often muddled and confusing, as well. Some of this is due to lack of technology, some to the standards of the time. Every time that somebody in the film is shot, the camera cuts to the person doing the shooting, then back to the person who is shot, as though to avoid the "graphic violence" of actually showing somebody pretend to get shot.
Of course, the film, for the most part, cannot be blamed for being outdated and unsophisticated. It was made 78 years ago, a product of a newly-developing artform, made using the technology and sensibilities of its time. It would be unfair to expect Cimarron to hold up to today's standards. That being said, the only reason to watch this film is for historical purposes, for the sake of seeing what films were deemed worthy of acclaim at the time this one was made. And that is where I come in. MovieDrew: watching the Oscar-winners so you don't have to.
Movie trivia answer: The other Western to win the Oscar for Best Picture, 61 years after this one, was Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven.
The Western has always been a staple of Hollywood filmmaking. The first feature film was a Western, and in the early days of Hollywood just about every film made was either a Western, a gangster movie, a war movie, or a musical. So it isn't surprising that it only took four years for Oscar to honor a Western as Best Picture. Much more surprising is the fact that, since that time, only one other Western has taken the same award. Movie trivia: which film was it? Answer at the end of this review.
The film tells the story of Yancey Cravat, the adventurous heir of a wealthy family, who packs up his wife and young son to head across the newly opened border of the Oklahoma territory in 1889 and into the Cimarron, or the wildlands. His wife, Sabra, is initially thrilled to be brought along, but quickly finds that Yancey's enthusiasm for frontier living often interferes with his abilities to keep his family safe. Within a few days, Yancey has become both sheriff of the town and proprietor of its only newspaper. Soon thereafter, he also becomes the preacher at the town's multi-denominational church. At about this point in the picture, the viewer expects that, by film's end, Yancey will have single-handedly civilized the West, cured all of the world's diseases, and invented a time machine to pre-emptively kill Hitler and prevent World War II.
By modern standards, the film is pretty laughable. Hollywood was, of course, still in transition from silent films to sound, and it shows here. The sound mixing is poor, with lines of dialogue frequently getting overwhelmed by background noise. More importantly, the acting is an embarrassment to the profession. The performances, across the board, are overwrought and hammy, clearly the product of a profession that had not yet adapted to the technology of the time. Actors were still used to giving either silent film performances, in which exaggerated gestures and facial expressions had to be used to compensate for words that could not be spoken, or stage acting performances, in which dialogue had to be loud and over-enunciated in order to ensure that the entire audience could hear. These performance styles left very little room for subtlety. What little subtlety may have been left was stomped into the ground by stereotypes, racial and otherwise. From the African-American servant boy who stows away with the Cravat family, to the Indians whose land is stolen to build up the frontier town, to the Jewish salesman, to the blue-blooded lady who sits next to Mrs. Cravat in church, to the stuttering newspaper editor, and so on, not a single performance in this film seems natural or true, not a single character believable or realistic in any way. Also, for somebody who is supposed to come across as a rugged, wilderness adventure seeker type, Yancey Cravat spends most of the movie looking suspiciously like somebody who just got out of a chair after getting make-up, a haircut, and possibly a manicure, rather than somebody who just got out of a gunfight or off of the dusty trail.
Action scenes in the film are often muddled and confusing, as well. Some of this is due to lack of technology, some to the standards of the time. Every time that somebody in the film is shot, the camera cuts to the person doing the shooting, then back to the person who is shot, as though to avoid the "graphic violence" of actually showing somebody pretend to get shot.
Of course, the film, for the most part, cannot be blamed for being outdated and unsophisticated. It was made 78 years ago, a product of a newly-developing artform, made using the technology and sensibilities of its time. It would be unfair to expect Cimarron to hold up to today's standards. That being said, the only reason to watch this film is for historical purposes, for the sake of seeing what films were deemed worthy of acclaim at the time this one was made. And that is where I come in. MovieDrew: watching the Oscar-winners so you don't have to.
Movie trivia answer: The other Western to win the Oscar for Best Picture, 61 years after this one, was Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Inglourious Basterds
Winner of the 2010 Oscar for Best Supporting Actor (for Christoph Waltz), nominated for Best Picture, Best Director (for Quentin Tarantino), and Best Original Screenplay.
When I heard that Quentin Tarantino was making a World War Two movie in which Brad Pitt plays a redneck soldier leading an elite team in a guerrilla warfare mission to kill Nazis, I had a certain image in my mind of what that would look like. Tarantino managed to make a completely different movie than I had imagined, but without going against his trademark style. I was expecting a Tarantino-ized version of The Dirty Dozen. Instead, I found an opening scene in which he quite masterfully channeled Sergio Leone - The Good The Bad And The Ugly transported from the Civil War era west to Nazi occupied France. Tarantino has a real eye for genre, and a natural talent for mashing together the best elements of several genres (especially marginalized ones) to create a film that is greater than the sum of its parts.
I can't begin to imagine the challenges that this film, with its constant switching of languages back and forth from English to French, to German, to Italian, must have presented to its director - particularly to a director as dialogue-obsessed as Tarantino is. How difficult it must be for a director to determine the quality of a performance that is being given in a language other than the director's native tongue! I have to believe that Tarantino was helped immeasurably in his task by the brilliant performance given by Christoph Waltz, a relatively unknown Austrian actor who shifts effortlessly between the four languages, delivering his lines in each with entirely natural-sounding accents (as he would have to, given the scenes in which he is required to point out the flawed accents of other characters). But the strength of Waltz's performance does not boil down to a simple fluency in languages and a talent for accents. Waltz inhabits his character, an SS officer nicknamed "The Jew Hunter," with every detail of his performance - every word he says, every facial expression, every laugh, every movement, is delivered in exactly the way in which his character would deliver it. Even when you know that he is about to do something horrible, you can't help being fascinated.
When I heard that Quentin Tarantino was making a World War Two movie in which Brad Pitt plays a redneck soldier leading an elite team in a guerrilla warfare mission to kill Nazis, I had a certain image in my mind of what that would look like. Tarantino managed to make a completely different movie than I had imagined, but without going against his trademark style. I was expecting a Tarantino-ized version of The Dirty Dozen. Instead, I found an opening scene in which he quite masterfully channeled Sergio Leone - The Good The Bad And The Ugly transported from the Civil War era west to Nazi occupied France. Tarantino has a real eye for genre, and a natural talent for mashing together the best elements of several genres (especially marginalized ones) to create a film that is greater than the sum of its parts.
I can't begin to imagine the challenges that this film, with its constant switching of languages back and forth from English to French, to German, to Italian, must have presented to its director - particularly to a director as dialogue-obsessed as Tarantino is. How difficult it must be for a director to determine the quality of a performance that is being given in a language other than the director's native tongue! I have to believe that Tarantino was helped immeasurably in his task by the brilliant performance given by Christoph Waltz, a relatively unknown Austrian actor who shifts effortlessly between the four languages, delivering his lines in each with entirely natural-sounding accents (as he would have to, given the scenes in which he is required to point out the flawed accents of other characters). But the strength of Waltz's performance does not boil down to a simple fluency in languages and a talent for accents. Waltz inhabits his character, an SS officer nicknamed "The Jew Hunter," with every detail of his performance - every word he says, every facial expression, every laugh, every movement, is delivered in exactly the way in which his character would deliver it. Even when you know that he is about to do something horrible, you can't help being fascinated.
Precious
Winner of the 2010 Oscars for Best Supporting Actress (for Mo'Nique) and Best Adapted Screenplay, nominated for Best Picture, Best Director (for Lee Daniels), and Best Actress (for newcomer Gabourey Sidibe).
To be honest, this is really not an easy movie to watch. The story that it tells is brutal, bleak, and depressing, filled with overwhelming hopelessness, and every time you think that it couldn't get any worse for the titular character, it does. The superb acting is almost to the film's detriment, as Sidibe is so brave and draws so much sympathy that the viewer just can't stand to see what new outrages lie around the corner for her, and Mo'Nique is so utterly convincing and chilling as the abusive mother that I couldn't help hoping for a scene in which she dies a slow, painful death. I was tempted throughout the film to just stop watching, as it was so difficult to bear witness to one more torment.
Precious tells the story of a sixteen-year-old Harlem girl, completely unable to read, who, at the start of the film, is being kicked out of her high school for being pregnant with her second child, both the result of sexual abuse at the hands of her father. The father only makes occasional appearances to continue that abuse, while Precious' mother (the Oscar-winning Mo'Nique) sits on the couch all day, watching TV, smoking endless cigarettes, and getting her daughter to buy her lotto tickets, get her welfare checks, and cook her dinner (which, if not prepared just right, Precious is forced to eat herself, despite her desire to not be overweight). Precious' first child, a daughter with Down's Syndrome whose vicious name I can't even bring myself to repeat, is pushed off on Precious' grandmother, at her mother's insistence, only brought around for visits when needed to milk more money from the welfare system.
After being removed from her high school, Precious is offered an opportunity to attend an alternative school, where her new classmates and teacher help her to overcome some difficulties and see hope for her future. For every step forward, however, fate has another setback in store for Precious. This film is everything that the condescending The Blind Side tried to be. The Blind Side seems to have the message that a poverty-stricken minority youth can accomplish anything with hard work, perseverance... and the support of an affluent white family. Everything that Precious achieves, she achieves through her own efforts. While Precious is certainly a more challenging viewing experience than The Blind Side, I think that it is worth the effort, and the return on the time-investment is far more worthwhile.
To be honest, this is really not an easy movie to watch. The story that it tells is brutal, bleak, and depressing, filled with overwhelming hopelessness, and every time you think that it couldn't get any worse for the titular character, it does. The superb acting is almost to the film's detriment, as Sidibe is so brave and draws so much sympathy that the viewer just can't stand to see what new outrages lie around the corner for her, and Mo'Nique is so utterly convincing and chilling as the abusive mother that I couldn't help hoping for a scene in which she dies a slow, painful death. I was tempted throughout the film to just stop watching, as it was so difficult to bear witness to one more torment.
Precious tells the story of a sixteen-year-old Harlem girl, completely unable to read, who, at the start of the film, is being kicked out of her high school for being pregnant with her second child, both the result of sexual abuse at the hands of her father. The father only makes occasional appearances to continue that abuse, while Precious' mother (the Oscar-winning Mo'Nique) sits on the couch all day, watching TV, smoking endless cigarettes, and getting her daughter to buy her lotto tickets, get her welfare checks, and cook her dinner (which, if not prepared just right, Precious is forced to eat herself, despite her desire to not be overweight). Precious' first child, a daughter with Down's Syndrome whose vicious name I can't even bring myself to repeat, is pushed off on Precious' grandmother, at her mother's insistence, only brought around for visits when needed to milk more money from the welfare system.
After being removed from her high school, Precious is offered an opportunity to attend an alternative school, where her new classmates and teacher help her to overcome some difficulties and see hope for her future. For every step forward, however, fate has another setback in store for Precious. This film is everything that the condescending The Blind Side tried to be. The Blind Side seems to have the message that a poverty-stricken minority youth can accomplish anything with hard work, perseverance... and the support of an affluent white family. Everything that Precious achieves, she achieves through her own efforts. While Precious is certainly a more challenging viewing experience than The Blind Side, I think that it is worth the effort, and the return on the time-investment is far more worthwhile.
Crazy Heart
Winner of the 2010 Oscar for Best Actor (for Jeff Bridges), nominated for Best Supporting Actress (for Maggie Gyllenhaal). After four previous nominations since 1972, three for supporting actor, and one for lead actor, Jeff Bridges finally takes home the statue! This award was particularly satisfying to me as a movie fan for two reasons. The first is that I think Jeff Bridges is possibly the most underrated actor of his time. Bridges is always compelling in his performances, even in movies that are beneath his level of talent, and I have yet to see a film with him in it that was not made more enjoyable as a direct result of his presence. That he has been nominated so few times, and that it took this long for him to finally win, should be a crime.
The second reason is the performance itself. So many times, when an actor wins an Oscar so long after he really should have, the award is passed off as being a "make-up" Oscar - a less deserving performance is awarded with the statue to make up for the fact that so many more deserving performances by that actor have been overlooked (see Al Pacino). The strength of this performance, I feel, leaves no room for doubters to diminish the value of Bridges' Oscar by claiming that this was a make-up. It is a rare thing for me to find a performance by a well-known actor in which he so completely inhabits the role that I stop seeing the famous actor because I can only see the character. This is one of those rare roles. In fact, I felt throughout the film that I was watching Kris Kristofferson (who, having been a friend of Bridges' since the two worked together on Heaven's Gate, was almost certainly a heavy influence on this performance), rather than Jeff Bridges.
The film tells the story of Bad Blake, an aging country singer, long past his glory days, alcoholic and in ill-health, who is trying to turn his life and his career around. The story is solid, though it doesn't exactly break any new ground - it is essentially the same story as last year's The Wrestler, but with country music instead of professional wrestling as the backdrop. The supporting cast is strong, topped by Maggie Gyllenhaal as the young reporter and single mother who inspires Blake to get his life back together, and Colin Farrell as the former protege, now resented by Blake for having achieved the superstardom that Blake missed out on. It all feels a bit familiar, it's true, but this is possibly the best performance of Jeff Bridges' career, and that alone makes it worth a strong recommendation.
The second reason is the performance itself. So many times, when an actor wins an Oscar so long after he really should have, the award is passed off as being a "make-up" Oscar - a less deserving performance is awarded with the statue to make up for the fact that so many more deserving performances by that actor have been overlooked (see Al Pacino). The strength of this performance, I feel, leaves no room for doubters to diminish the value of Bridges' Oscar by claiming that this was a make-up. It is a rare thing for me to find a performance by a well-known actor in which he so completely inhabits the role that I stop seeing the famous actor because I can only see the character. This is one of those rare roles. In fact, I felt throughout the film that I was watching Kris Kristofferson (who, having been a friend of Bridges' since the two worked together on Heaven's Gate, was almost certainly a heavy influence on this performance), rather than Jeff Bridges.
The film tells the story of Bad Blake, an aging country singer, long past his glory days, alcoholic and in ill-health, who is trying to turn his life and his career around. The story is solid, though it doesn't exactly break any new ground - it is essentially the same story as last year's The Wrestler, but with country music instead of professional wrestling as the backdrop. The supporting cast is strong, topped by Maggie Gyllenhaal as the young reporter and single mother who inspires Blake to get his life back together, and Colin Farrell as the former protege, now resented by Blake for having achieved the superstardom that Blake missed out on. It all feels a bit familiar, it's true, but this is possibly the best performance of Jeff Bridges' career, and that alone makes it worth a strong recommendation.
The Hurt Locker
Winner of the 2010 Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director (for Kathryn Bigelow, the first woman to ever win that award), and Best Original Screenplay, nominated for Best Actor (for Jeremy Renner).
I don't like to give away spoilers, but this one happens in the opening scene of the film. If you haven't seen it yet, and you want a surprise, then skip ahead to the next paragraph. So, the movie starts, and there's Guy Pierce (from Memento and LA Confidential), suiting up and getting ready to disarm an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). He's the team leader, and he's the only actor there that I recognize, so I feel pretty safe in thinking that the movie will be about him. A few agonizingly, teeth-gnashingly intense minutes later, he disappears into a cloud of debris, and I am left feeling that this film could have anything happen to any character at any time.
Most films of this genre begin with a scene of that level of intensity, and then are satisfied to back off until the finale, feeling that as long as the beginning and the end are memorable, the rest of the film just has to not be awful. The Hurt Locker, however, maintains that level of intensity in every single scene. Even scenes that in other films would be there for the sake of comic relief or easing the tension - the team members getting to know each other during down time, or the new team leader befriending a local boy who sells him bootleg DVDs - are riddled with tension, a sense that something bad not only could, but must happen at any second. This film does for action movies what the original Night of the Living Dead did for horror movies - it leaves the viewer with the feeling that the safety net has been removed, that the expectation that there must be a moment for the audience to catch their breath is no longer valid.
Having never been to war, I have no experience upon which to draw, but this film feels very authentic to me. It seems to me that this is an accurate portrayal of what it would be like to be in a war zone. The screenplay was written by a journalist who had been embedded with some soldiers, and that experience really shows in the final film. The sense of constant unease, the ever-present knowledge that any of the characters could be killed at any time, just feels more accurate to me than, say, Inglourious Basterds (which, I know, was not exactly going for accuracy), in which you know from the start that Brad Pitt just has to survive until the end because he's the star of the movie.
I don't like to give away spoilers, but this one happens in the opening scene of the film. If you haven't seen it yet, and you want a surprise, then skip ahead to the next paragraph. So, the movie starts, and there's Guy Pierce (from Memento and LA Confidential), suiting up and getting ready to disarm an Improvised Explosive Device (IED). He's the team leader, and he's the only actor there that I recognize, so I feel pretty safe in thinking that the movie will be about him. A few agonizingly, teeth-gnashingly intense minutes later, he disappears into a cloud of debris, and I am left feeling that this film could have anything happen to any character at any time.
Most films of this genre begin with a scene of that level of intensity, and then are satisfied to back off until the finale, feeling that as long as the beginning and the end are memorable, the rest of the film just has to not be awful. The Hurt Locker, however, maintains that level of intensity in every single scene. Even scenes that in other films would be there for the sake of comic relief or easing the tension - the team members getting to know each other during down time, or the new team leader befriending a local boy who sells him bootleg DVDs - are riddled with tension, a sense that something bad not only could, but must happen at any second. This film does for action movies what the original Night of the Living Dead did for horror movies - it leaves the viewer with the feeling that the safety net has been removed, that the expectation that there must be a moment for the audience to catch their breath is no longer valid.
Having never been to war, I have no experience upon which to draw, but this film feels very authentic to me. It seems to me that this is an accurate portrayal of what it would be like to be in a war zone. The screenplay was written by a journalist who had been embedded with some soldiers, and that experience really shows in the final film. The sense of constant unease, the ever-present knowledge that any of the characters could be killed at any time, just feels more accurate to me than, say, Inglourious Basterds (which, I know, was not exactly going for accuracy), in which you know from the start that Brad Pitt just has to survive until the end because he's the star of the movie.
The Blind Side
Winner of the 2010 Oscar for Best Actress, nominated for Best Picture. Sandra Bullock won her award for playing the strong-willed head of an affluent Southern family, who takes in and eventually adopts a poor African-American teenager from the ghetto. The teen shows boundless potential as an athlete, but, due to his lack of parental guidance or proper schooling, he is unable to read, perform in class, or even understand his role on a football field. Through Bullock's character's generosity and stern-but-loving guidance, he finds the ability to succeed in class, learn to play football, get accepted to school, and eventually get drafted to the NFL.
The film was a heart-warmer, to be sure, but was it really Oscar-worthy? Particularly in a year in which it stood against the vastly superior Precious, The Blind Side comes across, to me at least, as a condescending, sugary, white-washed version of the same story. Sugary and white-washed because of the happy ending (yes, I realize it was based on a true story, but still...), and condescending because of the implied message that it was only through the kindness of a rich white woman that this poor African-American was able to succeed. Yes, Michael Oher is shown to work hard and earn his acceptance into college and his eventual football career, but it is made clear that he wouldn't have gotten his chance to earn these things if not for the efforts of his adopted white family.
Granted, this was the finest performance that I have ever seen Sandra Bullock give, but it was simply not in the same category as the courageous, revelatory performances given by Gabourey Sidibe in Precious and Carey Mulligan in An Education. The consolation is that, given the strength of those two performances, it is easy to believe that both of these up-and-coming actresses will certainly have other opportunities to take home the prize.
The film was a heart-warmer, to be sure, but was it really Oscar-worthy? Particularly in a year in which it stood against the vastly superior Precious, The Blind Side comes across, to me at least, as a condescending, sugary, white-washed version of the same story. Sugary and white-washed because of the happy ending (yes, I realize it was based on a true story, but still...), and condescending because of the implied message that it was only through the kindness of a rich white woman that this poor African-American was able to succeed. Yes, Michael Oher is shown to work hard and earn his acceptance into college and his eventual football career, but it is made clear that he wouldn't have gotten his chance to earn these things if not for the efforts of his adopted white family.
Granted, this was the finest performance that I have ever seen Sandra Bullock give, but it was simply not in the same category as the courageous, revelatory performances given by Gabourey Sidibe in Precious and Carey Mulligan in An Education. The consolation is that, given the strength of those two performances, it is easy to believe that both of these up-and-coming actresses will certainly have other opportunities to take home the prize.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
You Can't Take It With You (1938)
Winner of the 1939 Oscars for Best Picture and Best Director (Frank Capra), You Can't Take it With you was also nominated for Best Supporting Actress (for Spring Boyington's performance as Penny Sycamore, the female lead's kooky amateur-playwright mother), and for best adapted screenplay. This film was the last of Capra's three Oscars for Best Director, and the fourth of six nominations. While not Capra's most memorable film, this is a prime example of his trademark style, his masterful mixing of the cornball with the contemporary, and of hokey small-town sentimentalism with world-weary cynicism. Capra's films, when viewed with modern eyes, have a way of seeming simultaneously ridiculously dated and yet ahead of their time and still topical in today's world.
You Can't Take It With You tells the story of a young bank vice-president, Tony Kirby, handed the job by his bank-owner father, who decides to marry his secretary, a woman who happens to be a member of the family whose refusal to sell off their home is standing in the way of the biggest business deal of the bank-owner's career. Sticking with the same theme as Capra's later (and more widely known and loved) film, It's A Wonderful Life, the over-arching message of the film is that money does not lead to happiness, and that no man is truly poor who has friends. Slapstick comedy ensues, of course, as Tony's new fiancee strives to get the straight-laced Kirby family to accept her unconventional family, and Grandpa tries to show the elder Kirby that there is more to life that business and money.
This film shares two stars with the later film, but in a rather startling reversal. James Stewart plays Tony Kirby, the young vice-president. Kirby, like George Bailey, is a young man trapped in his family's banking business, unable to escape to live out his bigger dreams. However, unlike George Bailey, who is trapped by feelings of familial obligation and a desire to sacrifice his own happiness and ambition for the sake of doing the right thing, Kirby is instead trapped by the path of least resistance, by the fact that, as long as he stays in his family's good graces, he can have anything that he wants simply by screaming loud enough. In this film, it is as though Stewart is trapped in his job at Potter's bank, rather than at the old Bailey Bros. Building and Loan. In fact, the same circumstance of being trapped in the family business that make George Bailey such a likable character are what make Tony Kirby seem so spoiled and selfish.
On the other hand, Lionel Barrymore, best known for playing Old Man Potter in It's A Wonderful Life, here plays Grandpa Martin Vanderhof, the grandfather of Stewart's love interest and free-spirited patriarch of the family that refuses to move out of the way of big business. Vanderhof, once a businessman like Kirby's father, decided one day many years before that, though he was making a lot of money, he was not getting any joy out of his life, so he abandoned his career and raised his family to pursue whatever passing fancies interested them without regard to money or success. The familial home is part madhouse, part pre-hippie commune, with his daughter writing plays "because a typewriter was dropped off at the house by mistake," his son-in-law making fireworks in the basement, and a granddaughter splitting her time between making candy and practicing ballet, and various neighbors and adopted strangers showing up to work on their hobbies and partake in free meals. When confronted with the fact that he owes 22 years of back income tax, Vanderhof dismisses the charge, saying that he simply doesn't believe in taxes. (OK, I guess that part does resemble Old Man Potter.)
Capra's films have always struck me as very anti-capitalist, anti-business, and very favorable of the attitude that people have a responsibility to contribute to the greater good of their society. In a word, Capra's films have always struck me as rather communistic. Imagine my surprise when, in doing a little (very little, actually) research, I found that Capra (as well as his frequent star, James Stewart) was a life-long Republican and an anti-communist crusader.
You Can't Take It With You tells the story of a young bank vice-president, Tony Kirby, handed the job by his bank-owner father, who decides to marry his secretary, a woman who happens to be a member of the family whose refusal to sell off their home is standing in the way of the biggest business deal of the bank-owner's career. Sticking with the same theme as Capra's later (and more widely known and loved) film, It's A Wonderful Life, the over-arching message of the film is that money does not lead to happiness, and that no man is truly poor who has friends. Slapstick comedy ensues, of course, as Tony's new fiancee strives to get the straight-laced Kirby family to accept her unconventional family, and Grandpa tries to show the elder Kirby that there is more to life that business and money.
This film shares two stars with the later film, but in a rather startling reversal. James Stewart plays Tony Kirby, the young vice-president. Kirby, like George Bailey, is a young man trapped in his family's banking business, unable to escape to live out his bigger dreams. However, unlike George Bailey, who is trapped by feelings of familial obligation and a desire to sacrifice his own happiness and ambition for the sake of doing the right thing, Kirby is instead trapped by the path of least resistance, by the fact that, as long as he stays in his family's good graces, he can have anything that he wants simply by screaming loud enough. In this film, it is as though Stewart is trapped in his job at Potter's bank, rather than at the old Bailey Bros. Building and Loan. In fact, the same circumstance of being trapped in the family business that make George Bailey such a likable character are what make Tony Kirby seem so spoiled and selfish.
On the other hand, Lionel Barrymore, best known for playing Old Man Potter in It's A Wonderful Life, here plays Grandpa Martin Vanderhof, the grandfather of Stewart's love interest and free-spirited patriarch of the family that refuses to move out of the way of big business. Vanderhof, once a businessman like Kirby's father, decided one day many years before that, though he was making a lot of money, he was not getting any joy out of his life, so he abandoned his career and raised his family to pursue whatever passing fancies interested them without regard to money or success. The familial home is part madhouse, part pre-hippie commune, with his daughter writing plays "because a typewriter was dropped off at the house by mistake," his son-in-law making fireworks in the basement, and a granddaughter splitting her time between making candy and practicing ballet, and various neighbors and adopted strangers showing up to work on their hobbies and partake in free meals. When confronted with the fact that he owes 22 years of back income tax, Vanderhof dismisses the charge, saying that he simply doesn't believe in taxes. (OK, I guess that part does resemble Old Man Potter.)
Capra's films have always struck me as very anti-capitalist, anti-business, and very favorable of the attitude that people have a responsibility to contribute to the greater good of their society. In a word, Capra's films have always struck me as rather communistic. Imagine my surprise when, in doing a little (very little, actually) research, I found that Capra (as well as his frequent star, James Stewart) was a life-long Republican and an anti-communist crusader.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
My first review
So, I thought to myself, what better way to start this project than with a review of the first movie to win an Oscar for Best Picture. Unfortunately, the fates and the DVD distributors disagreed with me, as that film, 1927's Wings, is not readily available on DVD. Netflix doesn't carry it, and eBay could only come up with a few VHS copies and some cheap-looking bootlegs. Even a torrent search tells me that I can have the movie sometime between 32 days from now and infinity. More on that later
With that plan gone awry, I decided to go with a movie that I had available to me, but that I had not watched yet, one that will close out the Oscar-winners of its year for me. (And one that is short enough for me to be able to watch it in the time that I have before I have to leave for work.) Today's review is for Iris. The winner of 2002's Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Jim Broadbent's performance, Iris was also nominated for Best Actress (for Judy Dench, who lost to Halle Berry for Monster's Ball), and for Best Supporting Actress (Kate Winslet, who lost to Jennifer Connelly for A Beautiful Mind).
Iris is touted (and even subtitled) as a memoir of author Iris Murdoch, but I wonder if that subtitle is meant to be ironic. Murdoch was probably the most influential female British author of the 1950s. Viewers of the film know this because several people throughout the course of the film say so. We do not, however, know it from being shown anything of her work. In fact, very little is said about her writing, other than that she writes "about freedom." The film is split between two portrayals of the author. In her younger days, Murdoch, as portrayed by Kate Winslet, is a budding author, having written a novel that is to be published, but that she has not allowed anybody to read yet. At this point, she is better known for her scandalous behavior - promiscuity, bisexuality, a proclivity to skinny dip (sometimes in front of crowds of small children), and a habit of wantonly riding her bicycle down hills at reckless speeds - than for her work. In her later years, Murdoch is portrayed by Judy Dench as a woman succumbing to the ravages of Alzheimer's Disease. Between the two portrayals, and left almost entirely unmentioned in this film, lays the span of what we are told was a brilliant writing career.
Even less is said about the career of Murdoch's husband, John Bayley, the role for which Broadbent won his Oscar. Astute viewers may pick up on the fact that Bayley is a professor of some sort. At no point does the film mention that he was a highly respected literary critic. Bayley, as played in this film, is seen as little more than a doting, stammering, long-suffering husband.
Don't get me wrong. The film is exceptionally well-acted. All three of the nominated performances are engrossing and involving, strong enough to warrant a recommendation for the film. Winslet's performance of a woman with the courage to flout society's conventions and the talent to become successful in spite of her reputation is empowering, and the descent of Dench's character into senility, and Broadbent's attempt to cope with it, are harrowing and emotional. I just feel that the film bookends a brilliant career, but glosses over the brilliance of the career itself.
With that plan gone awry, I decided to go with a movie that I had available to me, but that I had not watched yet, one that will close out the Oscar-winners of its year for me. (And one that is short enough for me to be able to watch it in the time that I have before I have to leave for work.) Today's review is for Iris. The winner of 2002's Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Jim Broadbent's performance, Iris was also nominated for Best Actress (for Judy Dench, who lost to Halle Berry for Monster's Ball), and for Best Supporting Actress (Kate Winslet, who lost to Jennifer Connelly for A Beautiful Mind).
Iris is touted (and even subtitled) as a memoir of author Iris Murdoch, but I wonder if that subtitle is meant to be ironic. Murdoch was probably the most influential female British author of the 1950s. Viewers of the film know this because several people throughout the course of the film say so. We do not, however, know it from being shown anything of her work. In fact, very little is said about her writing, other than that she writes "about freedom." The film is split between two portrayals of the author. In her younger days, Murdoch, as portrayed by Kate Winslet, is a budding author, having written a novel that is to be published, but that she has not allowed anybody to read yet. At this point, she is better known for her scandalous behavior - promiscuity, bisexuality, a proclivity to skinny dip (sometimes in front of crowds of small children), and a habit of wantonly riding her bicycle down hills at reckless speeds - than for her work. In her later years, Murdoch is portrayed by Judy Dench as a woman succumbing to the ravages of Alzheimer's Disease. Between the two portrayals, and left almost entirely unmentioned in this film, lays the span of what we are told was a brilliant writing career.
Even less is said about the career of Murdoch's husband, John Bayley, the role for which Broadbent won his Oscar. Astute viewers may pick up on the fact that Bayley is a professor of some sort. At no point does the film mention that he was a highly respected literary critic. Bayley, as played in this film, is seen as little more than a doting, stammering, long-suffering husband.
Don't get me wrong. The film is exceptionally well-acted. All three of the nominated performances are engrossing and involving, strong enough to warrant a recommendation for the film. Winslet's performance of a woman with the courage to flout society's conventions and the talent to become successful in spite of her reputation is empowering, and the descent of Dench's character into senility, and Broadbent's attempt to cope with it, are harrowing and emotional. I just feel that the film bookends a brilliant career, but glosses over the brilliance of the career itself.
Monday, March 1, 2010
My Oscar project
I have decided to upgrade my status as a lifelong film buff and become a budding amateur film historian. To that end, I have decided to debut my Oscar project. The goal of this project is to watch and review all of the movies that have won Oscars in the major categories. For the purposes of this project, I define the major categories of Oscars as Best Picture, Best Director, all four acting categories, and both writing categories. (Nothing against the other categories, but I have to make some limitations to keep the project manageable, and I have never watched a movie just because it contained an Oscar-winning best song.) If this goes well, after I get through all of the Oscar winners, I may expand the project to include all of the nominees. Yes, I realize that this project is essentially the plot of Julie and Julia, but with movies instead of food. Yes, I am fine with that.
I will go through the movies in no particular order, other than that I will, for the most part, start with the ones that I have not seen before, and then work my way through the ones that I have seen. By my count, not including the 2010 Oscars, which, of course, have not happened yet, there are 387 movies for me to review. Currently, there are 154 Oscar winners that I have not yet seen. I am rather disappointed with that number. I guess it's time for me to focus my efforts. I will set a tentative deadline for myself of one year.
I will go through the movies in no particular order, other than that I will, for the most part, start with the ones that I have not seen before, and then work my way through the ones that I have seen. By my count, not including the 2010 Oscars, which, of course, have not happened yet, there are 387 movies for me to review. Currently, there are 154 Oscar winners that I have not yet seen. I am rather disappointed with that number. I guess it's time for me to focus my efforts. I will set a tentative deadline for myself of one year.
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