The Oscars are only a little over a week away, and finally I’ve had the opportunity to see all eight films nominated for Best Picture this year. (Can I find the time to see Marion Cotillard and Julianne Moore in the next week, so I can finish my Actress write-up before the ceremony on February 22? I sure hope so! It really helps that Still Alice is finally coming to Austin area theaters this Friday.)
As I write this, I’m trying to decide if 2014 was a weak year for prestige pictures or if it just seems weak because 2013 was unusually strong. Either way, this awards season has not exactly thrilled me with fits of ecstasy (though maybe that’s a good thing. Movies so amazing that they send the audience into a crazed frenzy might be harmful to the general welfare, now that I think about it.)
The Oscar nominations have drawn even more criticism than usual this year (sometimes outright vitriol), but honestly, I think the Academy has done a pretty respectable job of narrowing a messy field to eight deserving finalists. (I personally am not a fan of The Theory of Everything, but so many people love it that I’m willing to acknowledge that I’m probably missing something.)
I do think this category would have been more interesting with the inclusion of Gone Girl and Nightcrawler (and maybe even Into the Woods), but I can also appreciate that most people probably consider those films great choices for also-ran Best Picture nominees, not as potential winners.
Because of a rule change, this year Academy members voted only for their top five films, probably the reason so much obvious-but-not-quite-win-worthy Oscar bait got shut out entirely. The movies that did manage to land Picture nods are a reasonably respectable crop, though. They’re also quite different from one another, and some of them are truly excellent films.
American Sniper
Nominated Producer(s): Clint Eastwood, Robert Lorenz, Andrew Lazar, Bradley Cooper and Peter Morgan
Director: Clint Eastwood
Writer: Jason Hall
Cast: Bradley Cooper, Sienna Miller, Sammy Sheik, Jake McDorman, Mido Hamada, Keir O’Donnell, , Kevin Lacz, Reynaldo Gallegos, Cory Hardrict, Eric Ladin
Plot:
Based on the memoir of the Navy SEAL sniper with the most confirmed kills in American history, the film shows us the life of Chris Kyle, a patriotic Texan raised by his father to believe that as a sheepdog, his duty is to protect the sheep from the wolves. Not at all reluctant to kill targets if it means saving American lives, Kyle flourishes on his four tours of duty in Iraq, but struggles to function in more mundane civilian reality when he comes home to his increasingly distressed wife. After taking out the enemy sniper who has haunted him, Kyle comes home to Texas for good and begins to readjust and to heal his family. In an unexpected stroke of tragedy, however, Kyle is senselessly shot and killed by a Marine suffering from PTSD, a man he was attempting to help.
Why It Should Win
Of all the films that made the cut, this late threat in the Best Picture race seems likely to become the most popular and highest grossing movie in the category (if it’s not already).
First and foremost, American Sniper is a crowd pleaser, a film so old fashioned in its sensibilities that it’s practically a throwback to a time when Hollywood valued entertainment over all else.
Sniper is about real life current events, about the ugly realities of a grizzly foreign war, so some audience members may understandably believe that they’re watching a terribly sophisticated film. But it’s no more sophisticated than the Westerns that first made Eastwood a star.
Basically it’s a non-stop action movie about a hero who gives all he has to kill the bad guys. Nothing sophisticated there. That’s the oldest formula in the book. The hero rises because we need a hero. He gets the girl. He goes to war. He tries to kill the bad guys. He finally succeeds in killing the very baddest of the bad guys. Damaged but victorious, he comes home to his family.
Now the very ending of the film deviates somewhat from standard happily ever after formula, but it is based on a true story. Eastwood can’t really change the fact that Chris Kyle was murdered stateside by a Marine suffering from PTSD.
Even though the film doesn’t explicitly ask disturbing questions or delve into layers of problematic complexity, for discerning audience members, the complexity is still there, inherent in the topic.
The film forces us to address a question that is hardly new but still important. What is a hero? Most people would probably say that Chris Kyle is a hero. (Others would call him a killer, but there’s nothing that says you can’t be both.) Why does our society think so highly of military might? What do we expect of our heroes? Kyle sacrifices a lot to serve his country. His four tours in Iraq definitely take a huge toll on him psychologically, to say nothing of the stress the time away puts on his marriage. In the end, another veteran (damaged by combat) murders him.
If you’re paying attention, then you probably find yourself wondering, Does our society use its heroes wisely? Does it treat them well?
Forget the fact that most civilians consistently minimalize the contribution of the military and often don’t even acknowledge that our country is at war. The far greater issue is why our country is at war. Was our invasion of Iraq necessary? Chris Kyle was severely traumatized by serving his country. He was raised to believe that his duty was to protect the helpless. As long as there was need for his services, he was psychologically unable to refuse to serve. He felt ethically bound to do his duty for his country, but did his country do its duty toward him?
More troubling still, once he did return home, Kyle was then murdered by somebody even more traumatized by being in the war than he was. Did we even need to be in Iraq? Heroes rise when needed, but shouldn’t a nation use its heroes wisely and treat them well? And why wasn’t more being done to help the Marine will PTSD who tragically became Kyle’s killer?
Those who slam the movie for its lack of complexity and refusal to ask the hard questions seem to me to be missing the point. I saw the movie, and these are some of the questions that occurred to me as I watched and afterwards. I’m certain that Eastwood’s film prompted this spirit of inquiry. Just because some directors like to eschew subtlety to beat the audience over the head with a didactic, agenda driven moral doesn’t mean that a filmmaker should be castigated for showing some artistry and approaching the material with a deft touch.
If nothing else, Eastwood’s film is valuable because it raises awareness of how much we ask of our soldiers and how deplorably we treat our veterans. Now that the draft is gone, most people don’t even give the treatment of the military a second thought because it does not directly affect them.
Bradley Cooper also gives an outstanding performance, probably the best of his career to this point, and the supporting cast is pretty good, too.
Also, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but I thought the film had excellent sound (which is usually the case in Eastwood’s projects). The noise of war was always present—bullets and explosions on all sides—but it never obscured the dialogue.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
American Sniper could pull off a surprise victory, but I highly doubt it. I think Cooper has a better chance at stealing Actor than the film does of making off with Picture.
For one thing, too many people view this movie as jingoistic propaganda and despise it. That kind of criticism won’t hurt the film at the box office. (In fact, it’s kind of helpful because it rankles people who want to make a statement by giving the film their hard earned money and sticking it to the leftist critics who are ruining this once great nation of ours. This is probably a relatively small but vocal minority, but when you combine their numbers with those of people who want to see the film for less vindictive reasons, you end up with a teeming audience.)
But the Academy is a very select body whose views almost never reflect the general thinking of middle America. Some Academy members got really up in arms recently about the so-called torture controversy in Zero Dark Thirty, and the same people who turned on that film aren’t going to embrace this one either. Why would they?
Also to the movie’s detriment is the nagging fact that it truly is not the best picture of the year. In all honesty, this matters less than the backlash against the violence because (be honest), how often have you felt that Best Picture went to the movie that was truly the best film of the year? Still, if a movie is trying to win Best Picture, conspicuous excellence never hurts.
Personally I liked American Sniper, but I liked The Grand Budapest Hotel, Birdman, Whiplash, Boyhood, The Imitation Game and maybe even Selma better.
A Best Picture win for this film is perfectly plausible, but I think several other nominees have a much better shot than American Sniper.
Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Nominated Producer(s): Alejandro G. Iñárritu, John Lesher and James W. Skotchdopole
Director: Alejandro G. Iñárritu
Writers: Alejandro González Iñárritu, Nicolás Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris, Armando Bo
Cast: Michael Keaton, Edward Norton, Emma Stone, Zach Galifianakis, Naomi Watts, Amy Ryan, Andrea Riseborough, Lindsay Duncan
Plot:
Former Hollywood blockbuster star Riggan Thomson is tired of being regarded as a washed-up, has-been loser. To show the world that he is a serious and thoughtful thespian, he has decided to adapt a literary short story into a play which he will produce, direct, and star in on Broadway. But now that the play is about to open, Riggan’s confidence has begun to waver.
Rehearsals are not going well, and, under mounting stress, Riggan begins to hallucinate with increasing frequency and intensity. Not only must he rein in a difficult actor, dodge his unhappy girlfriend, try to repair his damaged relationship with his recovering addict daughter, and rise above the taunts of a hostile theater critic, but he must also deal with a running commentary on all of his failures and missteps helpfully provided by his one-time cinematic alter-ego Birdman, now a disembodied voice inside his head.
Will Riggan cave under all the pressure and give up his dreams? Or will he embrace his “true” identify as Birdman and soar over all his naysayers, watching his enemies cower before him in awe and wonder?
Why It Should Win
I loved Birdman, and I’m unabashedly rooting for Michael Keaton to win Best Actor, but when I ask myself what exactly makes this film so great, every time I answer by shouting enthusiastically, “It’s so cool! Birdman is so cool!”
You would think someone trying to pass herself off as a critic would appraise the film in a more scholarly manner—or at the very least throw in some nice, lazy, buzzy jargon to create the illusion of erudition. But Birdman really is an extremely cool movie, and I don’t see any reason not to come right out and say so.
What makes Birdman so cool? Well, for one thing, the intense, relentless all-drum score is amazing. It drives the action (of Riggan’s mounting nervous breakdown) perfectly, and it also distinguishes itself from other movie scores which sound absolutely nothing like it. Why in the world this didn’t qualify to be considered for Best Score is a mystery that only the Academy (in all its arcane wisdom) knows for sure. I still emphatically believe that Birdman’s score is the best of the year. If I gave out the Oscars, Antoio Sanchez would win for sure. No other score this year even approaches the awesomeness of Birdman’s score.
Birdman also didn’t get a film editing nomination, which seems extremely bizarre given that it’s meticulously edited to appear to be filmed in one long, continuous take. Apparently Iñárritu originally wanted to film the movie in one long take, but others convinced him that such a task would be nearly impossible. So instead, he used incredibly long takes and then relied on the film editor to conceal the cuts between takes. That sounds hard to me. So why no nomination for editing? (I won’t lie. That really concerned me the morning I heard the nominations because we all know that editing is a huge predictor of Best Picture. Can Birdman possibly win without even a nomination for editing? I don’t know.)
But I do know that the long take makes filming those epic monologues and dialogues even more of a challenge for the actors. It’s like they really are appearing in a stage play instead of a Hollywood movie. If voters take degree of difficulty into account, then they should credit the Birdman cast for tackling such material.
For actors, this is a fabulous project, the kind of film that really showcases the talents of its cast. And, wow, are they talented! Michael Keaton is doing what’s probably his best work ever (which is saying something). He’s simultaneously funny, tragic, desperate—it’s great! Emma Stone shows that she’s a better actress than I ever imagined. (I mean, seriously, I’ve always been a fan, but I had no idea she had such power and such range.) Edward Norton, of course, is a tremendously talented actor. Sure we’ve all heard rumors that he can be difficult on the set, but that difficulty arises out of his meticulous devotion to his craft. He’s an amazing talent, and this is the best part that he’s had in years. There’s a good part for Zach Galifianakis, too, one that affords him the rare opportunity to be a bit more subtle and reigned in than usual. Naomi Watts and Andrea Riseborough manage to be very compelling with limited development. And Amy Ryan—who really is barely in the movie—is absolutely fantastic as Riggan’s ex-wife. That’s a truly great performance, but it’s just not a large enough role to merit awards attention.
Actors should love this movie (because it’s all about acting and how hard it is to be taken seriously as an artist when you happen to be a movie star). Writers and literature enthusiasts should find it pretty darn captivating, too. I mean, the magical realism element of the script is fairly unusual in a big, (almost) mainstream film like this. (In literature, you’d hardly call magical realism innovative at this point, but mainstream American film is pretty far behind, so on the screen, what Iñárritu is doing here feels wondrously new.) More movies should take these kinds of risks and adopt an outside-the-box approach. Movies in general would be so much better if the industry stopped being so wedded to what’s formulaic, safe, and predictable.
Best of all, these independently “cool” elements of the film come together to present a very cohesive work of art. We really understand that Riggan Thomson is having a mental breakdown. He’s being driven to the breaking point much faster and more assuredly than anybody not inside his head could possibly realize. Birdman tells a good story well. That should be the goal of every film, but in reality, it can be pretty hard to pull off.
Birdman won the PGA. Iñárritu won the DGA. And the cast won the SAG. Let’s hope all that love from the guilds is a prelude to a Best Picture Oscar. This movie is definitely one of my favorites of the year.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
One huge strike against Birdman is its (baffling) lack of an editing nomination. To be honest, after the Globes, I considered Boyhood and Birdman co-frontrunners for Best Picture until I discovered that crucial snub on the morning of nominations. It’s too bad that the Oscars don’t give an award for ensemble cast like the SAGs because that’s the perfect way to honor this film. Even though Keaton is the clear star, the entire supporting cast is just marvelous. Stone and Norton, particularly, deserve to be winners, too. And even the actors in the smaller parts do exceptional work.
Another potential strike against Birdman—the subject matter may feel insignificant next to historical epics, socially conscious cultural phenomena, and innovative thirteen-year experiments. You would think that actors would respect the narrative of a central figure having a mental breakdown. That’s a pretty tried and true premise in great theater. But the actors aren’t the only ones who get to vote for Best Picture, and producers and executives have decidedly different ideas of what makes a film great or important.
In terms of weaknesses with the film itself, the only glaring exception to the general rule of excellence that jumps out at me is the presentation of the theater critic. She’s just an odd character, and I feel like she doesn’t get the development she deserves. By the time we hear enough from her to get an idea of what makes her tick, we’re getting her persona filtered through Riggan, a man who is going crazy and feels persecuted (particularly by critics). So I think the character seems neither as resonant nor as real as the others. But that’s a small complaint that others might not even share.
Maybe Birdman will win Best Picture. I’d be very happy if it did. It’s one of my favorite films of the year and with The Grand Budapest Hotel and Whiplash shares the honor of being one of the movies in this category that I actually enjoyed the most.
Boyhood
Nominated Producer(s): Richard Linklater and Cathleen Sutherland
Director: Richard Linklater
Writer: Richard Linklater
Cast: Ellar Coltrane, Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke, Lorelei Linklater
Plot:
A boy grows up.
Seriously. That’s it.
The process takes over twelve years for Mason Evans, Jr., and about three hours for the rest of us.
In that time, we see slices of Mason’s life and vicariously experience what it’s like to grow up the son of divorced parents in various parts of Texas in the 2000s.
Nothing particularly remarkable happens. On the other hand, everything that happens in the film is remarkable in the sense that journeying from childhood to adulthood is a deeply significant portion of everyone’s life, and we get to watch Mason make this amazing transition right before our eyes.
Why It Should Win
Boyhood is one-of-a-kind. It doesn’t bow to the standard conventions of Hollywood filmmaking. Who works on the same movie for twelve years? (On purpose, I mean.) Just securing the substantial commitment from the actors (not to mention the trust of the financial backers) was an incredible feat on the part of director Richard Linklater.
Usually if you want to watch someone grow up on film, you have to select a famous child star who continued acting into adulthood and watch a number of his films in chronological order, which often results in a very random, less than satisfying movie marathon.
For the novelty alone, watching a boy actually age twelve years in the span of about three hours is a singularly cool experience.
Almost all of us can identify with Mason during some stage of his life. We see ourselves in him at some times, at others, people we have known. Often the most mundane moments in childhood are both the most resonant and the most universal. It’s pretty hard to watch Boyhood from start to finish and never once drift into familiar memories from our own past.
For attempting something so different and for pulling it off with such panache, Boyhood thoroughly deserves its nomination.
Strong, compelling (and nominated) supporting performances from adult co-stars Ethan Hawke and Patricia Arquette as the boy’s parents add considerable heart and emotional depth to the project, making the film a realistic contender for the big winner of the night. Another factor decidedly in the film’s favor is that Patricia Arquette’s acceptance speeches at precursor awards ceremonies have been endearingly genuine and grateful. Even if you would personally give Best Supporting Actress to a different nominee, I don’t see how it’s possible not to be happy for Patricia Arquette, a lifelong actor who is clearly so incredibly happy to be getting some recognition and affirmation from her peers.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
Imagine watching three hours of someone else’s home movies featuring kids who are not related to you growing up very, very slowly.
Some people find Boyhood unforgivably boring, and they’re right. (I, personally, liked the film, but when tons of unconnected people complain about the same thing, there must be something to it.)
Basically, if the premise of this movie sounds boring to you, and the first few minutes don’t draw you in, and you fail to connect and sympathize with Mason, then your snap judgment is probably correct. To you, the movie is boring. This isn’t the kind of film that requires hours of processing and deliberation. Within the first thirty minutes, you either find the film worthy of your interest or you don’t.
I know several people (personally—my mother is one of them) who have had just such a reaction to Boyhood. I think the large part of people who find the film boring probably fail to connect to Mason. Basically, Linklater tells the audience, “Now I’m going to show you what it’s like to be a boy growing up in Texas in the 2000s.” And some people are going to answer, “But why would I want to see that? I don’t care.”
My six-year-old daughter, on the other hand, claimed that she “loved” the movie. Possibly she was just trying to please me, but she did sit and watch every scene of the entire thing, commenting often, and seeming fascinated. When I asked her what she liked so much about the film, she replied, “I liked to watch the boy grow up because I’m six years old, and I’m going to grow up, too. Maybe I will grow up a little like that boy and some of those things will happen to me.”
That’s the thing. If you’re going to like Boyhood, you’re going to have to like to watch the boy growing up because that’s all that happens in the entire movie.
Young star Ellar Coltrane has recently commented that since he was growing up along with Mason as they filmed, none of the scenes seemed inconsequential to him. When you’re a kid, being forced to get a haircut you don’t want and don’t like is a huge (and age appropriate) problem. (My daughter saw it as a huge problem, too, incidentally. She was very upset on his behalf as she watched that scene.)
If you have never watched anyone grow to adulthood before (because you are still a child), then I can easily imagine why peeking in on Mason’s journey would be riveting. If you’ve already grown up yourself, however, then the key to enjoying the film seems to be finding ways in which you identify with Mason. I think that’s why my mother disliked the film. She found the mother the only sympathetic character.
Now I’m not saying that those who dislike Boyhood have some kind of empathy defect. Mason is definitely not always easy to like. My mother voiced another complaint that I’ve heard a lot this year, that Mason grows up into an unremarkable, not very interesting teen with no discernable personality or character.
There I have to disagree with her. Granted, Coltrane is easily the weakest actor of the core foursome (in part, no doubt, because he’s the least experienced), but Mason has a personality. He’s just not very verbal. He even says directly while flirting at a party that he normally doesn’t even try to put things into words. This actually makes him a very consistently drawn character. He has a lifelong interest in art and visual presentation and eventually becomes a photographer who enjoys photographing mundane things from unusual angles. Knowing this, we can safely assume that the “random moments” we have seen in the film are offered to us as samplings of Mason’s gaze. We have seen what was important to him at the time in the way he saw it. The brief vignettes of his childhood are like mental photographs that he has chosen to hang onto. Just because he doesn’t express his character verbally doesn’t mean he has no character.
I’ve heard a lot of people call Mason obnoxious, too, but I think that’s because we stop following his journey in late adolescence (which is still a stage of childhood, though we never think so while experiencing it).
The bottom line is, though, if you don’t like the kid, you don’t like him, and nothing I can say is going to change your mind. If you’re not interested in the boy, then watching nearly three hours of Boyhood is probably going to seem like a thankless chore.
That said, I will admit that even I am not rapturously in love with this film.
I bought a ticket to Boyhood this summer because I had heard it was critically acclaimed and a potential Oscar contender. I’ve also liked a lot of Richard Linklater’s work and was curious to see how he managed such an unusual project.
So I watched the film in the same way you’d go to a friend or colleague’s art exhibit or lecture. I thought, This will be interesting. Look what he’s doing here. That’s a nice touch. This film is quite unique. Mason is like so many guys I knew in college. Some of the stuff teenage Mason says reminds me of my own younger self.
I liked the movie and do believe that it’s a unique and commendable achievement, a fine, well-crafted piece of art. But I wasn’t so sucked into the film that I totally lost myself in it. Boyhood is a good film, yes, but not even remotely a contender for the best I’ve ever seen.
It could win Best Picture for sure, but I also wouldn’t be surprised at all if it loses to something with a more contrived, compelling narrative.
The Grand Budapest Hotel
Nominated Producer(s): Wes Anderson, Scott Rudin, Steven Rales and Jeremy Dawson
Director: Wes Anderson
Writer: Wes Anderson
Cast: Ralph Fiennes, Tony Revolori, F. Murray Abraham, Jude Law, Jeff Goldblum, Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe, Tilda Swinton, Saoirse Ronan, Mathieu Amalric, Léa Seydoux, Edward Norton, Tom Wilkinson, Jason Schwartzman, Harvey Keitel, Owen Wilson, Bill Murray, Bob Balaban
Plot:
In Wes Anderson’s latest quirky masterpiece, the audience is transported back in time (by several layers of narrators, each in his own frame) to 1930s Central Europe where tucked away in a fictional Alpine nation, we discover a splendorous palace of luxury and enchantment, The Grand Budapest Hotel.
There we meet concierge extraordinaire, M. Gustave H. (lover of poetry, a well-run hotel, and wealthy old women) who quickly becomes a mentor and friend to wide-eyed lobby boy trainee Zero Moustafa.
When M. Gustave is falsely accused of murdering Madame D., one of his well-off, elderly lovers, he and Zero find themselves scrambling to uncover the truth, evade the police, avoid being bumped off, and escape from the bad guys with the priceless painting Madame D. left M. Gustave in her will, Boy With Apple.
At turns hilarious, mysterious, and horrifying, the film is at all times haunted by a pervasive sense of nostalgia. We’re glad we’ve gotten a chance to visit The Grand Budapest Hotel, but when the story comes to an end, we know we can never return.
Why It Should Win
“To be frank, I think his world had vanished long before he ever entered it—but, I will say: he certainly sustained the illusion with a marvelous grace!”
When I first saw this film in the theater early last spring, F. Murray Abraham’s sonorous delivery of that exquisite parting line totally sold me on the entire movie. Without a doubt, I had unabashedly enjoyed The Grand Budapest Hotel the whole time that I watched, but both the eloquence and (particularly) the aptness of that perfectly timed and impeccably delivered description of M. Gustave convinced me in an instant that the film was more than a pleasant way to pass the afternoon. The Grand Budapest Hotel is something to treasure.
Part of me really hopes that this film wins Best Picture. Frankly I’m stunned it’s emerged as such a strong contender during awards season, despite its extremely early release. I mean, yes, it’s a great film, but so was Moonrise Kingdom, and up till now, the Academy has seemed perfectly content to let the always captivating work of Wes Anderson slip by without its acknowledgement.
Maybe the Academy is just waking up to the charms of Wes Anderson, but they’re late to the party. I don’t know if Anderson has just been extremely popular around here for so long because I live in Austin (though I doubt that since such high profile stars are always eager to work with him), but I do find it somewhat interesting that the Academy chose this year to pay attention to both Anderson and Richard Linklater. Maybe Texan filmmakers are just having a moment. Maybe the 1930s Europe-on-the-brink-of-war setting makes the whole project seem more enticingly Oscary. Whatever the explanation, when it comes to a one-of-a-kind director like Anderson, belated acknowledgement is certainly better than none at all. I will admit, too, that his work has steadily matured and improved over the years. He’s always had remarkable vision and a highly unique sense of visual storytelling, but his most recent projects have shown a neat, cohesive, succinctness. Every moment feels indispensable. Nothing is wasted. Originally, I preferred Moonrise Kingdom to The Grand Budapest Hotel, but I’m reconsidering that stance at the moment. The Grand Budapest Hotel has definitely grown on me.
Ralph Fiennes gives a performance like no other, making highly unusual lead character M. Gustave such a captivating and memorable presence. It’s without question a performance for the ages, so I’ll diplomatically assume that he’s not nominated for Best Actor only because none of the voters considered him an obvious choice due to deeply ingrained genre bias against whimsical comedies. Nevertheless, nominated or not, his unexpectedly delightful turn as M. Gustave is probably the one performance I’ll remember most from 2015. (A close runner up would be Tilda Swinton in Snowpiercer—the kind of performance you’d call scenery chewing except that in her elaborate costume, she looked like she was part of the scenery! I’m not really mad that Swinton’s not nominated, though, since the whole film was snubbed. I’m sure she could care less. When I think of actors who genuinely do not care what the Hollywood establishment thinks of them, Tilda Swinton jumps right to the top of the list. In fact, she’s so far above everyone else I can imagine that she might as well be the only person on the list.) (Then again, maybe I’m wrong, and the whole time she was lying motionless in that box being studio art, her Oscar was hidden underneath her shirt, pressed right against her heart.)
Fiennes deserved a nomination, but Best Actor nominations are hard to come by in these troubled times of ours. Still his character is what makes the movie so memorable. I’ve never seen another protagonist quite like M. Gustave. What’s really great is that not only does he amuse us with his quirks, but he simultaneously manages to seem incredibly warm and real, too. There’s an unexpected authenticity and a surprisingly sympathetic quality at the heart of this most unusual character. I had no idea Fiennes had a character like this lurking in his bag of tricks. Some people have expressed surprise that Steve Carell handles drama so well. What about Ralph Fiennes killing it in a comedy? (Oh well.)
As always, Anderson’s storybook-like visual style gives the film a memorable look, all its own. But what really makes The Grand Budapest Hotel stand out from other Oscar hopefuls is that it in no way comes across as a film that is trying to win Best Picture. In the end, Anderson leaves us to contend with the question of why this (almost wearying) succession of narrators has chosen to tell us such a strange, quirky, melancholy story about the one-time concierge of a now-faded luxury hotel. But whatever the film is trying to achieve, clearly winning Best Picture at the Oscars is not it. (Surely there would be far less circuitous routes to that goal.) So it would be pretty great if The Grand Budapest Hotel did win, a victory for artistry, and a genuine surprise to end what promises at this moment to be an otherwise predictable night.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
Well, I’ve talked myself into it. While working on this write-up, I’ve become increasingly convinced that The Grand Budapest Hotel actually should win Best Picture. But will it?
Actually it has a great “dark horse” vibe going on and has for weeks, so a big win for this charming little picture would not be inconceivable.
But some people may consider the story too inconsequential for a Best Picture winner. I mean, Oscar loves rewarding films that explore pressing social issues, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is a big nostalgia fest about unimportant people in a fictional country in the distant past. I mean, okay, if you’re looking for hot button social issues—Zero is an undocumented (or at least inadequately documented) worker, an orphaned in exile in the wake of a devastating war. M. Gustave is gay (according to the guy whose mother he was sleeping with) although we see him having sexual encounters only with women. War in Europe brings about an undesirable police state and an end to freedom. Two characters die of a devastating illness (after going to Disneyland). (Just kidding, but I’ll bet the person mourning them wishes a vaccine had been available at the time.) You can certainly find relevant social issues if you’re looking for them, but blatant activism is not the aim of this film. And to Oscar voters motivated by hot button political issues and pet causes, The Grand Budapest Hotel may feel a little bit light.
Despite fantastic work from an immensely talented ensemble, the film is also pretty light on strong female characters. There’s an old woman who dies right away, and a young girl who lives for a time. Oh, and Léa Seydoux plays the maid—but why? She hardly has a thing to do in the story. Also there is a conspicuous lack of racial diversity in the cast. As the obvious “foreigner,” the Zero Moustafa character is clearly the one exception, but we’re never told his precise background, and the actor playing him, Tony Revolori, is from Anaheim (and of Guatemalan decent).
None of that necessarily matters. Why should a film about a male concierge in a European hotel in the past be cast in any other way? But the thing is, the Academy just got called out (yet again) for being made up mainly of racist, sexist, old white men. So perhaps they’ll think twice before voting for the movie about an old man reflecting on his golden past in a European luxury hotel (though knowing them, I doubt it).
And then, too, you’re going to have a lot of people who simply do not agree that this is the best picture of the year. Boyhood is quite a feat of unorthodox filmmaking. Birdman is a story that appeals to actors. Selma is about a pivotal moment in our nation’s history. American Sniper is about history very close to the present. Both The Theory of Everything and The Imitation Game impress people as prestigious because of their Britishness and their historicity. The Grand Budapest Hotel is just a story, a make-believe story. It’s not even pretending to be true.
I hope it does win, and it might, but if it doesn’t, we’ll always have Zubrowka.
The Imitation Game
Nominated Producer(s): Nora Grossman, Ido Ostrowsky and Teddy Schwarzman
Director: Morten Tyldum
Writer: Graham Moore
Cast: Benedict Cumberbatch, Keira Knightley, Charles Dance, Mark Strong, Matthew Goode, Matthew Beard, Allen Leech, Rory Kinnear
Plot:
Brilliant but socially awkward British mathematician Alan Turing works with a top secret group of scientists headquartered at Bletchley Park to crack the Nazi Enigma codes in hopes of bringing a swifter end to the devastation of World War II. Turing takes an approach to the problem that baffles most of his colleagues. He designs and builds a machine that can be reprogrammed as needed, essentially a very early computer.
His work goes slowly at first because his odd, superior, awkward, antisocial manner alienates the other men on the team. Things begin looking up, however, with the arrival of Joan Clarke, a gifted female mathematician whom Turing regards as intellectually worthy of his time. With the help of the more socially adept Joan, Turing eventually begins to bond with his team and with their support and help, the project advances and eventually succeeds.
Turing’s heroic work for his country is all top secret, though, so his service doesn’t help him years later when he’s arrested for homosexual behavior and forced to choose between prison time and chemical castration.
Why It Should Win
In a year where the Best Picture race seems like the one big mystery of the night, The Imitation Game actually has a surprisingly decent shot at a win. What could propel this film to Oscar glory is its convenient quality of being just good enough that no one can find significant fault with it. In other words, it’s like an ideal compromise that isn’t likely to ruffle any feathers. Maybe The Grand Budapest Hotel is too trivial, Birdman is too “out there,” Boyhood is too boring/mundane, Whiplash is too small, Sniper and Selma too controversial. If you’re thinking that way, then you’re left with the two traditional, British, “great man” films, and pitted one-on-one, The Imitation Game is a stronger movie than The Theory of Everything. So Redmayne wins Actor, and Cumberbatch’s film wins Picture, and nobody can complain too much.
Certainly no one needs to ask, “Why was this movie even made? What’s the point?” Alan Turing’s contribution to both the war effort and to modern computing is obviously immense. And until recently the full extent of his service to his country was classified, so before this film, the story remained largely unknown to the general public.
Plus, if you like to raise awareness of social injustices (and Oscar voters do), then how convenient that the film also makes people aware of how abominably Turing was treated by the government he had served simply because he was a homosexual. It also offers us the further revelation that Turing was not the only homosexual forced to choose between prison and chemical castration. There were at least fifty thousand others subjected to the same treatment at that time. That’s a lot of people, and when has anyone ever brought this up before? It’s not something you regularly hear about in the mainstream media.
Conveniently again, though, the film does not harp on this aspect of the story and never shows any actual sex scenes, so if you’re sick of all these agenda driven Oscar hopefuls, you can just focus on the gripping historical spy drama and pretend that the rest of it doesn’t exist.
So The Imitation Game is a project of some consequence. It focuses on subject matter that anyone would deem weighty enough for the Academy’s time. What’s even better is that it presents this material to the audience in a traditional way, in the form of an old-fashioned story that is easy to watch and in no way new-fangled or avant garde. This is a big deal because no matter what they may say (in an effort to sound with it), a number of voters (particularly older voters) strongly prefer this type of traditionally told story. Most audiences like this kind of thing because it’s not confusing in any way. It’s easy to watch, and we know what to expect from it. Nobody watches a simple story like this and secretly feels disoriented and stupid.
Best of all, the film is extremely well written and beautifully acted by a cast led by two huge, international stars, Benedict Cumberbatch and Keira Knightley, both extremely well known and at the moment quite popular.
Remember how a few years ago, the most Academy members voted for The King’s Speech? The critics went berserk because they would have preferred The Social Network, but the Academy didn’t care. They’re really big on traditionally told stories about historically significant subjects, starring really well-known actors. And for some reason, in Hollywood, British=More Classy Than American.
Basically, if The Imitation Game wins, nobody is going to be able to scream, “How could you vote for The Imitation Game! It was so…”
Because it isn’t so anything. It’s just a very solid film that most people who watch it will find (at least to some degree) enjoyable and edifying.
The outcome of Best Picture is quite unclear at this moment if you ask me. The Imitation Game may not be the most obvious winner, but by virtue of its lack of grating flaws, it’s a stronger contender than some people may realize.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
Like I just said, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with The Imitation Game.
Yes, like all historical films, it does make some changes for dramatic effect. Clearly more than like five people were involved in winning World War II, but the film wisely chooses to narrow its focus. So I’m sure characters are conflated, altered, left out entirely.
I have heard some complaints that while Cumberbatch’s Turing comes across as having Asperger’s, the real Turing was just a prickly jerk. (Part of me wants to ask, “Are you sure? How often did you hear people mention Asperger’s in the 1940s?”) People complain that Cumberbatch plays Turing in the same way that he plays Sherlock. I don’t think that’s exactly true, but admittedly, I don’t know much about the historical Turing.
I did notice myself that the film is extremely contrived. You can tell that you’re watching fiction, a screenplay that someone has constructed for maximum effect. Significant lines are repeated again and again, and Turing rather melodramatically equates his machine with the dead boy he loved in childhood. Even if there’s some truth to that, I’m positive that the way they’re presenting it is played up and over the top, and I know nothing about Turing.
But these are the kinds of complaints you can make about any historical film. The Academy has never minded this kind of thing before, so I don’t see why such quibbles would trouble them now.
Honestly the reason The Imitation Game won’t win is that the majority of voters will like something else better. This film is good, but it isn’t really first in line to win the Oscar. It could win, but that will happen because the vote splits when some people love movies that others hate.
Would I be surprised if The Imitation Game steals Best Picture? Not one bit. But it would be a steal. Boyhood, Birdman, and even The Grand Budapest Hotel are way more obvious choices. And American Sniper and Selma have absolutely rabid, dedicated fanbases. So The Imitation Game could win, but I’m not going out on a limb to predict it as the likely winner.
Selma
Nominated Producer(s): Christian Colson, Oprah Winfrey, Dede Gardner and Jeremy Kleiner
Director: Ava DuVernay
Writer: Paul Webb
Cast: David Oyelowo, Carmen Ejogo, Tom Wilkinson, Colman Domingo, André Holland, Common, Lorraine Toussaint, Giovanni Ribisi, Wendell Pierce, Stephan James, Henry G. Sanders, Trai Byers, Stan Houston, Stephen Root, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Alessandro Nivola, Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Omar J. Dorsey, Tim Roth, and Oprah Winfrey.
Plot: In 1964, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., works tirelessly to ensure that African Americans in the South are given the liberty to exercise the voting rights that the Constitution now guarantees them but which they have been prevented from practicing in many states. Unable initially to secure the cooperation of President Johnson, King forces the issue by raising public awareness of the problem. He and his allies organize a number of peaceful protests and marches designed to reveal the unjustly violent response of many Southern government and law enforcement officials to the greater nation. His march from Selma to Montgomery ultimately proves tremendously successful.
Why It Should Win
The people who love Selma really love it. I mean, they really love it. Nobody is getting that worked up about Boyhood or Birdman, probably because the champions of those films are excited by them intellectually. Selma, on the other hand, deliberately (and quite successfully) appeals to pathos. Audiences connect with it on a primal, emotional, human level.
So if enough people feel uncertain about enough nominees, then Selma could win Best Picture simply because its diehard fans are unwavering in their devotion and will (100 percent, for sure) vote for it.
To be honest, I don’t expect that to happen. For one thing, American Sniper is in a similar situation, and both films have generated so much controversy that there are likely to be even more people determined to vote against them than for them.
But it could happen.
In the event of such a surprise, Selma would be a worthy winner. Unique among the nominees, it presents familiar events from a novel point of view. All of the other historical films nominated give us the story from the point of view of the mainstream, the establishment. (Even American Sniper, though based on the memoirs of one guy, is based on the memoirs of one guy whose ideals are perfectly aligned with the United States military.)
Selma tells the story of the African Americans (and allies of other races) who marched from Selma to Montgomery for the right to vote (a right they already had legally, but which was being illegally withheld from them). For the entire movie, we follow these events from the point of view of Martin Luther King and the (violently persecuted) community of African American activists.
If you enjoy listening to once-silenced or under-represented voices, then surely the fact that the film is the vision of a female African American director (the unquestionably talented Ava DuVernay) will only make you more excited about Selma.
The film features a number of genuinely moving (and sometimes quite disturbing) scenes of realities that many people may not want to look at but truly should see. It also contains some first rate performances. Particularly impressive are David Oyelowo and Carmen Ejogo, playing Martin Luther King, Jr., and his wife Coretta Scott King, respectively. They should have been nominated for acting awards, but they weren’t (which is rather ominous for the film’s overall chances of winning).
Why It Shouldn’t Win
Early in the year, Selma looked like the most realistic competitor to unseat Boyhood and get the ultimate Oscar glory. But then nobody nominated it for much of anything, forcing people who make a career out of predicting the Oscars to adjust their expectations significantly.
I don’t expect this film to win Best Picture now. Clearly the Academy is not behind it. They didn’t nominate it for editing, director, screenplay or any acting awards. It’s nominated for Picture and Song. That’s it. Now granted, there’s no rule that says a film can’t win Best Picture even if that’s its only nomination. But the reality is, the conspicuous lack of nominations means that the Academy is not behind this movie. For whatever reason, most voters didn’t particularly like it. Certainly, they didn’t embrace it in the way that many had hoped.
A lot of factors probably combined to hurt Selma’s chances. The screeners went out late. The film portrays LBJ in a questionable and perhaps unduly unfavorable light. Though nobody wants to admit it (though everyone wants to allege it), racism undoubtedly played a role in Selma’s poor awards reception, too.
Maybe we’ll never know for sure just why the Academy (and a number of other organizations that give out film awards) did not connect with this movie when most critics and audiences did. But for whatever reason, the Academy just didn’t like it that much. So it probably won’t win Best Picture.
Now I suppose the Academy members could get fed up with constantly being called racists by everyone and vote for this movie out of spite, just to show everybody that so there, they’re actually surprisingly egalitarian and enlightened. But let’s face it, though I’m sure some members get together and vote in blocs, the Academy is not a hive mind, so that scenario just flat out isn’t going to happen.
Selma is a well-made film with many flashes of conspicuous excellence, but I’d be stunned if it wins Best Picture.
The Theory of Everything
Nominated Producer(s): Tim Bevan, Eric Fellner, Lisa Bruce and Anthony McCarten
Director: James Marsh
Writer: Anthony McCarten
Cast: Eddie Redmayne, Felicity Jones, David Thewlis, Simon McBurney, Emily Watson, Harry Lloyd, Charlie Cox, Maxine Peake
Plot:
Young Jane Wilde has found the man she wants to marry, a brilliant, sweet scientist named Stephen Hawking. One problem. After the pair have known each other only a very short time, Stephen is diagnosed with ALS, a degenerative and eventually fatal motor neuron disease. He’s been given a grim prognosis of two years to live.
Jane doesn’t care. She loves Stephen and is determined to be with him—for the rest of his life, anyway. The pair get married and quickly have two children. Jane cares for Stephen, acting as both wife and nurse, and with her loving attention, he manages to live longer than the two years the doctor gave him.
Much longer.
Eventually worn down and overwhelmed by the demands of her marriage, Jane begins to realize that her needs are not being met. If nothing changes, soon she’ll be totally depleted, no longer able to function. Can anything save the Hawkings’ complicated marriage? Isn’t love enough?
Why It Should Win
Anyone who has read my review of this film or my discussion of the Best Actor race surely knows already that I didn’t particularly like this movie. If you ask me, The Theory of Everything should not win Best Picture. Not only that, but I’ll even go further and say that I have no idea why every major pundit considered it a lock for a nomination all year long. Even way back in the summer, everyone (everyone!) seemed in perfect agreement that both The Theory of Everything and The Imitation Game were shoe-ins for Best Picture. Everybody making predictions left an obligatory spot for both of these films on their lists of likely nominated pictures, and to be brutally honest with you, I just don’t get it. Why? Why does everyone in the entire world but me find this film so obviously worthy of immense acclaim?
Clearly I’m in the extreme minority. For whatever reason, I’m biased against this film and can’t appreciate its virtues the way that others have. So if you’re reading this write-up and trying to get a handle on the Oscar race without having watched the films yourself, please be aware of my self-conscious prejudice and take my assessment of The Theory of Everything with a grain of salt.
That said, I will now do my best to extoll the virtues of this movie that I can recognize.
Without question, the best thing about the film is Eddie Redmayne’s undeniably strong performance as the rapidly diminishing Stephen Hawking. Depicting the ravages of ALS can’t be easy, but Redmayne manifests the condition so capably that sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s only acting and is in reality perfectly able-bodied. I know I kept forgetting that, and I was deliberately critiquing his performance as I watched. What makes his transformation into Hawking even more stunning is the fact that the scenes of the movie were filmed in random order. So Redmayne couldn’t approach the role simply by getting into character and imagining the gradual advance of the disease. In one scene, he’d be wheel chair bound and unable to speak. In the next, he’d be significantly younger and still attempting to walk and speak under his own power. Talk about a challenge.
Odds are, Eddie Redmayne will win Best Actor for his powerful turn as Hawking, and that alone makes the movie worth watching for Oscar enthusiasts (and Redmayne fanatics).
Now get ready for a big letdown because no other aspect of the film is even remotely in the same league as Redmayne’s extraordinary performance.
Playing Hawking’s first wife, Jane Wilde, Felicity Jones is also nominated for Best Actress. Personally I think the part is horribly underwritten (perhaps even badly written), though Jones does have a very nice scene at the garden party at Stephen’s parents’ house when his mother decides to behave like a cruel, classless busybody.
Jones is at her best in the scenes in which Jane’s blossoming relationship with Jonathan allows her actual personality (long suppressed) to emerge and flourish (however briefly). And this is also the most intriguing part of the film. It makes an excellent argument for polyamory. Monogamous by nature, I’ve always struggled to understand why some people might require more than one partner. Well, as is, Jane and Stephen’s relationship clearly is not working. They may love each other. They certainly love their children. But they are not enough for each other. Stephen has too many needs and is literally unable to meet most of Jane’s needs. They really do need at least one more able-bodied adult in the relationship to enable the household to function. (Of course, this allowance is much better for Jane than for Stephen, who clearly begins to pull away from Jane emotionally when faced with her reliance on another man.) The love triangle aspect of the film is fairly interesting because it forces the characters to remember they are multidimensional adults and not just a genius and his body slave.
For me, the best thing the film did was pique my curiosity about the real Stephen and Jane Hawking, who have both given some fascinating interviews.
Another highlight for most viewers (apparently) is the overbearing score. (The people who like it probably don’t describe it as overbearing. ) At this point, I would be more surprised if this film did not win Best Score, so take note and don’t be surprised when that Oscar goes to The Theory of Everything.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
If The Theory of Everything somehow wins Best Picture, I will not be pleased. Is it a bad film? No. Does it deserve to win Best Picture? No. But is it the worst Best Picture nominee ever? No. No. No. No. Decidedly no. (I’m not sure what film deserves that honor, but if you ask me, it was probably directed by Stephen Daldry. Sometimes I want to scream at the Academy, “You know, just because Stephen Daldry directs a movie doesn’t mean you automatically have to nominate it for Best Picture!” Based on their voting record, I have to suspect that no one has ever informed them.)
Anyway, The Theory of Everything has its moments, but my biggest problem with the film is that it takes about as many risks as a made-for-TV movie on Lifetime or The Hallmark Channel. (I’m actually not slamming those. They can be very pleasant and satisfying, but watching them is like eating comfort food.) This film doesn’t feel like a real look at Stephen Hawking’s actual life. It’s far too tame, toothless, safe, distanced. It’s like his life if you were going to write about it in a biography for elementary school students or a puff piece to accompany a lifetime achievement award.
I feel strange taking this stance because in recent years I have become absolutely disgusted with the trend in biography to present the subject in such a harsh and distorted fashion that he wouldn’t even be able to recognize himself if he read the book. When I was a young teenager, biography was easily my favorite genre for pleasure reading. When I was eleven, I got obsessed with Marilyn Monroe, and this turned me on to biographies in the first place. I then proceeded to read obsessively about Hitler, Joan of Arc, Genghis Khan, Houdini, Mozart, a number of Hollywood stars, and finally just about everybody who was anybody in Tudor and Plantagenet England in quite exhaustive detail. I used to think biographies were the bee’s knees.
But more recently there’s been a really nasty trend in biography. I don’t think it’s just that I’ve grown up and become more critical of what I read because when I was younger, I never read just one book about a person. I always devoured as many different biographies as I could find. So I really think there’s been a change in the genre. More and more, I see less and less accountability demanded from biographers. Once a person is dead, you can really print anything about them, and often biographies reflect the agenda and vision of the writer far more accurately than they convey any actual information about the subject. Books about deceased Hollywood stars are the most conspicuous offenders, but historical biography is sometimes just as bad (you just have to know more specialized information to catch the errors). It’s not just that these books are biased and reaching in their interpretations of the subject’s behavior. They often get basic, verifiable facts about the events in a person’s life completely wrong. I’ve also seen a number of quotations manipulated, altered, taken out of context, seemingly on purpose. I would cringe to publish any academic work riddled with such obvious errors. How in the world can you trust anything a book says when you can pick out obvious, glaring (perhaps even deliberate) mistakes on practically every other page? I see little accountability in the publishing industry, and I cringe. I think editors are really not doing their jobs, and the critics are complicit, too, and this troubles me. I mean, for crying out loud, Tudor propaganda is more subtle and accurate than some of these books! How are they backed by reputable publishers?
I’ll stop ranting now. My point is, I’m not clamoring for some hatchet job scandal fest about Hawking’s life. I don’t want to see a movie about his second wife, the evil nurse, wheeling him out into the sun and leaving him there to burn to death while she hurls obscure Scottish curses at him and smokes like a chimney. But at the same time, I think it would be nice to see the first marriage break down in a more realistic way. What Jane Hawking herself has written about the end of their marriage is quite different than the treatment of this period we get in the film. It plays like the misty recollections of a dying centenarian. “And then we drifted beautifully apart, like two ships passing in the night. Who can remember why?”
Jane Hawking remembers why! And yet this film which ostensibly is telling her story based on her book gives us this entire portion of the movie entirely from Stephen’s point of view. We don’t hear a word about the mental and mood changes in Stephen. Jane has written at length about how the disease did eventually affect his personality. She also mentions that fame changed the dynamic of their relationship. The movie doesn’t show us that. The movie shows us that Jane fell in love with another man and stopped appreciating Stephen, the only person who was supportive and understanding of her need for Jonathan. And the movie shows us that Jane sees Stephen as an inconvenient invalid, but his nurse finds him sexy and charming. In fact, near the end of the movie, Stephen charms us all. I personally was left with the impression that despite the ravages of his illness, Stephen was by far the more desirable partner in the relationship, finally realized his appeal, got tired of burdening a wife now in love with another man, and left her for a more exciting woman who wasn’t cheating on him under his own roof. But then you see, the movie really does not show us any disagreeable behavioral changes in Stephen at this point in the story. They were happening, though, and in a big way according to the historical Jane.
I think the movie sells Jane short in a lot of ways. Stephen is certainly the more compelling character. And didn’t we always know that? So why are we even getting this movie about Jane? Without Stephen, who is Jane, and why should we care about her life? (Every life matters, but just because you matter doesn’t mean that strangers want to watch a movie about you.)
The disingenuous previews for the film make it look like a beautiful love story, but in point of fact, it ends in divorce and the entire relationship is exceedingly difficult from the start, not just because of Stephen’s illness but because he and Jane are so vastly incompatible in other ways, in terms of personality and religious belief.
For me, the one insurmountable stumbling block preventing me from falling in love with this film is that I never saw any clear evidence that Jane actually loved Stephen. I saw ample evidence that she wanted to be in love with Stephen, that she wanted to martyr her life to a cause greater than herself, caring for a brilliant man, saving his life, making herself something greater in the process. But I really did not ever believe that she was in love with him, truly in love with him. (And I’m not saying that the real Jane Hawking wasn’t in love with Stephen. I’m saying that the movie never shows us that in a convincing way.)
And Stephen somehow never understands that caring for his every need on her own is too much for Jane? On the one hand, that makes him seem selfish and oblivious. On the other hand, why in the world doesn’t she ever tell him? He finally figures it out and does what he can to help her, but by then it’s too late. She’s in love with Jonathan, and he knows it. (Honestly, the movie makes a more convincing case for Stephen loving Jane than for Jane loving Stephen.)
I think the film does not give Jane enough of a voice. She hardly ever tells anyone anything that’s going on with her. She just internalizes everything, but we don’t always see evidence even of that.
Overall the film just doesn’t work for me. It doesn’t seem realistic enough to be a useful biography of an extremely famous man. It also never tells us enough about Stephen’s work, which is what is actually most fascinating about him, obviously. I realize the film is about his private life, not his work, but the problem there is that his work is infinitely more interesting than his private life. I don’t know. The whole thing just seems sort of pointless to me. I know others may feel differently, but I don’t. I can’t help it.
The film is not badly made, but the story lacks depth, and the character development is inadequate. I don’t think it deserves Best Picture, but that’s okay because I doubt it will win. Now Best Score is another matter. I do think Jóhann Jóhannsson has a pretty decent shot at taking home that Oscar (which is disappointing to me, too, because although the music is lovely in its own right, as a score, it overwhelms the action on screen instead of complementing it). But I have no particular musical expertise and (probably fortunately) nobody cares what I think about Best Score.
Whiplash
Nominated Producer(s): Jason Blum, Helen Estabrook and David Lancaster
Director: Damien Chazelle
Writer: Damien Chazelle
Cast: Miles Teller, J.K. Simmons, Paul Reiser, Melissa Benoist
Plot:
Nineteen-year-old drummer Andrew Neiman dreams of being a jazz great, and he’s more than willing to put in all the work necessary to realize his lofty goals. At the prestigious music conservatory he attends, Andrew soon catches the eye of Terrence Fletcher, an influential conductor/professor with a reputation for demanding excellence from his pupils, even if he must push them to the breaking point to elicit it.
Andrew rehearses obsessively and quickly wins Fletcher’s approval, only to lose it just as quickly. Mercurial and aggressive, Fletcher soon begins to seem less a skilled motivator than an outright sadist. Under the intense pressure of his influence, Andrew gradually becomes disturbingly unhinged, volatile and aggressive himself.
This mounting tension culminates in an unforgettable final scene destined to leave a powerful impression on the audience.
Why It Should Win
I loved Whiplash. On the strength of its final scene alone, it’s easily one of the best and most memorable films of the year.
Its concise, compact, focused, driven elegance thoroughly thrilled me. As a writer, I’ve always struggled with creating that type of neat, brisk, intense narrative. (The short story is a form I’ll never master. It’s all vast, sprawling, increasingly complex novels with me.) Naturally I admire the type of taut storytelling I find it so difficult to produce myself.
Whiplash is all about simplicity of plot and conservation of characters. Rather fittingly, the story progresses like a drum solo, from steady, relentless beat to escalating, driven torrent of percussion.
There are plenty of actors filling in the minor and supporting roles, but the only characters who matter are Andrew and Fletcher. The rising conflict of their torturous relationship drives the plot forward. And we don’t really need other characters. These two are more than compelling enough to keep us on the edges of our seats. Miles Teller actually did all his own drumming (take a moment and let that sink in), and J.K. Simmons is doing career best work that will almost certainly result in a Best Supporting Actor Oscar.
Relatively new director Damien Chazelle (himself a nominee for the screenplay) wastes nothing. The story starts immediately, progresses rapidly, and concludes powerfully. Refreshingly, the film is not thirty-seven hours long, and yet when it ends, you walk away really feeling like you’ve seen something.
And despite the insane heights of its tortured intensity, the relationship between Fletcher and Andrew seems quite authentic. Surely a lot of audience members will see something familiar there. In the kind of mentor culture prevalent in the arts or academia, teacher/student relationships can gradually devolve into a quasi-abusive dynamic fairly easily. I think most people who have striven for conspicuous excellence in any field can probably appreciate why Andrew remains determined to meet Fletcher’s increasingly impossible standards, despite the unreasonable conductor’s escalating sadism.
Whiplash is tightly written, well-acted, often thought provoking and in its final scene one of the most thrilling cinematic moments I’ve experienced in quite some time. I genuinely loved this movie.
Why It Shouldn’t Win
Despite my teeming enthusiasm for the film, I do not expect Whiplash to win Best Picture.
Granted, it is one of the best pictures of the year, but that is seldom a huge consideration in selecting a Best Picture winner.
This isn’t the kind of film that usually wins the big prize of the night. J.K. Simmons is almost certainly going to take home the Best Supporting Actor Oscar, and in a less competitive year, Miles Teller may have snagged a nomination, too. Chazelle has a shot at winning screenplay (though he’d have a better chance if the Academy had nominated him in Original Screenplay where he actually belongs by any kind of sane logic).
Usually Best Picture winners are either big and epic or small and dark and gritty. Though technically Whiplash does fall into the latter category, Oscar voters might not see it that way. They tend to like their small, gritty films to be about war, or the Holocaust, or wasting diseases/disabilities/deformities.
Andrew seems awfully privileged to be the hero of a small, dark, gritty Oscar winner. His problems start in the first place because he’s attending a prestigious (and probably expensive) music conservatory. And his problems continue because instead of sensibly terminating an abusive relationship, he allows himself to continue to be abused not because he’s desperate, cornered, or impoverished, but rather because he wants to be the greatest jazz drummer in history. That doesn’t sound like the hero of a Best Picture winner.
Another slight strike against the film is the outrageous car wreck scene. Of everything that happens in this otherwise highly controlled movie, this is the scene that seems the most improbable. It wasn’t an issue for me, but once I’m sold on something, I’m pretty generous about overlooking small flaws. You never know about those inscrutable Oscar voters, though. They don’t hand out a rubric to hopeful directors, so you never quite know what might rub them the wrong way.
I also think the scarcity of huge stars in this movie (and the relatively small cast and limited special effects) hurt its Best Picture chances because people are just more likely to vote for a project to which they or their friends have contributed.
Whiplash won’t win Best Picture, but unless we get the biggest upset in years, Simmons should walk away with a well-deserved Best Supporting Actor Oscar.