Review of Oscar Nominees 2018: Best Picture, Part I

Nominated Producer(s): Peter Spears, Luca Guadagnino, Emilie Georges, Marco, Morabito
Director: Luca Guadagnino
Writer: James Ivory

Cast:
Timothée Chalamet, Armie Hammer, Michael Stuhlbarg, Amira Casar, Esther Garrel, and others.

Plot:
Italy, 1983, seventeen-year-old Elio falls in love for the first time with Oliver, the twenty-four-year-old grad student who has come to stay at the family’s villa for the summer while he works with Elio’s father, the professor. The relationship eventually becomes physical, and we join Elio on a journey of self-discovery, joy, and heartbreak.

Why It Should Win:
I’m not the seventeen-year-old son of academics discovering my sexuality on my family’s villa one summer in Italy in 1983, but as I watched Call Me By Your Name, I sympathized with Elio so strongly that I felt like I was watching my own story, thanks entirely to the power of Timothée Chalamet’s star-making lead performance.  I’m not sure what makes Elio so compelling. He’s far from perfect, but he’s got this intense sincerity, and it’s very satisfying to watch him discover more and more about himself as he enters further and further into the relationship that will define his summer and, in some ways, his life.

This film also boasts lush landscapes, and such abundant lakes, ponds, pools, and fountains that you start to wonder how anyone stays dry in Italy.  It richly rewards those who seek the treasures of antiquity–philosophy, art, the sublime lines and contours of the male form.  We also get rich, vivid colors, juicy, succulent food, and great ideas for fun new things to try with peaches.  The soundtrack definitely helps to pull us into this unique world, too (though I prefer “Visions of Gideon” to the nominated “Mystery of Love”).Now, it’s true that for a film that promises to show us the once-in-a lifetime romance of two young men, Call Me By Your Name is not exactly generous with love scenes between Elio and Oliver. We get far more explicit scenes of Elio with his girlfriend, Elio with underwear, and, of course, Elio with a peach. Call Me By Your Name does give us some extremely erotic sounds, though, and a healthy dose of the male-on-male gaze.

Ordinarily, love stories between two men show up as Best Picture nominees only when they also involve some larger issue or horrific tragedy. Nobody is murdered in Call Me By Your Name. The greatest casualties are the peach and Elio’s heart.  There’s no war or political conspiracy or epidemic or anything unpleasant like that here. Imagine every European film you’ve seen about first love or summer romance. Now imagine that the love story is between two young men and does not involve murder or war.  And that’s what we have, Call Me By Your Name.

The film also features strong supporting performances by Armie Hammer, Amira Casar, and especially Michael Stuhlbarg who gets this lovely monologue near the end that he delivers very memorably.  (His work here really makes you wonder what a guy’s got to do to get a Best Supporting Actor nomination in 2018.  I mean, Stuhlbarg has significant roles in three of the films nominated for Best Picture, and he has such a lovely moment in Call Me By Your Name.)

Why It Shouldn’t Win:
The romance between Elio and Oliver ultimately does not work for me.

Now to be fair, I should mention that perhaps I’m not the ideal audience for a cinematic romance. The few movie love stories that do work for me are an eclectic lot–Hustle and Flow, Away From Her, The Wedding Singer, anything with Bogart and Bacall (and talk about an age difference there!). Television romances fare a bit better. I truly believe in the love binding Homer and Marge Simpson, ditto Gomez and Morticia Addams. I do like a lot of films that involve a romance (because most films do), but usually not because I’m particularly invested in the romance. (I’m the girl who watches Titanic to see the boat sink. I watch While You Were Sleeping adoring Lucy and that delightful Callahan family, but I don’t really care which brother she marries as long as Gylnis Johns is her new grandma and she gets to go to Florence. I love Return to Me entirely because of the awesome Catholic sister and brother-in-law and their rowdy brood of rugrats. And when I watch Leap Year with my mom, what I get out of it is that Amy Adams is beautiful. I can’t even remember what either of the guys looks like, but I do like the name Declan.) So in the interest of fairness, maybe I’m not great at appreciating cinematic romance.

That said, this movie is being marketed as a romance for the ages, so when I fail to connect with the romantic aspect, I can’t think of Call Me By Your Name as a complete success.

The problem I have is with Oliver. I just can’t understand why Elio would fall in love with him, and I don’t think he’s a good match for Elio at all.

Several concerned voices have raised the complaint that the age difference between Elio and Oliver makes the relationship seem predatory (even creepy), a particular problem because of a societal wariness of gay men, a widespread fear that they are dangerous and unethical and prey on young boys.

I wouldn’t go as far as calling Oliver a predator, and I don’t think it’s fair to blame this movie for feeding some people’s paranoid homophobia because this is a piece of art exploring someone’s personal experience of first love (even though it’s based on a book by a straight man). It’s not a mandatory compliance video or an ABC After School Special.

But just because I don’t think Oliver is a sexual predator doesn’t mean I consider him a desirable love object. Thanks largely to Chalamet’s Oscar-worthy performance, I do believe Elio is in love with Oliver, but I’m certainly not. (Can you imagine boasting in an online dating profile, “I’ve been described as not really a sexual predator.”)

Elio is a pretty awesome guy. I mean, yes, he’s young. He’s flawed (so flawed!). But still, he’s incredibly sympathetic and engaging. And he loves Oliver, so there must be something lovable about the guy. I just don’t see it.

For one thing, why can’t Oliver keep his hands off this seventeen-year-old boy, his hosts’ son? I mean, he moves into Elio’s bedroom, and then he proceeds to follow the taciturn teen around, practically forcing him into conversations, giving him awkward surprise back rubs. When Elio rebuffs him, Oliver always withdraws–physically. So he’s definitely not doing anything criminal, and he clearly has no desire to harm Elio. But he does go out of his way to express his interest rather conspicuously and aggressively, and (just so you know it’s not my imagination) he later admits to this himself. He does all of these things not by accident but deliberately to express interest in Elio.

That’s one thing that bugs me about the promotion of this movie. To counter claims that Oliver is a predator, they all keep asserting in interviews that Elio makes the first move. But that is just not true. Elio makes the first move that there’s no coming back from, but Oliver’s been pushing him toward that move the entire time. The term “suicide by proxy” exists for a reason. The depressed man who picks fights with everyone he knows is making a move, and so is Oliver.

Now obviously Elio wants Oliver. It’s not like Oliver gives him a surprise back rub and “turns him gay” somehow. A boy but not in any way a child, Elio definitely gives enthusiastic consent. But it’s disingenuous of the cast to portray Elio as the aggressor in all these interviews they’re giving. They make it sound like the lustful teen’s advances take poor unsuspecting Oliver totally by surprise.

I’m sure they all keep stressing that Elio makes the first move because the current climate in Hollywood has made everyone aware that imbalances of power in sexual relationships can lead to troubling instances of coercion and even outright abuse. It’s a very awkward time to be promoting a film about the romance between a twenty-four-year-old man and a seventeen-year-old boy.

Is it wrong for a seventeen-year-old to date a twenty-four-year-old? When I was seventeen, I saw nothing wrong with it. When I was twenty-four, I realized, “Wait! This is how old my boyfriend was when I was a teenager?” To me it seems an odd choice for the older person, and it definitely can create an imbalance of power. But I don’t necessarily think it’s wrong, no.  Some great relationships have started that way.  And sometimes, if people have common interests, age matters less than you might think.

It’s not that Oliver’s doing anything wrong morally. He’s just not doing anything right, either. There’s more to being a good boyfriend than just not being an abusive predator.  (Yes, and I realize he’s not really his boyfriend, but I find that grating, too.) Oliver is a bad fit for Elio. He’s more experienced, but, actually Elio seems more centered, more intelligent, more giving, more honest, and far more interesting. It’s the, “Call me by your name, and I’ll call you by mine” that gets to me, honestly. Oliver seems to enjoy whispering his own name in the dark, but he doesn’t actually seem ready for an honest relationship with another person (which is particularly unfortunate in light of his circumstances). 

I suppose in a charitable reading, you could say that Oliver teaches Elio to say his own name with love and confidence. But actually I don’t think he teaches Elio much. Elio learns tremendously from the relationship, but that’s because Elio is intelligent and increasingly emotionally aware. Life teaches him, not Oliver. And how does Oliver grow or change or improve? He doesn’t. He just stays self-focused and shallow. When he speaks to Elio on the phone at the end, he must realize that his happy news will be gutting for Elio. (A normal person would.) But what does he focus on? How lucky Elio is to have understanding parents, not like his parents! To me, Oliver comes across as emotionally shallow and self-obsessed. It seems like he just wanted to call Elio for the thrill of whispering his own name into the phone one more time. He’s living out some big drama in his mind, and he’s the one in the center of it. I don’t like him. 

So when I spend the whole movie thinking that the protagonist of this amazing romance could do so much better, it’s hard to accept the film as the divine love story it’s being marketed as.

I do, however, love Call Me By Your Name for what it is (to me), a captivating look at a young man coming of age one summer in scenic Italy. In fact, Timothée Chalamet’s lead performance is so strong that despite my inability to embrace Oliver (perfectly played by Armie Hammer, by the way), I’d be totally fine with Call Me By Your Name winning Best Picture, though I don’t think it will.

Plot:
In the massive, desperate effort to bring the defeated British army home from Dunkirk, France, during World War II, the adventures of three sets of protagonists converge during one very tense moment.

Why It Should Win:
Dunkirk isn’t your grandfather’s war movie–unless your grandfather actually lived the mayhem himself. The urgent, jumbled action we see on screen seems to mimic the way participants might experience and recollect these traumatic events. I assume that’s why Christopher Nolan presents the story in this deliberately disorienting way, that it’s some sort of attempt at verisimilitude. Either that, or he just thought it would be cool. (And it is cool, actually.)

Dunkirk is not a great movie to flip on at home while your large and noisy family scrambles to eat dinner (which is unfortunate for me since I first saw it under such circumstances).

At the beginning of the film, we’re shown three sets of protagonists, and this division is signaled to us by the use of three different time stamps. If you’re like me and initially pay little attention to these time stamps because your two-year-old is trying to eat yogurt in your lap and dripping it all over your pajamas, then you will get confused. My attentive husband caught me up. Since he’s not available to watch with you, I’ll explain the movie here.

The journey of the soldiers on the beach takes one week. The journey of the civilians in the boat takes one day. The journey of the pilots in the planes takes one hour. These stories eventually intersect, and they conclude in conjunction with one another (more or less). But they all begin at distinct moments and last for a unique duration of time. (The story that begins first lasts longest and so on down the line.) You’re welcome.

It’s not rocket science, but it is a jarring and non-traditional way to present a war story. So (not surprisingly) Nolan’s going for something pretty high concept here. What is surprising (to me at least) is that he still manages to give the movie so much heart. There’s barely any dialogue, but all of it counts. I found myself weeping copiously near the end of the film and reliving the most stirring parts in my mind over and over again long after the credits had rolled.

Had Dunkirk opened in December instead of July, I’m nearly positive Mark Rylance would now have a Best Supporting Actor nomination this year (though at whose expense, I’m not completely sure). Rylance provides the emotional core of the film. He’s almost an everyman figure, the Englishman who loves country and family and must respond personally in Britain’s hour of need.

Taken together, the scenes that occur on Rylance’s boat seem like a particularly powerful short story. His son’s initial reaction to Cillian Murphy’s character, his gradual understanding (achieved without words), his eventual answer to Murphy’s final concerned inquiry–this arc screams short story to me.

Of course, not every powerful moment belongs to Rylance and crew. That desperate exclamation of “Je suis francais,” sent shivers down my spine. And my daughter cited Tom Hardy’s pilot as her favorite character in the film. She was so impressed by his courage.

Dunkirk has very little dialogue, but the words we do get really count. The performances are excellent all around, from both the familiar stars spread liberally through the story and the relative newcomers playing the young soldiers desperate to get off the beach.

The action is dizzying, sometimes more suspenseful than it ought to be due to the film’s unconventional structure. The action is also well shot and easy to follow even for someone like me who often finds a barrage of motions and explosions overwhelming. Dunkirk also has stunning (nominated) cinematography. Every shot thrills. The film has a frenzied, desperate energy, and yet it also looks so clean and controlled.

Hans Zimmer’s deservedly nominated score is thoroughly unpleasant–almost nauseating–and somehow perfect for the depressing desperation of the moment.

Nolan’s Dunkirk is that rare World War II movie that feels cool, sleek, modern, and immediate. It has all the energy of a mind-bending action blockbuster and all the powerful profundity of an excellent short story about a boy becoming a man by experiencing war.

It’s an excellent film, and though World War II is a subject the Oscars love, I’ve never seen another movie about that period presented quite like this.

Why It Shouldn’t Win:
Christopher Nolan is finally nominated for Best Director.

And, really, that’s enough for now, isn’t it? He’s obviously not going to follow the pattern of those one-and-done types who try and try and try to win and then seem to disappear once they finally get their hands on that Oscar.

Surely he’s going to continue making excellent films, twisty turny blockbusters that sell tickets and start discussions. There’s no need to give him the Oscar right now in a year jam-packed full of worthy contenders.

Dunkirk is a good film, arguably even a great film, but it is not Christopher Nolan’s best film. He’s made better films in the past, and will presumably also make better films in the future. (I mean, why wouldn’t he? The man is only forty-seven years old.)

Now, maybe he won’t go on to make shorter films. I believe Dunkirk is his shortest (that actually qualifies as a feature length film). But what does that matter?

Even though I’m not always a fan of action, and I do love dialogue, I think Dunkirk is a fantastic movie. If it wins, I will have no complaints.

But I, personally, would choose something different. This year’s crop of nominees is unusually strong. There is nothing wrong with Dunkirk. I’m just more excited by some of the other options.

Now I have heard some complaints that the film is just feel good British propaganda. But I mean, so what? If you manage to avoid losing your entire army to the Nazis, shouldn’t you feel pretty good about it? Why shouldn’t an English filmmaker want to commemorate an important moment in England’s history? We’ve certainly made plenty of movies about U.S. military forces rushing in to save the day. I mean, Dunkirk isn’t even about victory. It’s about finding hope in the face of defeat.

This wouldn’t be my pick for Best Picture, and I don’t expect it to win, but it would be a perfectly reasonable choice.

 

Plot:
Chris, a gifted photographer, is about to meet his girlfriend Rose’s parents for the first time when he spends the weekend at their secluded family home. He’s black. They’re white. He thinks something unpleasant might happen. He’s right.

Why It Should Win:
I burned through several Ira Levine novels about a year ago. (I so envy his economy. Nothing happens but what’s needed, and the pace never slackens. How does he do it? I’m currently attempting to tie together a number of disparate elements to conclude a trilogy, and I have no words to waste, so I’m genuinely seeking the answer to that question.)

Jordan Peele clearly loves Ira Levine, too. (Or at least he’s a fan of the films made about his books.) The first time I watched Get Out, I loved that it’s such a Rosemary’s Baby/Stepford Wives mash-up. (Its very hybridity is especially delightful given the central goal of the villains in Peele’s story.) (The Allison Williams character definitely gives it notes of A Kiss Before Dying, too.)

And then, of course, there’s the wonderful interplay with Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. (I kept thinking of that awkward scene when the housekeeper confronts Sidney Poitier. I love the way Daniel Kaluuya’s character knows he’s in a 60s movie about miscegenation, but he assumes it’s Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner and it turns out to be Rosemary’s Baby. It’s always so much worse than what you think!)

What I’m getting at here is that Jordan Peele’s fantastic movie is such a wonderful treat for fellow lovers of film and literature. It’s nice to see a movie being made by somebody who clearly loves movies. The thing is, Peele has such a clear vision himself. He has such a strong message, such a fresh voice, such cool ideas, and he’s able to incorporate them into a rich tradition to give us something timely and different and new. I’m really glad he’s nominated for Best Director because I’m positive he’ll be making more good movies in the future.

I’m also beginning with Ira Levin because I’ve heard some complaints lately that Get Out is not well written. I’ll charitably assume that internet trolls are behind every comment I’ve encountered saying that Get Out doesn’t deserve all the attention it’s getting because it’s actually just a dumb, predictable horror movie that’s not even scary. If you’re not a troll and actually hold this opinion, I respectfully ask you to consider at least the alternative possibility that perhaps you are the one who is dumb.

Peele’s screenplay taps in to a rich cinematic and literary tradition to discuss highly relevant issues about race relations in a thoughtful and entertaining way. People who don’t find the movie scary are maybe missing the idea that the truly scary part happens before the big reveal.

I absolutely love the torturous, painful awkwardness as Chris tries to navigate the party. Yes, we learn later that these people are taking cultural appropriation to a whole new level, but just forget that part for a minute. The uneasiness of the first encounter with the police officer, the awkwardness of the every interaction with the party guests, these things are real. These parts of the film hold up a mirror to real life. And those of us who would have voted for Obama for a third term probably recognize ourselves in it.

It’s very tricky. Chris knows that the people involved don’t mean him any harm…unless of course, they do. As a white person, I almost never enter a situation burdened by the realization that an awkward encounter probably won’t result in my death, so I’d better not act too alarmingly and frighten people who probably don’t mean me any harm but might kill me. Chris does his best to remain calm and polite (unlike his friend Rod who goes completely off the rails and keeps warning him to expect the worst). That party sequence is so amazing because it shows clearly that when there’s one of you surrounded by a crowd of everyone else, you’re going to feel the difference even if they’re all nice as can be.

That’s what makes the movie really scary to me. Under circumstances like that, when something really is wrong, how are you supposed to know? You can’t trust your instincts. Chris’s instincts are telling him something is very off at that party. But he has to give people the benefit of the doubt. Surely they’re just uncomfortable, too, and going out of their way to show him that they are not racist.

It’s very scary. Probably all of us have been pulled over by a police officer for some minor infraction, but some of us get shot at the end. It must be terrifying to go about your daily life and never know if you’re going to be legally murdered. And you can’t behave as if you expect or fear or resent this because then everybody gets mad at you as if you’re the one who is causing the problem. It’s very creepy. And that’s real.

It’s also uncomfortable to think that when you may be trying to come across as sympathetic, friendly, and welcoming, you might actually be causing someone fear, pain, or extreme irritation.  You think you’re being understanding, but you’re coming off like the villains in a horror movie.  Creepy, right?  That’s real, too.

I’m very glad that Jordan Peele decided to give the film a different ending than the one originally planned. I don’t think I could have endured the first ending. That might have made a powerful statement, but I think the second ending will make the film enduringly popular with movie audiences.

That’s the other great thing about Get Out. It’s fast paced. It’s entertaining. It’s fun to watch.  People like it.

When we finished watching it at home recently, our fifteen-year-old was shocked to learn, “Wait, that’s nominated for Best Picture, too?” Get Out is not a movie that must be endured for the sake of art. Regular movie goers can watch it again and again just to be entertained.  (I like the play on words of the title, too.  The idea that all these crazy, paranoid horrors Rod is raving about couldn’t possibly be real.)

The movie really holds up on repeat viewings. Even when you know the ending, it’s still fun to watch. The music is cool and creepy, and the second time through, some minor details begin to seem like little jokes. I think it’s great that all the guests arrive driving black cars, and I find it funny when the Allison Williams character snacks on white milk and Fruit Loops. A second viewing really made me appreciate the strength of her supporting performance, by the way. The first time around, I just found her annoying. But watching a second time, I see that she’s actually bringing a lot to the character. She’s especially strong in the final third of the film.

Probably what Get Out does best, though, is convince every single person watching to root for Chris whole-heartedly. And that is a feat because sometimes white audiences are reluctant to root for an African American hero, especially if he seems violent or dangerous (and especially if they recognize their own “voted for Obama for a third term” approach to race relations reflected in the villainous characters opposing him).

I know that sounds crazy. I’m not trying to say that everybody who is white is a huge racist. Maybe I’m a little cynical. I’m just saying, in Django Unchained, the title character totally deserves his revenge, but it was Christoph Waltz who won the Oscar, not Jamie Foxx.  People tend to sympathize most easily with those who seem like them.  At the end of this movie (a movie that has taught us a pointed lesson and forced us to think about race again and again), nobody in the audience is thinking about race at all anymore. Chris is just Chris. We all totally identify with him. He seems like us.  He’s the only one we care about (besides maybe Rod), and with every fiber of our beings we want him to get out of there.

That’s good filmmaking.

Why It Shouldn’t Win:
With a runtime of just 1 hour, 44 minutes, Get Out is short, briskly paced, and entertaining. Some people might argue that it’s too short, that it lacks the stately pacing and gravitas desirable in a Best Picture winner, but I don’t think so. It’s certainly not lacking in cultural and political significance. The movie tackles racism (even in its polite, pervasive, nearly impossible to eradicate form), but makes the lesson fun because this is a horror movie, so the audience is craving awful stuff.

If it sounds like I’m not giving any reasons why Get Out shouldn’t win, that’s because there aren’t any.

Yes, I do kind of wish that Rose’s family did not immediately seem so creepy. It’s pretty easy to call that they’re up to something right away, but then again the movie’s short, so why string things out with pointless red herrings?

I’ve heard some valid complaints that racial violence in real life is much scarier than anything in this horror movie. Respectfully, I think that’s the point. What makes Get Out really scary is that much of the nightmarish premise at the story’s core is actually true in the waking life of the audience, and many of us don’t even notice because we’re the party guests who think everything’s okay as long as we smile and do nice things like admire other people’s strengths by stealing them for ourselves. I love this creepy vibe of, “Oh we’re not racist! We actually think you’re better than we are in ever so many ways, and that’s why we want you for our trophies. Hahahaha!” (Imagine that as a charming laugh over canapes.)

There are films that I, personally, liked more, but as far as I’m concerned, Get Out is on a short list of truly deserving winners this year, and I’d be happy to see it get the Oscar.

 

Nominated Producer(s): Scott Rudin, Eli Bush, Evelyn O’Neill
Director: Greta Gerwig
Writer: Greta Gerwig

Cast:
Saoirse Ronan, Laurie Metcalf, Beanie Feldstein, Tracy Letts, Lucas Hedges, Timothee Chalamet, Lois Smith, Stephen Henderson, Odeya Rush, Marielle Scott, Jordan Rodriguez, Carla Valentine, Bob Stephenson, Laura Marano, and others.

Plot:
In 2002, Christine “Lady Bird” McPherson begins her senior year at Immaculate Heart Catholic School in Sacramento, California. As she prepares to go off to (a hopefully East Coast) college, Lady Bird searches for the best version of herself while navigating some tricky relationships, the most difficult (and arguably most rewarding) with her loving, giving, critical, and exasperating mother.

Why It Should Win:
I just watched Lady Bird for the second time, and for me, it improved exponentially on another viewing. One huge point in its favor is that it didn’t lose any of its charm or its power even though I’d already seen it before. Also, watching again, I found the pacing better (faster) and the ending both more succinct and more powerful (probably because I already knew where it was headed). 

The entire supporting cast is marvelous. I started singling out people and realized I was just repeating the cast list. One thing I love about Lady Bird is that every character gets to live his or her story. They all feel so fully rounded and real.

But the best thing about Lady Bird is the way it radiates love. It shows us what is beautiful about people at their worst. With a shift in focus, the film could easily become depressing, morose, hateful, sardonic. We see enormous character flaws and weaknesses in not only Lady Bird herself but in everyone around her. Her mother is overly critical. Her father suffers from depression. The family struggles financially. Neither her father nor her brother can find a job. Both of her boyfriends have massive issues unrelated to her. Everybody in this story has problems, and (as in real life), the characters often hurt each other’s feelings, usually unintentionally, sometimes obliviously.

I love the way her best friend Julie (charmingly played by Jonah Hill’s sister Beanie Feldstein) has an entire senior year drama of her own going on, which Lady Bird doesn’t even register. I love the way her brother’s girlfriend Shelly (endearingly played by Marielle Scott) helps Lady Bird to think about her mother from another point of view. Almost everyone in this story could be the star of a similar movie focusing on them, which is exactly how real life works.

As a Catholic, I also find it extremely refreshing (and honestly almost startling) how positively this film portrays the clergy, the religious, the Church. The nuns and priests who work at the school genuinely care for the students. Sister Sarah Joan (played by Lois Smith) may be my favorite character. Her observation about love and attentiveness really resonates with me and is, for me, the highlight of the entire film (though I’m also a fan of Lady Bird’s observation that the existence of war doesn’t invalidate her own feelings).

Greta Gerwig seems to have written and directed this film motivated by love and gratitude for her mother and her upbringing and her home town.

It’s very refreshing when someone offers to give you a peek at their formative years and then delivers a positive, life-affirming Valentine like this.

You would think Lady Bird would be nothing unique because there are lots of films that radiate love and show life as it is.

But to be honest, I can’t think of any others.

Of course, there have been a lot of other movies about teens coming of age and trying to get along with their families. (I should probably confess that in casual conversation, I keep accidentally calling this movie Juno, though in fairness, the two movies are quite different.)What sets Lady Bird apart is its radiating love, the confidence of its female protagonist, and its slice-of-life authenticity. Most movies like this are a lot more contrived. They’re not just a look at a girl living life. Something happens.

Of course, the problem with making a movie that is not really contrived is that nothing happens. Life happens.  That’s all.  This movie is funny and touching and sad and real, but eventful it is not. The plot is simply this: a girl lives through her senior year, graduates, and goes off to college.

So if you’re looking for thrills, you have come to the wrong movie.

Some people believe that Lady Bird is one of the few films that could actually win Best Picture.

I tend to think the Best Picture winner will have more of a traditional, action-oriented story with a contrived plot, something like The Shape of Water, Get Out, or Three Billboards. But we’ll see.

Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri

Nominated Producer(s): Graham Broadbent, Peter Czernin, Martin McDonagh
Director: Martin McDonagh
Writer: Martin McDonagh

Cast:
Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson, Sam Rockwell, Lucas Hedges, Peter Dinklage, Zeljko Ivanek, Sandy Martin, John Hawkes, Samara Weaving, Caleb Landry Jones, Amanda Warren, Abbie Cornish, Clarke Peters, Kathryn Newton, Jerry Winsett, Kerry Condon, Darrell Brit-Gibson, Nick Searcy, Brendan Sexton III, and others.

Plot:
Grieving mother Mildred Hayes needs closure. Seven months ago, someone raped and murdered her teenaged daughter. So far, police in the small (fictional) town of Ebbing, Missouri, have no leads and seem to have dropped the investigation. To bring the case back into the public eye, Mildred rents three billboards on the outskirts of town and puts up a shocking message which describes the crime and chastises police chief Bill Willoughby for failing to solve the case. She gets everyone’s attention, and a chain of escalating violence begins.

Why It Should Win:
Three Billboards is my favorite movie of the year by a mile.

Is it perfect? No. But it’s so entertaining. The first time I watched, I fell in love with Martin McDonagh’s screenplay, consistently surprising, so soulful and thought-provoking. And Frances McDormand, Sam Rockwell, and Woody Harrelson all completely won me over with their compelling interpretations of these fascinating characters.

I’ve replayed scenes that I particularly loved in my mind again and again. Then when I watched the film a second time the other day, I found myself tensing up before key moments, anticipating the moving brilliance of certain powerful scenes which did not fail to deliver.

Honestly, I love the film so much that it’s hard to put my strong reaction into words, and I’m not sure I could defend it. To me, this is one of those love-it-or-hate-it kind of movies. Either you get it, or you don’t. (And by “get it,” I mean that it resonates with you. I’m not casting aspersions on anyone’s intelligence. Everybody has different tastes.)

The first time through, I found the story suspenseful from start to finish because at so many moments I thought, “Well, I just have no idea what will happen now.” But on a second viewing, Three Billboards gets even better because you can really pay attention to the nuance of the performances.

After being blown away by Sam Rockwell’s big finish, I had forgotten the quality of some of Woody Harrelson’s fine moments, such as that scene in the doctor’s office when he’s alone with his thoughts (and fears). Harrelson definitely deserves his nomination, but Rockwell is doing career best work with a tricky character that not just anyone could handle. If anyone had described the character to me–“He’s slow. He’s a racist. He’s emotionally stunted. He’s violent. He lives with his mean ol’ mother”–I would never have guessed this guy would steal the movie near the end and infuse it with even more energy and excitement.

Frances McDormand–with her sidelong glances and fiery line delivery–is reason enough to see the movie, but Sam Rockwell is the one who makes us realize what an exceptional film we’re watching.

Martin McDonagh’s screenplay has gotten some harsh criticism recently, but I think it is brilliant and could defend and discuss it endlessly. That he’s not nominated for Best Director doesn’t matter much to me because Best Original Screenplay is the award he deserves (though there’s so much competition there, I don’t know that he’ll win).

The supporting cast (for the most part) and the score are also fantastic. This is one of the few films that I believe ought to win Best Picture. For me, just that it exists is enough, but I would definitely be happy to see it win any Oscar it’s up for.

Why It Shouldn’t Win:
I still don’t like Abbie Cornish as Willoughby’s wife. Because I loved the film so much the first time, I charitably assumed that she would grow on me, but she hasn’t. Cornish’s performance is by far the worst in the film, which is truly unfortunate for Woody Harrelson who is doing magnificent work himself and is her most frequent scene partner. She’s best in her scene with Frances McDormand in the gift shop, but I feel like the situation is doing a lot of the work for her there.

I disagree with people who find it implausible that a small town Missouri police chief pushing sixty could have a young Australian wife. It seems to me that anyone could have a young Australian wife. In fact, I could if both the young Australian woman in question and I so desired it. That’s how marriage works these days. You just marry whomever you want. I see no reason Harrelson’s Bill Willoughby wouldn’t have the charisma and character to coax a younger women down the aisle, even an Australian one. It’s just too bad he didn’t find one who could act.

Also, there’s a kind of hyper-reality governing events in Ebbing, Missouri. So do I believe the violence could escalate (without appropriate reprisal) as it does in the final third of the film? Well, yes. I think all of that is perfectly plausible within the confines of the hyper-reality McDonagh establishes (possibly even in actual reality under the right circumstances, sadly enough). But I do not believe a police chief unable to solve the murder/rape/burning of a teenaged girl seven months ago would leave his two young daughters unsupervised by the side of a lake. I understand the character’s motivation, but it’s hard not to think there could have been a safer setting for a similar plan.

Now a larger issue than Abbie Cornish’s horrible performance (for which she has already won a SAG award for ensemble cast) is the incredible backlash the film has received recently regarding the way it handles race in general and Sam Rockwell’s portrayal of racist police officer Jason Dixon in particular.

Some people say that McDonagh’s film introduces the issue of racial prejudice without even intending to explore it or engage with it honestly. In other words, Jason Dixon’s reputation as a racist cop who tortured an African American in custody is just a short-hand way of giving him a colorful background. The story is not actually interested in the fate of the African American characters who are merely present for the sake of show.

To a degree, I do think this is true, a just criticism of the film. I feel it’s a limitation of an otherwise exceptional piece of art. Marin McDonagh is not from Missouri (or anywhere near Missouri) and you can really tell. Three Billboards is an amazing story, but it’s not really about Missouri. It could just as easily be set in Ireland. (In fact, that might have worked out better.)

Now, on the one hand, you could argue, “But the actual setting of the story does not matter. This is a character driven story about troubled individuals who could live anywhere.” And, on the other hand, you could retort, “Yeah, but they don’t live anywhere. They live in Missouri.”

The setting seems deliberately chosen because of all the high profile racial unrest (a deceptively polite word) in Missouri recently. As the movie progresses, references to the police mistreating African Americans are ubiquitous, but they don’t seem to matter much to the actual story.

I dismissed such complaints earlier, noting that Shakespeare probably didn’t know much about race relations in Venice, either, and yet Othello and The Merchant of Venice are masterpieces. But after watching the movie a second time, I’m reevaluating that perhaps too lenient stance.

For one thing, Shakespeare was actually writing about things that were politically and socially relevant to his audience in England. He set his plays in remote locations (and distant times) so that he could safely talk about issues that were sensitive and immediate to his audience.

Martin McDonagh chose to set his film in a place familiar to his audience where the sensitive and immediate issues are currently happening, and then he chose not to explore those issues in any depth. Maybe he wants to tell a story about the human condition that transcends setting, but in that case, he perhaps should have chosen a less charged setting (or else done more research). The movie (shot in North Carolina) does not do a great job of depicting what Missouri is like.

Maybe part of McDonagh’s point is that setting does not matter, that topicality is just more noise distracting us from the core issues that do matter, that embracing love might work under any circumstances. But once you’ve made a movie, you have no control over how the audience will receive it. Minimizing racism as an issue to illustrate a point is maybe not the safest way to make a movie for people who live in a country torn by racism.

It doesn’t help that the story is crawling with African American characters who get no development whatsoever. They are all portrayed in a very positive light, but in a movie where the flaws of the meaty characters are probed to the point of discomfort, that’s like an insult.

Someone could argue that the African American characters are there only to encourage Mildred and to stand on the right side of justice against corrupt police officers like Jason Dixon. Clarke Peters gives an excellent performance, and surely everyone is glad to see him demand Dixon’s badge and gun. But because his character gets no development, it’s hard not to see him as an oversimplification. The vibe is very much, “Don’t worry. The good guys are in charge now.”

I do think it’s a bit lazy to approach the film that way, though. Yes, Clarke Peters’s Abercrombie seems like a breath of fresh air when he witnesses Dixon’s horrific behavior and fires him, but is he a good police chief? As far as we know, he fails to find and arrest the person who set fire to the billboards and the person who set fire to the police station. He doesn’t arrest Dixon. And there’s another thing it’s hard to comment on briefly. But let’s just say that he’s certainly not being offered as a paragon of virtue. At best, he does nothing.

It’s possible that McDonagh is suggesting not something lazy about racism, but instead something rather sophisticated and unpalatable. Maybe his film seems to treat racism lightly because he’s suggesting that dismissing someone as a racist is no more helpful than dismissing someone using racial slurs. Hearts must change, and the rest is trappings. But I’m not sure.

In the end, I’m of two minds about this issue. I actually think it’s rather unfair to accuse McDonagh of falling short of something he is not at all attempting to do. His goals and vision are not aligning here with the goals and vision of those criticizing him. This may not be the type of movie that some people want it to be (or even mistakenly think that it is).

But then, you see, on the other hand, if McDonagh does not want to be judged by this standard, then why does he set his story in Missouri and casually refer to racist behaviors, beliefs, and incidents so persistently during the film?

Now as far as people being upset that racist torturer Jason Dixon gets such a redemptive arc, I’m firmly on McDonagh’s side there.

Immediately I wonder, Are you sure he’s getting a redemptive arc? What happens to him that’s so redemptive? He attempts to do this really amazing thing, but fails utterly. At the end, he’s not left with much. If by “redemptive arc,” you mean that he goes through fire and arguably emerges a better person, well then, yes, that happens. I personally would be very distressed to think that once someone does a bad thing (or many bad things) or holds a mistaken belief, having a change of heart becomes impossible. If your life gets off track, are you supposed to lie in a gutter and die? Are we all judged completely by our weakest moment? If so, there’s no hope for anyone. All Jason is given is a chance to become a better person. The reward is becoming a better person.

Maybe people are mad because the audience begins (improbably) to like Dixon. But this is not an educational cartoon for pre-schoolers. Surely we are not looking to this movie to guide us through life.

When we begin to like a person we know has done horrible things, what should we do with those feelings? That’s a question for the audience, not a problem with the film.

And maybe some people still don’t like Dixon at the end of the movie. Here in the United States, we’re very prone to glamorizing loose cannon cops and vigilante justice, but they don’t look so glamorous in Ebbing, do they? When people take the law into their own hands or want revenge above all else or refuse to play by the rules, this is what it looks like with the glamorizing filter stripped away.

Not giving an Oscar to Sam Rockwell just because he plays a character with despicable qualities seems bizarre to me. I really hope that Rockwell wins Best Supporting Actor.

I will concede that it’s probably a mistake by McDonagh to write about an area and an issue he seems not to understand fully. But I think many of his harshest critics are misunderstanding him, too (and surely some of them are doing it deliberately because this backlash is happening during an Oscar campaign).

Despite its flaws, Three Billboards remains my favorite film of the year, and I’d be thrilled to see it win Best Picture.