With the Best Picture prize and all four acting awards glaringly obvious, Sunday’s 92nd Academy Awards lacks what nearly every good movie needs — suspense. I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting there’s any reason you should actually watch the Oscars telecast. But finding myself in the rare position of having seen seven of the nine best picture nominees this year, I can offer a primer for those of you who might find yourselves at home, tuning in to ABC by accident (no judgment).
It was an unusually good year for movies, if not a great one. The Motion Picture Academy easily could have added one more nominee to meet their maximum number of 10 films. Uncut Gems, Queen & Slim, Dark Water, Us, The Farewell, Climax, and even Bombshell all would have been sensible nominees. But we’ve got what we’ve got, so here we go:
Ford vs. Ferrari – I cannot imagine a film less attuned to the sensibility of these times. While it’s true that rousing tributes to American ingenuity never go out of style, this film celebrates auto racing, a sport that at its worst symbolizes mankind’s bottomless capacity to waste resources and abuse the environment, and at its best amounts to a lot of left turns. It also stars, and is about, two extremely privileged white males. I just can’t rouse myself to care about a bunch of race car people dedicating their lives to driving a tenth of a second faster than some other race car people who wear loafers and speak a different language. That’s why I refused to spend one dime seeing this film, and therefore can’t review it. I know this much, though — the only car racing film that didn’t bore me from beginning to end is Talladega Nights, and I don’t remember that one scoring a best picture nomination.
Jojo Rabbit – This is the other one I haven’t seen. After suffering through the twin cinematic atrocities that were Life is Beautiful and Inglourious Basterds, I swore I’d never watch another “edgy’’ take on the Holocaust unless it was Jerry Lewis’ tragically unseen The Day the Clown Cried. I can tell you that based on the trailers I’ve seen, Jojo Rabbit looks very pleased with itself. Which is a good thing, because it won’t be getting any further validation on Oscar night.
Joker – Joker is both a strikingly original film and a painfully derivative one. Labeled a comic book origin story for Batman’s most famous villain, it’s really a superhero movie in which the hero discovers his superpower is the ability to kill without remorse. There was a time (once upon a time in Hollywood?) when that kind of thing would have been a tough sell. But gloom and hatred are all the rage now, and Joker was a mega-blockbuster. The great Joaquin Phoenix stars as Arthur Fleck, a near-broke, mentally unbalanced clown-for-hire and aspiring comedian in Gotham. Arthur is relentlessly bullied, shunned, and generally challenged in every step of his life. He gets no help from the government for his mental illness. Eventually he begins fighting back, and things spin out of control. Joker is a wholly captivating film when it’s showing us all the cards stacked against its beleaguered protagonist, but it’s on less solid ground when it tries to shoehorn in its Batman origin story, and things get even shakier still when director Todd Phillips begins exploring Arthur’s higher show-business ambitions. This includes his interaction with a famous TV talk-show host and comedian played by Robert De Niro. Regular watchers of Saturday Night Live don’t need me to tell them how quickly this man’s comedic delusions can derail an otherwise promising evening. I guess in some comic-book world divorced from any concessions to reality, Robert De Niro could be a wildly successful comic, but to me it’s a false note from which Joker never fully recovers. Even a game Marc Maron as De Niro’s Freddie de Cordova can’t help much. Worse, De Niro’s presence outlines Joker’s deep, DEEP similarities to Taxi Driver and King of Comedy, two superior movies. The ending feels rushed, too — it reeks of a cheap setup for a sequel. But all that sounds a bit harsh for a film that for the most part is gripping and fun to watch. Guess I just couldn’t resist piling on poor Arthur, too.
Once Upon A Time in Hollywood – When this project was first announced a couple years ago, I remember thinking QT had lost whatever’s left of his coke-addled mind. What could be less appealing to a present-day audience than one of Harvey Weinstein’s early cash cows regaling us with his take on Charles Manson? Well, Once Upon A Time… quickly became Tarantino’s highest-grossing film, so maybe I’m the one who needs to take a good, hard look in the mirror. Turns out QT’s saving grace was turning his 1969 period piece into one thing the industry is genetically unable to resist — a love letter to itself. Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt are great fun to watch together as a TV western star who’s just beginning to exit his leading man years, and his loyal best friend and stuntman. DiCaprio’s character lives next door to Sharon Tate, and the action takes place in the days before she was murdered along with several others by the Manson gang. I think this would have been a better, albeit less successful, film if QT had left out the Manson angle altogether and kept the focus on story’s deep dive into the power dynamics between the generations in late ‘60s Hollywood. Nearly all the film’s charms come from that storyline. Still, it’s a stretch to say this film deserves a best picture nomination. It’s a shambling, hit-or-miss affair that doesn’t really go anywhere, building toward a climax that’s head-scratchingly rote. In the pantheon of QT’s films it’s superior to mid-career output like Kill Bill and The Hateful Eight, but still weaker than his first three films. It’s also, like every QT film from Jackie Brown on, about 20 minutes too long. It should not win best picture as some sort of lifetime achievement award to a bloated, overrated one-trick pony with the unmitigated gall to pull the old “I’m retiring’’ trick. Wake up, people — QT isn’t retiring from making movies any sooner than Nic Cage or Michael Caine are. The best film about the Manson killings remains 1976’s made-for-TV Helter Skelter. Stream it now and you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight. Stream Tarantino’s picture and you’ll be asleep halfway through Act 2.
Little Women – On paper, this film should have been a best picture favorite, especially this year: Oscar-nominated female writer and director tackles timeless literary classic, replete with finely observed costumery and other period details, and best of all — updated for our modern moment, with all its newfound demand for female agency. Somehow, Greta Gerwig still managed to piss off a bunch of women, who are wondering where she got the nerve to fuck with Jo March’s romantic happy ending. At least that’s the takeaway I got from my wife. Here’s where I admit that I studiously avoided reading this book in school and did the same with the many TV airings of Hollywood’s multiple film versions, melodramatic treacle starring the likes of Katharine Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor. But I figured if I was going to drag my own little woman to relentless sausage fests like The Irishman, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and Uncut Gems, the least I could do was treat her to a movie in which a female might actually have a speaking part. And I was glad I did, because the story really is a classic, and I found Gerwig’s new version to be a handsomely crafted, superbly acted film that made for a fine, entertaining night at the movies. As for her “novel’’ ending, I will neither spoil it nor wade into a debate about its merits, but defer to my wife’s superior judgment on all matters of romance and gender politics. My own quibbles with Little Women were more minor. Gerwig’s other major change to previous versions is the story’s timeline, which she scrambles furiously here to erase any sense of actual chronology. It takes for granted that her audience is intimately familiar with Louisa May Alcott’s 1868-69 book, but it left me confused much of the time. And I love Laura Dern, but I found her less effective in a supporting role in this film than in Marriage Story. In Baumbach’s film, her hyperkinetic divorce attorney is a pure 21st century animal, but she’s less convincing here as a 19th century matriarch.
Marriage Story – Marriage Story boasts a timeless theme, great performances by its lead actors, and an absolutely beautiful ending — that last part a rare accomplishment even among great films. For moviegoers old enough to remember 1979, writer/director Noah Baumbach’s up-close look at the effects of divorce on a yuppie couple and their one child will bring back vivid memories of Kramer vs. Kramer. I think that earlier classic starring Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep is superior, but it’s a fair comparison: Both films pack a helluva wallop. One needn’t be a fan of Baumbach’s previous work to find his protagonists in Marriage Story gripping and relatable. The couple is played by Scarlett Johansson and Adam Driver; an Oscar for either would be well-deserved (although they won’t win). And I was absolutely blown away by the crackling chemistry between Laura Dern and Ray Liotta as opposing divorce lawyers – those two were born to play these roles in a TV series. (Get on it, somebody … goddamn thing almost writes itself.) In the Best Picture race, though, Marriage Story has too much going against it — it’s a Netflix film, a New York film, and comparatively little-seen despite its big-name cast.
The Irishman – Gangster dramas are a bulletproof genre. One doesn’t like, admire, or enjoy The Godfather, Goodfellas et al. as much as one succumbs to them. Catch sight of a Godfather II rerun while flipping through channels and you know damn well you’d better have some pretty major family commitments to get you off that couch for the next couple hours. Why is that? What’s so damn compelling about these wiseguys and their self-contained world … why are we — many of us thoughtful, educated people — so willing to be hypnotized by trite dialogue so long as its delivered dripping with a Sicily-by-way-of-Jersey dialect? Who knows, but I made my peace with it sometime between Casino and the fifth season of The Sopranos. This stuff might not be great art, but it sure is great fun. This phenomenon serves The Irishman quite well, with its very lived-in 210-minute running time. Martin Scorsese’s latest epic manages to be fascinating instead of redundant because it’s not really about “the life,’’ but a life — any life, and the act of reflection that must take place at the end. Robert De Niro plays mob hitman Frank Sheeran, spending one of his last days on earth in the dreary comfort of an expensive senior living home as he tells the story of his many decades of service to mob boss Russell Bufalino and union capo Jimmy Hoffa, played by Joe Pesci and Al Pacino, respectively. Much has been made of the film’s digital effects, which allow De Niro and Pesci to play younger versions of themselves. De Niro’s also been given blue eyes for some reason, which is far more distracting than the digital de-aging. Pesci looks about 90 the whole time, but it’s no matter because he absolutely walks off with the movie. Pacino lights up the screen as Hoffa — although he looks and talks nothing like the former union leader, he’s the life of the film for much of its middle part. But Pesci, knowing that he can’t win a scenery-chewing contest with big Al, underplays all his scenes instead, and the result is spectacular. He’s not the toughest guy in the room because he doesn’t have to be; he’s the wisest. In his previous roles for Scorsese, Pesci has been a bullied kid brother in Raging Bull and a mid-level gangster frustrated in his higher aspirations in Goodfellas and Casino. Watching him finally get to be the one calling the shots is glorious. And the scene in which he first gets to know Sheeran by listening to the younger man’s stories from World War II, sitting rapt like an infatuated little girl, is some of the most beautiful face acting I’ve seen. Hats off to Marty for getting the gang back together one more time. I highly recommend seeing The Irishman at home on Netflix, where you can live with it for a while, like Frank lives with his memories.
Parasite – A film so loved by critics that it shot to the top of the list of best picture favorites early on — nearly unheard of for a foreign language entry — Parasite is a funny-but-angry class-conscious thriller in the vein of 1939’s Rules of the Game or even this year’s Knives Out. The teenage son in a poor South Korean family manages to luck into a job tutoring the offspring of a rich couple, and gradually the entire family manages to attach itself to the wealthier clan in ways that involve all manner of increasingly inventive thinking. This really is a good film — deceptively funny and light-hearted in its first half, when we’re getting to know the family, before director Bong Joon Ho’s themes of bitter class envy lead to their inevitable tragic ending. But I daresay Parasite is a wee bit overrated. I’m not sure it has anything deep to say about capitalism, other than it’s much better to have money than to lack it. I suppose we’re to admire the poorer family’s industriousness in contrast to the richer clan’s complacency. But I kind of felt sorry for the rich family here. They never really do anything to deserve such concerted deception, they’re just subtly dickish in the way that I’d probably be if I were rich. Parasite has already given Bong a healthy and not undeserved 15 minutes of fame, and an Oscar for best foreign-language film is a certainty.
1917 – The Great War was a great gift to cinematographers, and never has that obscene orgy of killing looked more eerily beautiful than in director Sam Mendes’ 1917. But in making what he describes as a tribute to the heroism his grandfather witnessed as a soldier in World War I, Mendes took an enormous gamble. He filmed the entire movie as two long, continuous takes, wagering that he and his crew could pull off such an astonishing technical gimmick without distracting from the story, which concerns two British infantry soldiers tasked with scurrying through miles of trenches and battlefield to reach the front with an urgent message to call off a planned attack that’s destined to fail. Like his two main characters, Mendes mostly pulls off the mission by the skin of his teeth. 1917 sweeps along through breathtaking visuals with its narrative tension furiously intact. And whenever the camera does slow down, some great dramatic moments occur. It makes for a memorably tense and riveting moviegoing experience, even if the horrors of war are a bit overwhelmed by all the pretty pictures.
And the winner is…
According to my betting site, 1917 is roughly a 2 to 1 favorite to win best picture, with Parasite at 4 to 1 and Once Upon A Time In Hollywood next at 7 to 1. A deeper breakdown presents an even clearer case for 1917. For one thing, it honors the heroism of soldiers in the field. Check. For another, it’s got a bunch of British actors in it. Cheque. Third, it’s a film that demands to be seen on the big screen, not streamed at home. Checkaroo. Mostly, though, it celebrates the medium itself … which is different than celebrating the industry, as Tarantino’s film does. Plenty of filmmakers have recreated the look of the 1960s, but 1917 represents an unprecedented cinematic achievement, and I think in the end the majority of voters will feel best about rewarding that. If there was any doubt in my mind, it vanished in early January when 1917 opened wide to capitalize on all the awards buzz and knocked Star Wars out of the No. 1 spot at the box office. True, Once Upon A Time … was also No. 1 the box office last summer, but it boasts two of the world’s most bankable stars, while 1917 stars two complete unknowns. This thing just has the look of a winner. Come Sunday night, it will slide in there comfortably among so many other sweeping, historical, or literary prestige pictures that have taken home the big prize over the years: Titanic, The English Patient, Out of Africa, Braveheart, Gladiator, Chariots of Fire, Patton, Lawrence of Arabia, et al.
Those tempted to put a wager down may be reminded that I correctly predicted last year’s best picture winner. Then again, I’m also the guy who said audiences would never pay 15 bucks to watch grown men fly around in tights. So, you know, grain of salt and all.
Listen, Mr., I see you bating me to correct your version of my issue with LITTLE WOMEN. Not sure I have the energy after what we, especially I, have been through over the last 24 hours… but sufficed to say, I felt the ending was inconsistent with her emotional world throughout the film. The whole ending had the effect of suddenly and awkwardly altering the light in which she had been cast throughout the film; simply feeling like a forced rebellion of a “Hollywood Ending” that disconnected the character from the earlier version of herself where she was indeed more emotionally accessible and vulnerable. The ending left me cold, but not necessarily because there was no final romantic scene, but because it was a cold ending. There was a way to change the ending without divorcing her from her romantic inner world; those feelings, and the denial of them in pursuit of independence, is precisely what makes a sensitive woman’s independence interesting — as opposed to suddenly, in order to force a feminist point, portraying her as impervious to romantic love; the very last thing a writer should be. In my opinion, it could be argued that the ending portrayed her as a coward, unwilling to be vulnerable to the pain of heartbreak. Earlier in the film, she eagerly sought approval from a man whose opinion she respected… but when she didn’t get the praise she expected, she was hurt… and it was refreshing to know that she had an ounce of vulnerability. Nothing wrong with that, it’s only human. But by the end of the film, her colors are dulled unnecessarily. Just as true bravery exists in tandem with fear — true independence exists in tandem with conflicting emotions. Otherwise it’s just a case of someone who simply doesn’t give shit about anyone enough to be pained or tied down… or someone who simply rejects romantic love outright due to an unwillingness to experience it. Booo. Boring. Independence and matters of the heart are not mutually exclusive. It would have been FAR MORE interesting to see the conflict of feelings that she finally overcomes in pursuit of a life unencumbered by romantic love. But the way the movie wrapped up was entirely lacking in conflict. Cold. In fact, she didn’t choose to rebel against the constraints of love, since, if we are to accept the ending, it simply didn’t exist within her. If someone lacks emotional attachments or feelings, the default status is independence. Not the same thing as choosing independence in spite of feeling the pull of love. IMO, that very relatable human element is what was missing from the ending and her final actions. I left with the cold realization that she was, with the exception of her Beth, mostly closed-off… and it fell flat. I didn’t feel like cheering for her, and I wanted to. Your remark on a different subject fits the ending of LITTLE WOMEN — it’s hard to square that circle… or something like that.