It’s only mid-June and I know very little for sure, but 2016 is seeming more and more like a relatively weak year for Best Picture contenders. The more I hear, the more I talk things over, the more I sniff the room, the less intrigued I feel. Gut feelings, insect vibrations, hairs on the back of my neck. A guy who’s seen some of the fall films told me the other day, “I hope things get better.”
I’m sounding like a broken record, I realize, but there appear to be six or seven hotties at best — Kenneth Lonergan’s Manchester by the Sea (I’ve seen it — a sad near-masterpiece), Martin Scorsese‘s Silence (maybe, maybe not — allegedly a difficult sit in terms of gruesome subject matter but who knows?), Ang Lee‘s Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk (maybe — a modern-day Catch-22), Nate Parker‘s The Birth of a Nation (probably but troubles await), Denzel Washington‘s Fences (based on a respected play but much of it is set indoors in a single home — probably more of a Viola Davis-for-Best Actress opportunity than anything else), and Jeff Nichols‘ Loving (a good film but more of a ground-rule double than a triple or a homer — Ruth Negga vs. Viola Davis for Best Actress trophy?) and Clint Eastwood‘s Sully (maybe, seems thin).
I’m sensing different kinds of weakness (uncertainties, vulnerabilities, head-scratchings) from all of these except for Manchester by the Sea, Fences, Silence and Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk, and even these four might run into problems down the road.
I should just shut up and wait for the fall festivals, but I have a special long-throw ability to detect little tingly vibes from certain films, and so far I’m not sensing the possible presence of serious electricity or extra-ness in the wings except for Manchester, which I know has serious heft.