HE readers are hereby invited to predict the 2013/2014 Oscar winners in all the categories [nominees listed after the jump]. All submissions must be in by…I don’t know, Saturday, March 1st at midnight? The winner will receive either a cash prize of $100 or $125 or will be treated to a nice dinner or lunch by yours truly if he/she happens to live in Los Angeles. While we’re eating I’ll record our conversation and take pictures and make an article out of our encounter. Spell out predicted winners in BOLD CAPS. No revisions once you’ve sent in a list. The winner chooses the restaurant.
Yesterday Indiewire‘s Anne Thompson and TheWrap‘s Steve Pond reported on a firm “either-or” declaration by Toronto Film Festival artistic director Cameron Bailey, to wit: if producers/distributors henceforth unveil their Oscar-bait films at the Telluride Film Festival, they can’t show them during the first four days of the 2014 Toronto Film Festival (9.4 thru 9.14). How will producers/distributors respond? I’d be hugely surprised if they decide to blow off Telluride, which is easily the more preferred venue for award-season kickoffs.
Anyone who knows the game will tell you that Toronto is the Chicago stockyards — an overcrowded, market-driven clusterfuck — while Telluride is a serene haven of refined taste and film-nerd worship — the ideal launch for any film that needs the right people to see it and embrace it (or at least thoughtfully kick it around) and begin the conversation.
Toronto’s “uh-oh” bell sounded last August when the reps of J.C. Chandor‘s All Is Lost, Joel and Ethan Coen‘s Inside Llewyn Davis and Alexander Payne‘s Nebraska decided to preemptively cast their lot with Telluride and sidestep Toronto. Bailey didn’t have to threaten them by withdrawing TIFF slots during the first four days — they decided to ignore Toronto altogether. This initiated what I called “a relatively new fall-festival phenomenon — the Oscar-contending, Telluride-preferring, Toronto-blowoff movie.”
Gold Derby‘s Tom O’Neill to Jeffrey Wells: “You’re slacking off again, Mr. Elsewhere! Last night Gravity‘s Alfonso Cuaron won the DGA Award for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Motion Pictures…which means that you and all the other Oscarologists have to re-think and re-post your Oscar predictions! C’mon, Jeff…hubba hubba! Only five weeks until the Oscars and…(audibly sighs, imperceptibly slumps)…who am I kidding?
“Cuaron’s win means…what does it mean? That DGA members didn’t like the experience of watching the obviously superior 12 Years A Slave enough to give the award to Steve McQueen…despite the disapproving scowls of the Movie Godz? That they lacked the character and clarity of mind to give it to Martin Scorsese, director of the ballsiest, go-for-broke social indictment film of the century (and incidentally the best film of 2013) — The Wolf of Wall Street? And that they felt at the end of the day that Cuaron, director of a technically groundbreaking “Sandra Bullock in a haunted house” movie (in the words of Alexander Payne) that was “supposed to be an amusement ride” (in the Bullock’s own words), should get it because Cuaron and dp Emmanuelle Lubezki worked so hard to deliver an exceptional FX movie, even though they originally wanted to make a more austere, less emotionally cloying, more 2001-ish experience. And because a win for a Mexican-born filmmaker makes them seem…what, culturally magnanimous? Alfonso is one of the finest and kindest-hearted directors around today, but he should have won for Children of Men.”
So American Hustle is going to take the Best Picture Oscar…right? And I’m probably going to win that $50 bucks from Glenn Kenny after all. Or will Gravity take it? I don’t think so. I think the David O. Russell payback factor that I mentioned a long time ago (the quality and popularity of The Fighter and Silver Linings Playbook added to Hustle means he’ll be almost unbeatable) was one of the reasons Hustle took ten nominations. How odd that Russell’s biggest-ever Academy contender is a film that I like and respect but don’t really love.
The Movie Gods want 12 years A Slave to win Best Picture, naturally. As I do. As a lot of people do. Can the softies be guilt-tripped into admitting that the film’s moral force plus the stunning cinematic artistry injected by Steve McQueen and John Ridley overwhelms or at least balances out the cruelty and brutality? I’d like to think so but…
At 23, Jennifer Lawrence has now been Oscar-nominated three times — for Best Actress in Winter’s Bone in 2011 and Silver Linings Playbook last year (resulting in a win) and now for Best Supporting Actress in American Hustle. She’s the youngest actress ever to have been so honored. Plus she’s really rich and hot and everything else. I loved her in Hustle also, but the award should go to 12 Years A Slave‘s Lupita Nyong’o.
Congratulations to the films that landed the most Oscar nominations this morning — 10 for Hustle and Gravity, 9 for 12 Years A Slave, 6 for Captain Phillips, Dallas Buyers Club and Nebraska, 5 for He and Wolf of Wall Street. And extra double triple quadruple congrats to Wolf of Wall Street‘s Jonah Hill, who surprised everyone (even me) with a Best Supporting Actor nomination. Only one smarty-pants Oscar prognosticator — The Hollywood Reporter’s Scott Feinberg — predicted a Jonah nomination.
I trust I’ve made myself clear over the past several years. I love writing this column 24/7 but “the season” — the six-month period between Telluride/Toronto/Venice and the Oscars — is where the real fun and thrills lie. And yet the idea of this same period consuming huge amounts of time and energy and incalculable brain-wave activity in order to predict which films and filmmakers that members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will choose to give Oscars…what is that? I need to put this carefully. Covering the Oscar race pays pretty well, and for that I’m grateful. And I respect the fact that it’s a very, very difficult thing for a film to find sufficient acclaim to even get into the award-season conversation, much less become a finalist. There is real value in this, and each year serious payoffs are at stake. I don’t belittle this effort or the Oscar economy for a second.
But I do belittle the taste of those Academy members (i.e., not all) who have proven year after year that they have very little belief in serious Movie Catholicism, and that they basically regard the Oscars as a kind of high-school popularity contest. Yes, it’s always been this way but I think it might be getting worse. The King’s Speech and especially The Artist winning Best Picture took something out of me, and then the likable, perfectly efficient Argo after that…c’mon! And now the idea of an indisputable masterpiece like 12 Years A Slave possibly losing the Best Picture Oscar to a technically astounding, eye-popping thrill ride like Gravity plus the idea of Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio having to do interview after interview to try and persuade the Hope Holiday contingent that The Wolf of Wall Street isn’t a celebration of vile behavior…I swear to God the doors of perception are narrowing.
Too many Academy members seem to favor films that provide an older person’s idea of emotional comfort (tearful sentiment, delivering some echo from their youth, resuscitating some facsimile of something well remembered) more than anything fresh or unusual or even semi-challenging. Not always but a lot of the time. This is partly if not largely due to the “deadwood” contingent — too many Academy members haven’t worked in the industry for too long, and their tastes are just too conservative and mildewed and doddering. Every year they bring everyone down.
Five weeks ago I did a short little riff on six Sundance ’14 standouts. But the more I sift through the programs, the less excited I am. I’m not down on anything — just even-toned. The usual 25 or so films will be seen and the usual five or six (at most) will emerge as genuine standouts. The first order of business is always to decide which films look dicey, and in that effort my heartfelt thanks to the team at Total Film — experience has taught me that almost everything these guys are excited about and hoping to like, I’m probably going to find irksome or dislikable or worse. Here, in any event, are a few pre-festival spitballs — instinct, off the top, “what do I know?”
Damien Chazelle‘s Whiplash appears to have heat, granted, but Miles Teller irritates me for what I freely admit are unfair and unwarranted reasons. (That “driving and not looking” scene in The Spectacular Now is one of them.) Steve James‘ Life Itself, the Roger Ebert doc, will be poignant and moving and very well crafted, I’m sure, but I wonder how nakedly honest — the more reverent the portrayal, the less interesting the subject becomes. Gareth Evans‘ The Raid 2: Bernandal is an instant must-to-avoid because (a) I hated The Raid (thanks once again to James Rocchi for recommending it two or three Torontos ago) and (b) I am, as always, fiercely committed to avoiding all Asian-based or Asian-produced action films for the rest of my life. The deadly obnoxious conceit of Michael Fassbender wearing a ceramic mask over his head throughout the entire length of Frank (according to plot descriptions) is obviously a potential catastrophe. The One I Love with Mark Duplass and Elizabeth Moss has to be at least decent. And the generic description of William H. Macy‘s Rudderless — “a musical drama about the power of a parent’s love” — has me scared shitless.
7:57 pm: WHAT? I spoke too soon! 12 Years A Slave takes the Best Motion Picure, Drama award? Yes! This wasn’t in the cards, or certainly didn’t seem to be. You can plainly see that director Steve McQueen is dumbfounded — “I wasn’t expecting this!,” he just said. An amazing finale….totally unexpected. And totally justified. Wow! Obviously a very close vote with Alfonso Cuaron having won Best Director.
7:51 pm: Jessica Chastain presents the Best Actor, Drama Golden Globe to Matthew McConaughey for Dallas Buyer’s Club. Good speech that he tried out last week in Palm Springs. 12 Years A Slave is most likely a total shut-out. We need to hear from Vulture‘s Kyle Buchanan, who declared last September that Slave was a total lockdown for Best Picture. McConaughey: “This film has always been about livin’…it was never about dyin’.”
7:46 pm: The great Cate Blanchett wins Best Actress, Drama for Blue Jasmine. Not too much of a surprise. Great speech! Admittedly augmented by “several vodkas.”
7:44 pm: “And now, like a supermodel’s vagina, let’s all give a warm welcome to Leonardo DiCaprio!” — Tina Fey.
7:39 pm: Here comes the Best Motion Picture, Comedy/Musical ward, presented by a pregnant Drew Barrymore (who looks as big as a house). American Hustle wins, of course. “Which movie will take the big award of the night?” the announcer asks. I think we have that figured out, right? Nothing to do with slavery! An FX-driven space suspense movie (“Sandra Bullock lost in a haunted house but the house is space” — Alexander Payne) is cooler!
7:27 pm: Jennifer Lawrence presenting the Best Actor, Comedy/Musical, and the Golden Globe goes to Leonardo DiCaprio!!! “I never would have guessed I would have won for Best Actor in a Comedy,” etc. In a general career sense, he means, but also because Leo regards Wolf, however hilarious it is throughout, as a deadly serious portrait of a malignant culture. Leo gives an elegant, eloquent acceptance speech. Being waved off by the orchestra. Yay, Leo!!!!
7:21 pm: Brooklyn Nine-Nine wins for Best TV Series, Comedy/Musical. “Winning this award is way better — way better! — than saving a human life!” the top guy says. What an asshole! The runners-up were The Big Bang Theory, Girls, Modern Family and Parks & Recreation.
7:17 pm: Gravity‘s Alfonso Cuaron takes the Best Director Golden Globe. Good technical job, Alfonso! Every “aaah!” from Sandra Bullock rocked my soul. So Gravity is going to win for Best Motion Picture, Drama? Nice one, HFPA! Well, we knew 12 Years A Slave was in trouble with this group. Cuaron’s “herpes”/”earpiece” joke was pretty funny.
6:57 pm: During her Woody Allen tribute acceptance speech, Diane Keaton contemplates death, or rather Woody’s famous remark about it: “I don’t want to live eternally through my work — I want to live eternally by not dying.” (Or words to that effect.) She mentions that while Francois Truffaut‘s films will be savored for a long time to come, “that’s not much help to Francois Truffaut.” (Whose grave, by the way, I visited back in ’87 — it lies in the Cimitiere du Montmartre.) Why did the sound cut out on Keaton’s speech? Two or three seconds were blipped out. Did she say something profane?
On 12.8.12 I attended a truly sublime Silver Linings Playbook party at the Chateau Marmont. A glorious, almost giddy atmosphere. Many big or legendary names all over the place. Festive in the very best sense of that term. You know one reason why it worked so well? There were no goons protecting the stars from the riff-raff. The attitude was like “whatever, man…we’re all riff-raff.” I regret to say that attitude was absent during last night’s pre-Golden Globes Paramount party at the Chateau, although it was a generally pleasant event. There were goons blocking access to the inner gazebo space where Leonardo DiCaprio and Paramount honcho Brad Grey and Nebraska‘s Alexander Payne and June Squibb and Will Forte were sitting. Goons are unwelcome. Goons kill the vibe. But it wasn’t too bad. All party conversations last about two to three minutes, if that. Last night I made it through about 20 or 25 three-minute conversations, and then my spirit collapsed. But I gave it the old college try.
I blew off yesterday afternoon’s Spirit Award thing at the BOA Steakhouse (had to write), and I wasn’t invited to the BAFTA Tea Party or the thing at the Soho House either. Big deal.
A 1.9 Daily Mail article by an anonymous BAFTA voter states — are you sitting down? — that “the voting process is based less on artistic merit than on a combination of coercion, trend-following and pot luck.”
“Maybe 100 films released over the past 12 months have a realistic chance of winning a BAFTA, and probably 70 to 80 of those are released in the last two months of the year,” the author says. “[And come December] you have 50 or 60 films to get through. In less than a month. With Christmas in the middle. And a deadline of January 3rd to vote for your five nominations in each category. It’s just not possible to watch them all. So which ones rise to the top of the pile? The ones you’ve already heard about. And the ones that have already started winning.
This recently posted Nebraska trailer is the first I’ve noticed that actually lays the theme of Bruce Dern‘s Best Actor campaign on the table, to wit: “Your life can have a vigorous and perhaps even triumphant final act, even if your 70s.”
For years the annual awards handed out by the American Cinema Editors have been called “the Eddies.” Simple enough, accepted by all. I don’t know who suggested they should be re-named the Eddie Haskell Awards, but it’s obviously a lame idea. The name Eddie Haskell, synonymous with smarmy unctuous behavior, contains no allusion to film editing and…well, it just makes no sense at all. (I’ve read that the 70 year-old Ken Osmond, who portrayed Haskell on the ’50s TV series Leave It To Beaver, has requested that the ACE board of directors drop the idea and continue to call the awards the plain old “Eddies.”)
In any event the 64th annual Eddie noms, which reflect the same group-think, consensus-driven, kiss-ass mentality that has pervaded all award-bestowing industry orgs, are as follows: Best Edited Feature Film (Dramatic): 12 Years a Slave, Captain Phillips, Gravity, Her, Saving Mr. Banks. Best Edited Feature Film (Comedy or Musical): American Hustle, August: Osage County, Inside Llewyn Davis, Nebraska, The Wolf of Wall Street. Best…I can’t do this. It’s just another aspect of the same consensus choices that everyone else has focused upon. Here’s an Awards Daily rundown.
Yes, I know — a Best Picture Oscar nominee that hasn’t been nominated for Best Editing is presumed not to have as good as chance as one that has been so nominated, etc.
All I can say is that it was a lot more fun making up stupid shit about Eddie Haskell than reciting and reprinting the facts. Becket, I’m bored.
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