Oscars 2015: The Rest of the "Best"

It's a good thing Bradley Cooper won that teddy bear because he won't be winning any Oscars this year. Zing!

With such a strong year for film last year, I found the nominations for the upcoming Oscars rather disappointing. So much good work seemed to be passed up in favor of mediocrity. I wrote my own disgruntled post responding to the nominees (one which ended up talking a surprising amount about sound mixing...) but I was hardly the only one to find these nominations disappointing. Everyone thought they sucked.

Now that I've had some time to consider these nominations, I've moved through the grieving process and arrived at acceptance. Sure, Selma deserved more nominations, but you know what? It was nominated for Best Picture, and that's the BIG award that everyone wants. Years from now, no one will care about the number of nominations. But "Best Picture Nominee" will still carry a lot of weight. And ultimately, I should really be happy with the Best Picture nominees. Of the eight films nominated for Best Picture, five of them were included in my list of the best pictures of the year. You can read my in-depth write-ups on Selma, Whiplash, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Boyhood, and Birdman by clicking on the titles. But that still leaves three Best Picture nominees. What of them? What are my thoughts on those? That's what I mean to examine in this post. What kept those other three films, deemed worthy by the Academy, from making my own list of acclaim? Well, I've already discussed The Imitation Game briefly. To recap, it's a very well-made movie that simply doesn't ever feel extraordinary. It's a very by-the-books biopic, which glosses over the more tragic parts of Alan Turing's story which actually need to be told, and tells its story in a flashy and well-crafted, but ultimately fleeting way. But it's not a bad film. The other two nominees, however, The Theory of Everything  and American Sniper, are. So let's talk about those.

"Wait, so you..."
"No."
"You don't want to talk about my movie?"
"No, Benedict, just go home."

We'll start with The Theory of Everything which, like The Imitation Game, is a stylish and pretty biopic about a British genius. The genius in this case is Stephen Hawking, portrayed by Eddie Redmayne. And, yes, Redmayne is fabulous. He does not just do an impression, he creates a fully realized character that Hawking himself has praised. He has been racking up awards all season and it's not hard to see why. So it's a shame that he has such a weak script to work with. It's not that Stephen Hawking is not deserving of a biopic, but The Theory of Everything goes about telling this story all wrong. It is sometimes said that one should never make a biopic about someone who is still alive, and this film demonstrates why. Perhaps because Hawking is so revered and was so present behind the scenes, the film can never really provide an objective view of its subject. Combined with just how clearly and desperately the film longs for acclaim and accolades, the film and its story become incredibly watered down. Because this is a film that could have really examined a more complete and non-biased view of Stephen Hawking than the one that we know, and missed the opportunity. It is bland beyond belief. Even the things done well--like the score and the production design--feel bland because they feel so typical and generic.

So generic that he even has those two and a half kids that the average family always has. If you count the soccer ball as a half kid, of course. Which I do.

It was not until after I watched the film that I realized it was not adapted from a Stephen Hawking biography, but from the memoirs of his ex-wife Jane Wilde Hawking, played by Felicity Jones in the film. I have a feeling that when this film was first pitched, she was meant to be the main character--what was it like to be the wife of such an esteemed figure? They had a troubled marriage which, of course, ended in divorce, and that perspective could have made a great movie. But, I bet in developing this script, the filmmakers realized something. As interesting as Jane is, Stephen Hawking is infinitely more fascinating. Jane is intelligent and wonderful in her own way, but she is not Stephen Hawking (let us all think back on the film Julie & Julia where, despite having the effortlessly charming Amy Adams playing her, the titular Julie was aggressively uninteresting when contrasted with a presence like Julia Child). And so somewhere along the way, the attention shifted, and it became a film about Stephen Hawking after all. While Jones is nominated in the leading actress category, there is no doubt that she is in a supporting role here. So the film became more of a traditional biopic about Hawking. But one that still partially felt stuck in Jane's story. The result is a muddled and confused film that's not really sure what it wants to do. This is a film that does not have a proper focus or understanding of its main character.

Stephen and Jane Wilde Hawking--the conflicting protagonists of The Theory of Everything

And so, despite being about one of the most fascinating figures of the century, and having a brilliant actor who seemed destined to play him, the film fails to bring said figure to life. It tells his story in the most uninteresting way. At some point Stephen is rushed to the hospital and the film spends a good deal of effort making us think he's going to die. That's all well and good, but we know he's not dead, so the suspense is gone. It's the same as when he's told he'll never walk again and that there's no hope for him, and everyone thinks that's the end. We know about how Stephen can communicate, so despite Redmayne's emoting, the situation never feels as hopeless as the film is relying on it to be.

But the biggest disappointment about the film is that it somehow fails to actually talk about science when telling the story of Stephen Hawking. The science is glossed over. The movie finds it uninteresting, and so the audience cannot truly grasp Stephen's fascination with it, or the true momentous nature of his discoveries.

See? Look how blurry that science on the chalkboard is. Point proven.

My problems with the film can, in fact, be summed up in a single scene, where Stephen is presenting his theory to a group of professors and scientists and generally important smart people who are all old white men (which is probably why the Academy liked this film so much). He arrives at the building and is wheeled into the room. At this point, the scene changes, and cuts to the last minute of his presentation. The film had a perfect chance to explain directly to its audience what Stephen Hawking actually proposed, and chose to show us a hurried summary. The presentation now over without us having heard it, one of the generally important smart people gets up and says "Complete nonsense. Preposterous!" and he and a few others leave. Things are looking bad for Stephen. Will he ever gain respect as a scientist?!?! Yes. We know this. We are not worried. As luck would have it, at that moment, another Professor gets up and introduces himself as a Russian professor and says "As you know, I study the theory of black holes and to be honest, I came here today expecting to hear a lot of nonsense. I go home disappointed. I have to say, the little one here has done it!" Never minding that a bunch of other smart people clearly disagree, and never minding that somehow this professor immediately knows that this brand new theory that has never before been proposed must be correct, and never minding that most of the people in the room had never met Stephen before and were in no way invested in his failures or successes, everyone bursts into applause.

Why does that scene sum up my view of the film? Because it's all about the drama. The applause makes no sense, but it's there because it makes it a more dramatic moment. The filmmakers imagine the audience clapping along with them. According to the filmmakers, the science is not important--we don't need to know what Hawking's research was, we just need to know that he's super smart. These moments feel so manufactured, and so artificial, that the film ends up being little more than a soap opera. A bad soap opera.Without the self-awareness that makes actual soap operas so enjoyable.

"I have something to tell you, Jane. I am not Stephen. I am his twin cousin Salvatore Hawking. Yes, the one who died in that yacht fire three years ago!"

I couldn't think of a good segue to connect these films so...here's a picture from the movie Love is Strange which came out this year. It was good, not amazing, but definitely good. Certainly better than both The Theory of Everything and American Sniper.

Segue achieved!

I must admit that I did not have high expectations going in to see American Sniper and was ready to absolutely hate it. After seeing the film, I can't say that it was the worst film I'd ever seen, and in terms of objective quality, I'd rank it higher than The Theory of Everything when looking at this year's nominees. But the film is nonetheless deeply flawed. And, no, I'm not just referring to the incredibly fake baby, although that is indeed hilarious.

This is the best part of the film, to be honest.

I'll get to the film's faults in just a second, but first I'd like to discuss what American Sniper does well, because it is not without its merits. First, credit is due for Bradley Cooper, in his performance as the titular sniper Chris Kyle. His nomination for best leading actor came out of nowhere, and while I would not have chosen to nominate him, it is definitely a strong performance, and a very different performance from Cooper which shows his versatility. It would be a good performance coming from anyone, but coming from Cooper it was very unexpected--it's a quiet performance which shows a lot of restraint. He imbues Chris Kyle with a grounded strength. For a character who is written as somewhat annoyingly perfect, Cooper makes him feel very real, giving him sensitivity, pain, and dimension that a weaker actor would not have been able to accomplish.

Bradley Cooper as sniper Chris Kyle

Aside from Cooper, the film's greatest strength is that it serves as a very strong and thoughtful examination on the subject of war itself. From reading about American Sniper before going into it, I was ready for a shoot-em-up free-for-all flick glorifying the violence of war. But it was absolutely nothing like this, to the point that I'm rather amazed anyone could come out of the theater and not think that its message was profoundly anti-war. I shouldn't be too surprised, though; as with director Clint Eastwood's previous war films Flags of Our Fathers and Letters From Iwo Jima, his own well-documented anti-war stance assures that the acts of violence are never glorified. He doesn't condescend the soldiers, but also comments on how difficult the lifestyle is, and how the mentality soldiers are conditioned to develop can be harmful. When Chris is home from the war and clearly undergoing PTSD attacks, he never can acknowledge this reality. In one of the better scenes, a psychiatrist asks Chris whether killing 200 people might have taken a toll on him. Chris seems to not even understand the question. The best lesson to take away from American Sniper is the consistently subpar way that our veterans are treated, and how so many are completely unprepared for the harsh realities of war. Even Chris, who from purely a technical standpoint is an all-American supersoldier and epitome of a macho man, experiences what those of us who do not serve can only imagine. Eastwood admirably does not place blame on the soldiers themselves, but also does not shy away from displaying the harsh realities of what soldiers must do, and explores the mindset and the conditioning of the modern American soldier. When he does so, the film is at its strongest. And I wish he had explored these issues deeper than he did.

Bradley Cooper is thinking so hard right now.

But, as well and as tactfully as Eastwood presents the realities of war, he fails when it comes to depicting his Iraqi characters. And that is a flaw that simply cannot be overlooked--it is not just a flaw in terms of technical storytelling, but one which is simply inexcusable. The rest of the film could be the best movie ever, and would still be a failure based on this flaw. It would be a stretch to say that this is the worst portrayal of Iraqis I've seen, but in a world that is already rife with Islamophobia, the film's own use of it is wholly unnecessary. Not only is it hateful, but it makes the film feel useless and ireelevant. And while I get that it was depicting wartime the film seemed to go out of its way to portray all Iraqis as terrorists. The very first scene is of Kyle shooting an innocent-seeming woman and child once it becomes clear they are carrying a grenade. Then there's the family whose house is invaded by the U.S. soldiers and forcibly told they'll be using his house as their base. The head of the house seems friendly, and invites all of the soldiers to dinner, only for Chris to discover that (surprise) the family has lots of guns in its possession and is in league with the bad guys. The father gets shot later. There is one civilian who is non-violent and attempts to help them, but only does so when they pay him a hefty amount of money. He too gets shot later. They are not treated like characters, they are treated like targets. Especially for a film that touches on the impacts a soldier's job can have on them, the fact that anyone of Middle Eastern descent is treated in such a way is blatantly reprehensible. They are treated about as humanly as the deer that Chris shoots as a kid in an early scene. they are filmed in basically the same way as the paper targets that he practices on. It's disgusting. I mean, even in WWII films, you typically have that one nice Nazi who actually helps out. Not in American Sniper.

What I'm saying is, it's racist.

Mustafa, a potentially interesting character whose potential was wasted in exchange for more racism!

The potential for this film to not be racist is perhaps most wasted when it comes to a character known only as Mustafa (Sammy Sheik). Chris is not just a sniper, he is the best sniper in the history of the American military, and Mustafa is set up as very much a counterpart to him. He's a sniper for the Iraqi army and appears just as legendary and as deadly as Chris himself. Mustafa, by the way, is almost entirely a fictional character. He existed, sure, but Chris Kyle only devotes a sentence or to to Mustafa in his book--in the film, he becomes a major presence. Given that they were already taking creative liberties (more on that in a second) the filmmakers could have drawn a really interesting parallel here. Perhaps we could see that Mustafa is human too, and that he is dealing with the same things Chris is. Perhaps he has a family too? Perhaps he too is dealing with the struggles of being a killer for a living? Of the characters in the film, he is after all, the only one that we learn a little bit of backstory about. Of all of Chris' fellow soldiers, we don't ever learn any of their stories, and even his wife Taya (Sienna Miller) is left startlingly unexplained. We don't even know what her job is, if she has one at all. But with Mustafa, we're given the intriguing bit of information that he had previously been an Olympic gold medalist for Syria. So, unlike everyone except Chris, he has a backstory! He too is a national hero. But the film decides to do absolutely nothing with this information, and Mustafa is played primarily as a supervillain. He hops from roof to roof like a ninja, never speaking, simply shooting at soldiers. He becomes this silent enigma, meant only to further the idea of the savage, mysterious, and violent Muslim. He's cartoonishly absurd. I found the depiction of this character, frankly, hilarious, up until and including the moment where Chris fired a bullet and the movie went into Matrix-style slo-mo to show us the bullet for absolutely no reason. The moment where Chris shoots Mustafa is clearly meant to be important in his life. After the shooting, he for the first time says he wants to go home, and a friend of his (who, if he was given a name, it was completely lost on me) says "Mission Accomplished." Which always means one's work is done. But this doesn't feel momentous to those watching the film. A relationship between the two--whether it's rivalry or perverse respect--is never set up.

And this is the core of the film's problems as a piece of cinema--relationships are simply not defined. The only actual name I can think of for another character is Biggles, one of the soldiers whose face is partially blown off. He is meant to be Chris' friend, but we don't see any connection between them. Their relationship doesn't feel true, and I don't believe they've ever spent a day together, let alone gone through a war together. Other than Chris, no character is fleshed out at all including, as mentioned before, Chris' wife Taya. Their relationship too is rather briskly glossed over. They meet, and one phone call later, they suddenly get married. Poor Sienna Miller struggles to bring any characterization to Taya, but is unable to thanks to a weak script. At first, she is a rather clumsy characterization of the "independent woman" trope, who swears off men until Chris wins her over immediately. Then she is the devoted wife, who clearly cares about Chris, but we don't really understand why since we don't actually see a connection between them. Then, later in the film, they're fighting, but again, it feels unearned. We don't know their relationship well enough to believe it exists at all, or to believe it when it begins to sour.

Chris and Taya gaze at each other lovingly on their wedding day.

But the characters are not the only things that feel unrealistic. Many of the scenes themselves feel unrealistic. And do you know why? Because they're not real. They didn't happen. I haven't read the book so I don't know exactly how much is made up, but here's a video of a guy named Brett who goes over how much of the film is actually truthful. It's less than a minute long and you should watch it. And so, the things that seem incredibly over the top and unbelievable are that way because they are completely made up by screenwriter Jason Hall. The aforementioned sniper Mustafa? Made up. The fact that Chris talks to his wife on a cell phone WHILE IN THE MIDDLE OF COMBAT which leads to her thinking he's died when he unsurprisingly gets fired on? Totally made up. The unrealistic Bond villainesque Iraqi general who likes to drill holes in kids' heads for fun? Made up AND racist. Even the one thing I liked in the film--Chris' difficulties with coming to terms with what he's done--was totally made up (follow that link, by the way, to read a more thorough rundown of everything the film gets wrong). American Sniper's fellow Best Picture nominees The Imitation Game, The Theory of Everything, and Selma are all based on true events and have similarly come under some fire for fictionalizing some true events. Here's the thing, one is never going to be able to depict events exactly as they happened in film. It's just not going to happen, in the interest of story and in the realm of reality. But the changes these films make, whether good or not, make sense. In American Sniper, the events are not only blatantly made up, but they're stupid. This whole screenplay is stupid, filled with many moments of unintentional comedy from its overly cheesy and machismo writing (such as Chris' father's idiotic speech about sheepdogs at the beginning) which paints a wholly unrealistic painting of the war and the work of a sniper.

As I said before, I did like the film more than I thought I would. It is technically well-made, and Cooper really does give a great performance. But, racism really does ruin the whole thing. And lest one say that it isn't that bad, or that it's unimportant, it is incredibly vital. Many have attacked comments made by Michael Moore and Seth Rogen as being unpatriotic after they criticized Chris Kyle, but there has been less coverage of some of the really horrible tweets made in response to the film. Since the film's popular release, the rate of anti-Arab and anti-Muslim threats has tripled. And, considering the tragic events in Chapel Hill this past week, this film is fueling an all-too present hatred in a way that is irresponsible. I can't help but think of the film Breakfast at Tiffany's. It's mostly a wonderful film, but Mickey Rooney's incredibly racist portrayal of a Japanese landlord will forever be a blight it cannot erase--the film may be a classic but it simply does not hold up. I can only imagine that American Sniper will face the same fate. History will not be kind to this film. Years from now, it will be looked on as the racist film which somehow was named one of the best pictures of the year. The Academy is certainly flawed. It makes mistakes. And nominating American Sniper is undoubtedly one of those mistakes.

Oscars 2015: Reaction to the Nominations

The Oscar nominations were announced this morning and, like every year, there were some snubs and surprises. But, I must say, this year felt especially surprising. Considering what a great year it was for film, a lot of the nominees struck me as being generally unimpressive, while far more deserving work was passed over. Not only were the notable omissions surprising, they felt very unjust. When one makes predictions about awards ceremonies, it's important to keep personal opinions out of it or you will always be disappointed. But, nonetheless, a lot of these nominations just feel wrong. So, today, I really feel like a bit of an Oscar grouch.

Pictured: me right now

As the Oscars draw closer (they air on February 22^nd) I will offer a more in-depth analysis and make predictions in all of the categories, but for now, here are my first thoughts on today’s nominations. You can find the whole list of nominees here.

BEST PICTURE:

Every year the Oscars has a couple of wildcard films that might break their way into the field. This year, it was American Sniper, which had a slow start in terms of building awards buzz due to a very late release, but started doing well at the later guild awards. It proved to be the major surprise this year. I had not predicted it to be a best picture nominee but after it started picking up a bunch of technical awards, it became clear it was going to be on the list. And it beat out deserving contenders like Foxcatcher, Gone Girl, and Nightcrawler. Nightcrawler had only an outside chance of making it so I’m not too surprised by this, but Gone Girl was seen as a definite contender and got snubbed not just here, but in multiple categories. The worst snub for me, though, was the absence of Foxcatcher because is actually did perform well with the nominations. It picked up two acting nominations, a directing nomination, and a screenplay nomination (and, with the exception of Mark Ruffalo’s nomination, none of those were guaranteed). So, when all of these elements are so strong, how is the film not recognized as a best picture of the year? On the plus side, Selma got a nomination, which I was starting to think would not happen seeing as how it got snubbed in every other category other than Best Song. I’m also glad to see Whiplash, once seen as a long shot in this category, get recognized. That’s the type of film that makes a case for having the extended field of Best Picture nominees—a really great movie that otherwise might not have gotten recognition. Also, we can pretty much just agree now that Boyhood is going to win Best Picture, right? It's pretty much guaranteed at this point, and it is certainly worthy of the trophy.

DIRECTOR:

I’m glad to see Wes Anderson get his first ever director nomination for The Grand Budapest Hotel. And Richard Linklater and Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu are, deservedly, the frontrunners to take home this award. But the other two nominations were surprising. I for one am really glad that Bennett Miller got recognized for Foxcatcher—he does such amazing work, especially with his ensemble. But the other award leaves me scratching my head. Morten Tyldum for The Imitation Game? Really? What about that directing was extraordinary? Like everything about that movie, it was decidedly good to average, and his inclusion here over the more deserving contenders like Ava DuVernay and David Fincher is frustrating.

ACTOR:

My shock at the warm reception for American Sniper continues here. With such a competitive category, Bradley Cooper is a definite upset, beating out much more deserving candidates such as David Oyelowo, Ralph Fiennes, Timothy Spall, and Jake Gyllenhaal. Especially Jake Gyllenhaal. After being nominated for pretty much every other award out there, how does Gyllenhaal, who gave by far one of the best performances of the year, not get the Oscar nomination he so richly deserved?

ACTRESS:

The big surprise here is the always deserving Marion Cotillard, who delivers what is supposed to be an incredible performance in Two Days, One Night, but who has been mostly out of the running at most major Oscar ceremonies. Who did she beat out? Jennifer Aniston for Cake. Was Aniston ever a real contender to win? No. Everyone’s going to lose to Julianne Moore. But Aniston really did deserve it with a career-defining performance. I’d hoped to see her work recognized, and after all of her accolades up until now, it’s surprising that it is not.

SUPPORTING ACTOR:

No huge surprises here, but…Robert Duvall for The Judge? Really? I mean, he has gotten a bunch of nominations for this, including a SAG and Golden Globe nomination, but…really? The Judge is so generic and his performance so solid but ordinary that a nomination for Duvall honestly seemed unlikely to me. I thought he’d be bested by Josh Brolin for Inherent Vice, but no. Duvall is probably the most surprising not surprising nomination this year.

SUPPORTING ACTRESS:

Patricia Arquette, Keira Knightley, Emma Stone, and Meryl Streep were all locks. But with a fifth nomination up in the air, everyone wondered who would sneak in! Would it be Jessica Chastain for A Most Violent Year? How about Naomi Watts for St. Vincent? It even looked like longshot Tilda Swinton, who gave what I thought was the best performance of the year in Snowpiercer would actually make it into the running. But, no. The fifth nomination went to Laura Dern for Wild. Dern is undeniably a talented actress, but her role in Wild is…I don’t know. Her nomination feels mostly settled on rather than earned. Like when Mitt Romney got the Republican presidential nomination in 2012.

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:

These are good nominees. I like these nominees. Good job, Oscars. You did a good. I am still mad at you, but, for this category at least, you did a very good. Nightcrawler gets its only nomination here and, while it deserved more, at least its something.

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:

The huge upset here is Gone Girl, which I thought had a shot at outright winning this category. The screenplay was masterful and, in what was widely considered a fairly weak field to choose from, its snub here is especially shameful. Especially over a group of fairly unimpressive nominees, seemingly chosen for the film’s overall prestige as opposed to actual writing talent. I wasn’t nuts about Inherent Vice or its screenplay, but can certainly understand why it was nominated based on ambition alone. I’m hoping Whiplash pulls off a win—after a strange decision by the academy to classify it as an adapted screenplay instead of an original one, it stands out as by far the most deserving of these candidates.

ANIMATED FEATURE FILM:

Oh wow. Oh wow wow wow. This is probably the biggest upset of the day with The Lego Movie failing to get a nomination. I’m pretty sure everyone is scratching their heads over this one. But it does blow the field wide open. Instead of The Lego Movie, the academy honored three films from smaller, independent studios—The Boxtrolls, Song of the Sea and Studio Ghibli’s The Tale of Princess Kaguya. The award will probably go to one of the higher-profile competitors. How to Train Your Dragon 2 and Big Hero 6 are worthy frontrunners.

DOCUMENTARY FEATURE FILM:

Often one of the most difficult categories to predict, it’s hard to be too surprised by anything…but it is nonetheless surprising that the film about Roger Ebert, Life Itself, which was very well-received and beloved by the film community, failed to make it. Look for Edward Snowden doc CitizenFour to take home the title.

FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM:

Not much to say about these—the biggest snub in this category is the Belgian film Two Days, One Night for which Marion Cotillard got an acting nomination, BUT that film was snubbed a while ago when it failed to even make the shortlist for the nominations. The winner will be either Poland’s Ida or Russia’s Leviathan.

CINEMATOGRAPHY:

Not much to say here. Some great choices, really. I’m glad Mr. Turner got nominated. That was some gorgeous cinematography, to be sure.

COSTUME DESIGN:

This is a neat category for me as it features some really creative costumes, in a category that typically goes to those who simply make the best period piece costumes. Even the two period pieces had some really interesting things going on—Inherent Vice’s biggest success was that it really captured an era and the costumes were a big part of that. And while Mr. Turner had the standard “gorgeous period piece costumes” there was a lot more quirkiness going on than in most. It’ll be interesting to see which route the academy goes down in terms of actual voting—will the showboaty pieces of Into the Woods and Maleficent  win out over the more realistic—but still pretty wacky—costumes of the other nominees? Time will tell.

SCORE:

The biggest surprise here is that the spooky underscoring from Gone Girl’s Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross—who previously won in this category for The Social Network—fails to score a nomination. Once again, Gone Girl gets snubbed. But the snub that hurts me most is Antonio Sanchez not getting recognized for his percussive score for Birdman, which was very distinct, unique, and which served the film beautifully. Compare that to the very nice, but pretty typical scores you find in Mr. Turner and The Theory of Everything and it’s clear to me which score is more truly original.

SONG:

While the songs “Grateful” and “I’m Not Going to Miss You” were not expected, the other three nominees were the big ones that everyone was ready to see announced. So, there are no huge surprises in this category. I love Begin Again, and the tune “Lost Stars” is lovely, but look for Selma’s powerful closing anthem “Glory” to be the frontrunner on Oscar night.

FILM EDITING:

I’m at a loss as to how Birdman was not nominated here, considering that the editing work convincingly made the film seem like a single take. How does that not get recognition? In a just world, this award will go to Whiplash for its final scene alone—an epic, nine minute drum solo that was cut together from, I believe, 23 hours of footage.

SOUND EDITING:

I don’t really know much about sound editing. So I default to wanting Birdman to win because I want Birdman to win most awards. I’m sure that the producers of Unbroken—once seen as a legitimate Oscar contender and potential Best Picture nominee, are glad that their film walks away with a sound editing nomination.

SOUND MIXING:

THIS CATEGORY ENRAGES ME. HOW. THE. FUCK. DID. INTERSTELLAR. GET. A NOMINATION. FOR SOUND MIXING. A LOT OF PEOPLE DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT SOUND MIXING IS. WELL, YOU KNOW HOW IN MOST FILMS, YOU CAN HEAR THE ACTORS TALK OVER THE BACKGROUND NOISE? THAT’S DUE TO SOUND MIXING. THAT IS, IN FACT, SOUND MIXING 101. AND INTERSTELLAR FAILED MISERABLY. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. The film has been widely criticized for its atrocious sound mixing (enough so that Christopher Nolan had to actually make a statement to clarify that the sound mixing job was not a mistake). Its nomination here is appalling—for me, of all the disappointing surprises at this morning’s nomination, this one is by far the worst. While Gyllenhaal, for example, deserved a nomination, I wouldn’t say those that were nominated instead of him are undeserving. Here, with Interstellar’s sound mixing nomination, actively bad work is being rewarded. And that is horrifying to me. Fuck you, Academy. Seriously. I hated the movie. But even if I had liked it, the sound mixing would have been terrible. That is, simply, a fact.

I’m really angry about this.

MAKEUP AND HAIRSTYLING:

The shortest list of nominees on this list, there weren’t any super big makeup jobs this year apparently. Steve Carell’s prosthetic nose and Tilda Swinton’s old age makeup will probably ultimately lose out to The Guardians of the Galaxy. You know Drax the Destroyer? No CGI. That look was all makeup. You know Groot? Not animation, that was all makeup. Okay, that one was a lie.

VISUAL EFFECTS:

The award for which film makes the biggest explosions is thankfully free of Michael Bay this year and showcases the above-average offering of big blockbuster films. Which is why I’m sad that Interstellar will probably beat out the other, good films which are nominated here. I know the effects were good, but…I just really hated the movie. And you know what else I hated? THE SOUND MIXING IN THAT MOVIE?! HOW THE FUCK WAS THAT NOMINATED?! I’M STILL NOT OVER IT!

PRODUCTION DESIGN:

The sophisticated sounding award for “which film looks the best” offers us an interesting array of nominees this year. The pretty period piece look for The Imitation Game versus the much darker and surreal period piece look for Mr. Turner. The whimsical signaturely Wes Anderson look of The Grand Budapest Hotel versus the grand, dark, fairy tale world of Into the Woods. And then there’s the poorly mixed sound look of Interstellar.

BEST ANIMATED SHORT, BEST LIVE ACTION SHORT, AND BEST DOCUMENTARY SHORT:

I love the short films. These are highly competitive awards and, every year, offer some pretty outstanding nominees. Now that the nominees have been announced, see if you can find a chance to view these films (for my fellow New York residents, the IFC Center offers screenings of all the Oscar-nominated shorts every year). The only well-known nominee this year is the animated short film Feast, which preceded Big Hero 6. It was good—very sweet, but I will admit I wasn’t blown away by it as many were. I’m excited to see what the other nominees have to offer and I hope that you are too.

And those are all of the categories! One last thing, I was very pleased with how the nominees were announced. Most years, they only announce a few major categories (best picture, best director, the acting categories, etc.) and then release the rest of the nominations online. But for the first time, they actually announced all 24 categories this year. And I think it’s about time. Every category is important, and every category is there to honor outstanding work in the field of film. And I’m glad that sound editing, for example, was given the same revered treatment as best picture.

Share your thoughts on the nominations below! Which nomination pleased you? Which nomination/snub pissed you off the most?

The correct answer is Interstellar's nomination for sound mixing. And before you ask, yes, I am already doing a writeup on why I hate Interstellar so much. Stay tuned, and get pumped.

On a personal note, it's exciting to announce that I started this blog pretty much one year ago-- the first post here was my reaction to LAST year's Oscar nominees. Thanks to those who have read and enjoyed the blog! There are many more cinematic and other cultural endeavors to come!

BEST FILMS OF 2014--#1: "Birdman's" Powers of Deception Make it the Best Film of the Year

It is time. After a week and a half of constant posts, I finally reach the final entry in my list of best films of the year. First, let's take a look at the complete list (you can read the honorable mentions here):

11: Selma
10: Foxcatcher
9: Whiplash 
8: Nightcrawler 
7: Gone Girl
6: The Babadook  
5: The Grand Budapest Hotel
4: Boyhood
3: Begin Again   
2: Snowpiercer

And now for my best picture of the year. Let's get right to it. It's Birdman.

It soars to the top spot! I promise no more bird puns, but I had to make at least one.

Or, perhaps I should use its full title of Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) which seems pretentious (because it is) but actually does make sense in the film. Clunky but fitting title aside, it's a film that is engaging, it's a film that is surprising, it's a film that is exhilarating, it's a film that is satisfying, it's a film that is thought-provoking. It is ambitious without being complicated. It is perfectly balanced-- with each scene giving us new insight, with story and character treated with equal importance. It is more than just a film-- it is an experience. One that thrilled me as I was watching it and continued to stay with me long after I had left the theater.

Birdman is about a former movie star named Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) who attempts to restore his artistic merit by writing, directing, and starring in a play on Broadway. But, while this story is told expertly, the achievement of Birdman lies in how the story is told rather than what the story is. The best way I can describe the film is to say that it is a cinematic magic trick. The job of magicians is to use illusion to challenge their audience's notions of what is happening in front of them. This is exactly what Birdman does-- it uses various filmmaking techniques to disorient its audience, creating a spectacle that one could not have expected. Birdman  keeps us guessing, forever making us question our own perceptions of what is actually happening on screen. Birdman is not a film that wants its audience to get too complacent. When we think we have the film figured out, something happens to subvert and challenge our views. Just like how a bad magician can (and does) make some people hate magic, this film had the potential to be a complete disaster, but in the hands of director and co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, it is a rousing success. Like a well-performed piece of magic, the film is a true spectacle, that can leave a willing audience astonished.

Gaze upon the wig of Michael Keaton in all of its spectacle!

Perhaps the most blatant way that Inarritu challenges our experiences of reality is in his use of long shots. Or, should I say long shot, as the film has been shot to look like it was all done in one take. The use of these long shots in films is a tried-and-true technique which has the effect of making a scene feel more realistic. Montages and quick cuts and shorter shots within a scene tend to make us subconsciously aware of the filmmaking, but long shots simply make it seem the onscreen action feel more natural. The famous long shot that opened last year's Gravity served to make us feel like we were actually in space. The use of a long shot in Atonement showing a war scene helped make the horrors of war seem more personal to us. In perhaps the most famous long shot of all time, the opening scene of Orson Welles' Touch of Evil, a bomb is placed in the trunk of a car and the camera does not break until the bomb detonates. Here, the extended long shot helps ramp up the tension as we wait for the bomb to go inevitably go off.

Filming Birdman as (almost) one take takes these principles to the extreme. It lesser hands it could feel like a gimmick, and is certainly not everyone's cup of tea, which is probably why this effect has not been attempted too frequently. The most famous, and most successful until now, film to appear to be filmed in one shot was Alfred Hitchock's underrated Rope. Here, having the film in one take makes the viewers feel like their in the same room as two murderers, and adds a sense of unease to a potentially mundane film (at least by Hitchcock's standards). The long take perfectly compliments the natural style of the film. But, in Birdman, the one long take has the opposite effect. Granted, it still is a naturalistic style and makes the action on screen feel more realistic, but this sensation is in complete opposition to what is actually occurring in the film. Birdman offers us a series of bizarre images that sit firmly in the realm of the fantastic, and which are at clear odds with the natural tone the filmmaking puts us in the mood for. It's a disorienting feeling, which makes these impossible images feel more plausible. And when I say "bizarre images," I mean both the blatant and the subtle. Blatantly strange images include the fact that Riggan appears to have superpowers. This is introduced to us early in the film--the first time we see Riggan, he is levitating in the air wearing his tighty-whities. After that, he does everything from move objects to his mind to conjure a giant robotic bird to attack New York City.

Or, you know, fly.

The film leaves all of this ambiguous--at the end we still do not know whether Riggan's powers are in his mind or a part of reality (or some mixture of the two), but this interesting ambiguity would not be possible if not for the wonderful contrast the use of long shots evokes. Then there's a street musician harbinger of sorts who plays the drums--the film has a fairly constant underscoring (more on that later) but, in one moment, Riggan and Mike walk by a street musician who is playing in time to the drum music that we have heard all along. Does this mean that the entire score up until that point has been played by this one background character? Is his presence here, now, coincidental? This drummer shows up later-- again, playing in time to the score, but this time, he is inside the theater itself where he has no business being. It's a strange moment to be sure, one very purposefully put in there for the purpose of throwing the audience off balance. On top of these clearer moments of breaking with reality, the filmmaking also confuses us with some more subtle tricks of the camera. Someone can walk across a hall, and when they get to the end of the hall, the time has changed from day to night. Someone can be talking to someone downstairs, walk up the stairs, and see that same person waiting for them on the upper lever, when they could not have gotten there so quickly. These more subtle details are perfect--your brain registers them but brushes them off, but they add to the unique plane of reality on which Birdman resides. Inarritu manages to actually warp space and time.

Riggan, followed by the titular Birdman.

One of the more interesting breaks from reality in Birdman involves the character of Birdman himself. As mentioned before, Riggan himself is a former movie star, and we learn he was best known for playing a superhero called Birdman. But, it becomes clear early on that the character of Birdman speaks to Riggan in a voice that only he can hear. Initially, we only hear Birdman speak to Riggan in Riggan's dressing room, where he keeps a poster with the character prominently displayed on his wall. And we initially believe that it is the poster speaking to him--that the face of Birdman on the poster is the origin of the gruff voice we are hearing. But, then, in one pretty abrasive scene where the voice taunts Riggan while he trashes his dressing room, he hurls the poster towards the wall where it breaks. There is silence, and then all at once, the voice of Birdman says "I always liked that poster." The audience (and perhaps Riggan too) realizes for the first time that the voice is larger than the poster itself, and that the origins of the voice are a part of Riggan's own delusions. In this moment it becomes clearer that the true course of the film is plotting Riggan's descent into madness, and the character of Birdman, and his prominence in the film (up until he becomes fully realized on screen) is a tremendous gauge to help us track Riggan's constantly loosening grip on reality. The character, while believable in appearance as a form of superhero, becomes a clearly menacing figure here, with the birdlike qualities taking on a predatory, vulturelike being forever urging on Riggan's own self-destruction.

Riggan in his dressing room, the poster of Birdman watching.

We should talk about Riggan. The main gimmick of the film beyond the appearance of being one shot is the casting of Michael Keaton as Thomson. I shouldn't have to spell this out, but it's no coincidence that Michael Keaton of all people was cast to play a movie star whose career took a rapid decline after he stopped playing a famous winged superhero with a gravelly voice. Keaton's easily could have phoned it in here, and allowed the stunt casting to do the heavy lifting of his performance, but he does not, and turns in a subtler performance than I think most people would have thought the actor who played Beetlejuice was capable of. Despite all of the film's ambiguity, the movie feels grounded because of Keaton's work. He is understated, never giving away too much. Ultimately, we find that Riggan resides in a world of madness and sadness. At one crucial point (perhaps one of my favorite scenes in the film), Riggan enters a colorfully-lit liquor store to the sound of a shrieking voice raspily reciting the "Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow" soliloquy from Macbeth, delivered by the titular character after his wife has died. What an apt selection--like the famed Scottish king, Riggan is consumed by grief and insanity, allowing both emotional facets to prove destructive to him and those he holds most dear. At the start of the film, Riggan seems primarily bitter and tired. It isn't until a wild-eyed Riggan fantasizes terrorizing the city that we see how disturbed this man is, and how tenuous his grip on reality actually is. Throughout the film, Riggan never behaves the way we expect him to; when Riggan catches his co-star whom he despises and his daughter kissing, we expect him to fly off the handle--which he has done for a lot less-- but instead he seems to shrug it off and goes out for a smoke. But none of these surprising choices ever feel inconsistent. These actions are not what we think Riggan would do, but they makes perfect sense once he does them, and that's because Keaton's performance is so defined and clear. We trust him. We trust that he is this tormented character we see on the screen.

Riggan, in the aforementioned colorfully-lit liquor store. See? I wasn't lying. That is the most colorfully-lit liquor store ever.

After Keaton, the next most prominent role belongs to Edward Norton, who similarly plays a role that is a caricature of himself. He plays Mike Shiner, a critically-beloved actor in the play Riggan is directing and, like Norton, is a method actor who is notoriously difficult to work with. Norton does the best work that I personally have seen from him, with a performance that proves he is very game for self parody. While Riggan is at the forefront, Mike is the film's secret weapon, and serves as a sort of multi-purpose tool--in that he serves multiple functions as the script demands, and that he is an asshole on many levels. If Mike needs to be a brilliant actor who Riggan looks up to and is envious of, that's what he can be. If Mike needs to be a thorn in Riggan's side who is impossible to work with, that's what he can be. If Mike needs to be a completely vapid attention-whore who thinks only of himself, he can be. If Mike needs to be a vulnerable and sensitive philosopher who shows keen insight and an ability to assess himself and others, he can be. If he needs to be the comic relief, he is, and if he needs to be the emotional weight of the scene, he is. Yet, Norton is able to tie all of these facets of Mike Shiner together into a consistent bundle. It feels correct when he is at odds with Riggan, and it feels correct when he is Riggan's advocate.

This shot kind of perfectly sums up Riggan and Mike's relationship.

Both Riggan and Mike have given circumstances that mimic that of their performers. And it is not a coincidence that they're the characters who we know the most about from promotional material. If you watch the trailer (watch this one--it's pretty phenomenal on its own), you can get the sense that Keaton and Norton are playing characters who mimic their realities. So, imagine my surprise at finding that almost every other actor was playing pretty aggressively against type. Naomi Watts--arguably the next biggest star in the film--plays a mostly unknown actress who is struggling to find her confidence and footing. Emma Stone, an actress who pretty consistently stays out of the tabloids and seems to be on her best behavior pretty much always, plays Riggan's daughter Sam, a rebel fresh out of rehab.

Drugs were a bad choice, but Edward Norton was an even worse one. Stay away, Emma Stone! Stay with Andrew Garfield--you two are adorable.

Zach Galifianakis, the over the top scene-stealing comedic actor, ends up playing the least humorous character in the film, serving as a complete straight man to the wacky antics of Riggan. Then there's the role of a New York Times theatre critic whose reviews can make or break any production, and whose approval Riggan is desperately seeking. In terms of reputation, the critic is most clearly linked to Ben Brantley-- the current New York Times chief theatre critic. But, in Birdman the character is named Tabitha and she's played by Lindsay Duncan--rather than simply cast someone to play a thinly-veiled depiction of Brantley, the film goes the other route and finds its own character who they very clearly distinguish from Brantley. Even Inarittu himself is completely against type here. Inarittu is best known for his brilliant "Trilogy of Death," consisting of the films Amores Perros, 21 Grams, and Babel, which all feature grand interweaving ensemble casts and multiple plotlines. Here, the film is so laser-focused on Riggan and so small-scale and intimate, that it's amazing to think that this is the same director (and more amazing that he handles this film with as dept a hand as he did the grand sweeping non-linear anthology). So, once again, the film subverts our expectations by putting Keaton and Norton front and center, and then letting everyone be so against type.

Michael Keaton, with Naomi Watts and Zach Galifianakis who give performances that are very much against their usual type.

First watching Birdman, I let myself be swept up in the experience. But afterwards, I really got to consider how good this movie is. Obviously, the editing and cinematography is incredible, but every detail is done so well The art direction is extraordinary--the few moments of special effects are simply glorious and manage to feel at home in the world of the film even though they're so otherworldly--they're artsy enough to feel appropriate but not to much to be distracting. It also features one of the best flying sequences I've ever seen on film. The score, by Antonio Sanchez is brilliant--it is almost entirely percussive and, much like in Whiplash, the use of drumming helps ramp up the tension and aggression of the film. And the writing is impeccable. The dialogue feels great, but the film also manages to tackle some rather difficult issues with an almost journalistic sense of impartiality. It presents ideas for us to think about without taking a firm side. This is perhaps most present in a scene between Riggan and Tabitha, the film critic over the nature of artistic criticism. Riggan makes solid points that have been stated many times before by artists, but continue to hold water here--the critic stifles artistic creativity and their abundance of power is dangerous in that it inhibits audiences from making up their own minds. But, to the film's credit, it also gives Tabitha her own due. She is not the trope of the evil critic (even though she has some particularly harsh words for Riggan). As she argues, she is not destroying art, what is destroying art is people like Riggan who lack true innovation yet use celebrity to elevate their own projects. Both sides are valid, and the film presents them as such--it does not deal in a black and white scope and encourages audiences to think about the arguments rather than necessarily choose a victor.

Just like how, in an epic boxing showdown between Riggan and Mike there is, similarly, no victor.

There are many memorable scenes of humor and poignancy, but the bit of writing that stuck out to me is one particular scene--or, really, three scenes. Since the film is about the production of a Broadway play, we at times see scenes from that play on screen--and one scene in particular (the final scene in the play Riggan has written--an adaptation of the Raymond Carver Story "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love") is shown three times. The writers had an impossible task here. For one thing, they had to write in Riggan's voice, and for most of the film we are meant to be on the fence about whether Riggan is any good as an artist or not, so the scene can't be all that good. And yet, the scene has to carry immense emotional weight in each of its iterations. It is the final scene of the fictional Broadway play, yes, but it is also heard, again, THREE times in the movie, each time under very different circumstances, and each time carrying a different meaning. The first time, the scene is incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. Riggan, at his most apathetic and already growing weary of Mike, walks on stage to find that Mike has a prominent erection (the audience notices too and begins laughing) after he tried to force himself on Lesley (Watts' character, who happens to be dating Mike at the time) on stage to make the scene more "real." The moment is quite dark, but so uncomfortable there is something almost comedic about the dialogue as the erect penis of Edward Norton derails any insight one possibly could have derived from the scene.

The second time we see the scene is also comedic-- with Riggan entering from the audience in his tighty-whiteys after a series of mishaps. Riggan's seams are starting to fray here-- he is desperate and unhinged and the scene once again becomes about his own circumstances, the awkwardness of the surrounding events making the scene within the scene feel clunky and unimpressive yet again.

And then, the third and final time we see the motel scene is glorious. Unlike the other times, it is presented under the most serious of circumstances--as Riggan walks on stage we know that his life is literally on the line. The tension in the scene is remarkable. And the cast takes their time with it. For the first time, we actually absorb the words of the scene and they are incredibly sad and powerful. The lines Riggan speaks were always written by Riggan to begin with, but in this third iteration of the scene only, they seem to be coming from him. He speaks his own lines not as a character, but as Riggan himself, discovering their relevance to his situation only as he is saying them. And in them, reveals Riggan's own personal fear. "I don't exist. I'm not even here. I don't exist. None of this matters." At the end of this scene, the movie reaches a crucial point, a crucial moment. One that risked being over the line and misguided. But, instead, the moment feels incredibly earned. After one of the film's most deafening moments of silence, the Broadway audience bursts into thunderous applause, and I almost wanted to join in.

Riggan and Mike, arguing outside of the Broadway theater.

I'd like to discuss this "crucial moment," but I should mention that it is a spoiler, so if you have not seen the movie, please skip to the next paragraph. It's pretty momentous and I don't want to give it away. Okay, skip to the next paragraph...NOW! Now that it's just us Birdman-viewers and those who foolishly read ahead, you know that I'm speaking, of course, of Riggan bringing a loaded gun on stage and shooting his nose off (by the way, how great was it that his face-cast was so birdlike? You can't escape the mask, Riggan!) This moment had me on the edge of my seat. It has been foreshadowed throughout the entire film. In one of the scenes in "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love," we hear the characters tell an anecdote about an old man who tried to shoot himself in the mouth and missed (sound familiar, Riggan)? Mike tells Riggan that he should bring a real gun on stage to make the moment more real, which, while not a good thing, it undeniably does. Interestingly, while Mike's talk of realism is portrayed as ridiculous (his tantrum about the gin being replaced with water on stage was childish and obnoxious), Riggan's assessment that the critics love Mike proves correct--in Tabitha's review, she praises the realism of the moment of Riggan shooting himself, which Mike stated when he encouraged Riggan to bring on the gun. Further foreshadowing includes the fact that Riggan's character, of course, kills himself at the end of the play, so it makes sense that Riggan would try to kill himself at the end of the film. Plus, we know Riggan has a history with suicide. He clearly considers jumping off of a building earlier in the film, and relays to his ex-wife (an excellent Amy Ryan who shined in her two scenes) that he tried to drown himself a few years prior, only to turn back when he kept being stung by jellyfish (those jellyfish, by the way, are one of the first shots of the film, but you forget all about them until this story is told, when they instantly pop back into your mind--brilliant). Then, there's Riggan's dream about going down on a plane with George Clooney (not coincidentally another movie Batman). So, the death of our main character is foreshadowed endlessly. And yet, I could not believe it as he walked onto the stage. Every indication was given and yet it still felt like a shocking moment. And then, beyond when he tries to kill himself on stage, we cannot forget his final moments in his hospital room when he again jumps out of the window. Once again, ambiguity serves the film well, and it refuses to answer anything definitively. When Riggan's daughter looks out the window and, looking downwards, looks horrified, only to look upwards in wonder, what is she seeing? Is she seeing her father seemingly plummeting to the ground, only to swoop up suddenly in flight? Or, did she see her father splatter on the ground and, taking after her dad, have a break in reality where she mistakenly imagines that she's witnessing him flying? Is it something else entirely? There are many possible answers, and none of them are right or wrong, but all are fascinating to consider.

Emma Stone, in one of the film's final moments.

There is so much to Birdman. It is such a technical accomplishment, but it is also a philosophical smorgasbord, filled with many grand ideas with many interpretations. It is filled with so many small details that I'm sure I will keep noticing new things every time I watch. Each viewing will only bring more understanding and more appreciation of this film. So, as much as I love it, I know I will love it even more a few months from now. And, until I reach that point, this film will stay with me, like the many faces of Riggan Thomson. For he is vengeance. He is the night. He is...Birdman. And Birdman is the best film of the year.

There's so much to say about this film that I didn't even have a chance to talk about the scene where Riggan runs through Times Square in his underwear. It's a funny scene. He looks silly. But, also, I guess most superheroes run around in their underwear anyway.