If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know
that it is pretty much only active January-March. What had initially started as
a general film blog has really become a place for me to talk about the awards
season and share my own opinions. I always include analysis of my favorite films and favorite performances of the year, and typically go into detailed
predictions for Oscar nominations and winners. But I wanted to try something
else. This year, only two of the Best Picture nominees were on my list of
favorite films of the year, but given that these other nominees are dominating
many cinephiles’ conversations, I decided to introduce a new feature to this
blog which might become an annual thing. I’m going to rank all 10 of the
Oscars’ picks for Best Picture of the Year, and give my thoughts on each of
these films. Don’t worry, I’ll still be putting together my annual predictions towards
the end of the month (once the SAG Awards happen I should be able to lock in my
predictions). But for now, here are my rankings for this year’s nominees!
THE
BAD
#10:
Emilia Pérez
This
year, the awards season saw the rather perplexing rise of one particular film: Emilia
Pérez. Jacques Audiard’s musical first entered the awards season
conversation when it received positive reviews out of Cannes, where it
eventually won the Jury Prize (essentially 3rd place) as well as the
Best Actress prize, which was unconventionally given to the four lead
performers of the film instead of a single actress. Cannes has become an Oscar
precursor only in the last few years, but at this point Emilia Pérez wasn’t
exactly a frontrunner. The last Cannes Jury Prize winner to be recognized at
the Oscars was EO, which received one nomination for Best International
Film 2 years ago. But Emilia Pérez has managed to hang on and is
undeniably a frontrunner for the Best Picture prize, receiving more nominations
than any other film this year (just one shy of tying the record for most
nominations for a single film) and has received more nominations than any film
not in the English language in Oscars’ history. Star Karla Sofía Gascón also
made history as the first out transgender person to receive an acting
nomination, which is obviously groundbreaking. There would be much to celebrate
about Emilia Pérez’s dominance…but unfortunately, it just happens to be
an absolutely dreadful movie.
Emilia
Pérez is
about a lawyer (Zoe Saldaña) in Mexico who is contacted by a drug cartel
kingpin Manitas Del Monte (Gascón) who wants assistance in getting a sex-change
operation to both escape the cartel life and live life her true life as a woman
named Emilia Pérez. Following the operation and disappearance, Emilia is happy,
but finds that her old life is not as easy to escape as she once thought. If
you have not heard about Emilia Pérez, or have only heard positive
things, then it’s important to know that this movie has received significant and
near-unanimous backlash from the marginalized communities it supposedly should
be representing. The response from transgender critics and organizations has
been almost universally critical. GLAAD referred to the film as “a step
backward for trans representation.” Drew Burnett Gregory’s review, titled “Emilia
Pérez is the Most Unique Cis Nonsense You’ll Ever See,” mentions that Emilia
Pérez “hits just about every trans trope you can imagine: Trans woman
killer, Tragic trans woman, Trans woman abandons her wife and children to
transition, Transition treated as a death, Deadnaming and misgendering at
pivotal moments, Trans woman described as half male/half female.” You can read
many more criticisms (I recommend articles like this one, this one, this one, and this one, but there are plenty more out
there) which go into more detail. But what’s clear watching Emilia Pérez is
that Audiard has no interest in telling a trans story behind a surface
fascination with the idea of transness. I’m very happy for Gascón’s success,
and I think she’s a talented performer. But the role of Emilia that
she’s asked to portray is not ever written as a real person, and Gascón’s
performance suffers because of it. Emilia is merely an idea, not a real
character, and it’s precisely because of the lack of curiosity with which
Audiard actually approaches the subject matter. It has come out in interviews
that Gascón made significant changes to the script upon being cast, and that Emilia
Pérez initially had far more problematic themes (such as Manitas initially
only wanting surgery to escape and not identifying as trans at all, and Emilia
being for more promiscuous post-transition). I’m glad some of these changes
were made, but it’s clear that the ignorance that went into the creation of the
film could not be fully undone.
This
would ordinarily be enough criticism for any film, but Emilia Pérez has
also faced backlash in Mexico for how the country and culture are portrayed.
Audiard has admitted that he did not do research on Mexico before writing or
directing the film (which was filmed in Europe despite taking place primarily
in Mexico), and as such relies on stereotypes and is as narrowminded in its
portrayal of Mexicans as it is in its portrayal of trans women. Screenwriter Héctor
Guillén referred to the film as “Racist Euro Centrist Mockery.” Writer Jorge Volpi referred to it as "one of crudest and most deceitful films of the 21st century." 4-time Oscar-nominated
cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto referred to the film as “completely
inauthentic,” and cited the lack of any Mexican crew members, or even
consultants brought in to check the details. There are prop signs used in the
film in incorrect Spanish, and rather notoriously, there has been much
criticism of both Selena Gomez and Zoe Saldaña’s Spanish pronunciation in the
film (particularly Gomez’s). And it certainly doesn't help that many of the songs feature lyrics which were written by someone who clearly did not speak Spanish as their first language, with several phrases used that are clunky and seem to come from Google translate. Beyond just a lack of attention to detail, many
Mexican commentators were worried by the subject matter. Given what a serious
issue drug cartels are in Mexico, and how the violence surrounding them has
ruined many lives, the flippancy with which the issue is treated in the film
made Emilia Pérez not just insensitive, but downright offensive for many
viewers. In all of these criticisms, nobody is saying that Audiard was being
malicious in his filmmaking; Emilia Pérez is not a right-wing propaganda
film about the dangers of trans people and Mexicans. But it’s also not good
representation, and considering it’s been more than 30 years since The
Crying Game, it’s disheartening to see the same tropes trotted out, and
still gaining awards recognition when the conversation really has advanced. Emilia
Pérez does not intend to do harm, but its ineffective portrayal of these
groups—groups that are PARTICULARLY vulnerable in the current American political
climate, one might add—is inadequate to the point of being harmful.
To
be honest, the way Emilia Pérez approaches representation would, on its
own, be disqualifying. But what is particularly frustrating about its awards
season dominance is that it also simply isn’t a very good movie. There are
plenty of films that incorporate aspects of different genres, and when this is
done well it’s incredibly exciting to see those genres play off of each other
(I think fellow Best Picture nominee The Substance is a great example of
this). But Emilia Pérez has so much going on that it feels muddled
rather than cohesive. Audiard describes the film as an opera, but it’s unclear
exactly why this story needed to be told this way. The songs aren’t catchy or
interesting, and they don’t serve to add anything to the development of the
characters, the plot, or examination of the movie’s themes. The songs simply
feel like distractions. There isn’t anything going on underneath the surface of
Emilia Pérez, so let’s give them the ol’ razzle dazzle and hope nobody
notices! Apparently, Audiard has said part of his inspiration for how he wanted
to tell this story was based on telenovelas, with their unlikely narratives and
overstated stories of intrigue. This does explain some of the improbable
choices made by these characters, but I never would have guessed that this was
an inspiration for the film from just seeing it. If Emilia Pérez is a
telenovela, it’s one that was made by someone who has never seen a telenovela. There
are no stylistic references to that genre, meaning we are left with
one-dimensional characters and over-the-top nonsense without the clear
aesthetic and vibe that telenovelas have carefully cultivated. The Oscars pick
for Best Picture has no shortage of problematic picks. Green Book has
basically become a go-to term for a movie that offends its targets audience (as
in “Emilia Pérez” is Green Book for the transgender community).
But at the very least Green Book had strong performances and was
well-paced and resembled a real movie. Those of us who hate Emilia Pérez
have been left on the outside of the awards season scratching our heads about
what anyone could find redeeming in all of this nonsense.
One
last thing to acknowledge and then we will FINALLY move on. When Oscar
nominations were announced, it was easy to feel that Emilia Pérez was
the frontrunner, given its absolutely huge nominations haul. Many
prognosticators felt like the writing was on the wall and tried to prepare
themselves for a seemingly inevitable Emilia Pérez win. I was still
skeptical. While it’s clear that Emilia Pérez is an Academy favorite,
the fact that Best Picture utilizes ranked choice voting, I felt like it was
simply too divisive to be a sure thing. It might get the most 1st
place votes, but it’s going to be at the bottom of a lot of voters’ ballots as
well. Plus, while Netflix has established itself as an Oscars presence, there
is still much resistance to the service within the industry, and no Netflix
film has won Best Picture, despite distributing early frontrunners such as Roma
and The Power of the Dog. So I wasn’t ready to engrave Emilia Pérez’s
name on the trophy just yet. But in recent days there has been a controversy
that many feel has truly ruined the film’s chances. Karla Sofía Gascón made some
questionable comments in an interview that seemed to disparage fellow nominee
Fernanda Torres. In truth, the quotes were taken out of context, and in the
very same interview Gascón said incredibly complimentary things about Torres as
both a performer and a person. But the comments nonetheless had some calling
for Gascón’s nomination to be rescinded for violating Oscars campaign rules. The
next day, old tweets of Gascón’s resurfaced that were pretty bad, and correctly
categorized as Islamophobic and racist, causing Gascón to delete her twitter
account and issue two different apologies, both of which were seen as rather
ineffective. The truth is that Gascón’s comments are unacceptable, and like
anyone, there should be accountability. I don’t have any interest in forgiving Gascón.
But I do think it’s telling that Emilia Pérez has faced criticism since
its release at Cannes and nobody has batted an eye. Audiard has made some
racist comments in interviews as well, which gained attention but did not stall
Emilia Pérez’s awards season momentum. It is only until Gascón
specifically was the center of controversy that there seemed to be a sense that
this would actually hurt the film’s awards chances. Indiewire published an
article with the headline, “Karla Sofía Gascón Trainwrecks Her Emilia Pérez
Oscar Campaign: Does She Bring the Movie Down, Too?” With ALL of the
controversy surrounding this film, why is Gascón seemingly the only person
whose controversy is actually hindrance to the film’s chances? Why is the
narrative that she alone should take the blame if this film doesn’t win Best
Picture? Especially considering that this is the same branch that gave an
acting award to Casey Affleck in the middle of the #MeToo movement, and
nominated Mel Gibson for Best Director less than ten years ago? It’s not that Gascón’s
past comments should be ignored—they shouldn’t. But it’s worth noting that she
has not been given the same grace as literally anyone else involved with this
film. I hope Emilia Pérez does not win Best Picture. I also hope that Gascón
isn’t scapegoated as the sole reason for the loss.
#9:
A Complete Unknown
Not
last simply for the abomination that is Emilia Pérez, coming in at
Number 9 is A Complete Unknown. Biopics have quickly become one of the
least essential genres of film. It feels like, with some quite notable
exceptions, if you’ve seen one biopic you’ve seen them all. The stories are
formulaic, and the performances seem to boil down to impersonations rather than
actual examinations of a character. This is especially true of biopics of
musicians, and it is certainly true about A Complete Unknown. And while
it feels like mediocre biopics almost always end up on the bottom parts of the
Oscars Best Picture lineup, the truth is that A Complete Unknown feels like
a particularly lackluster entry into an already boring genre. 17 years ago, in
2007, there are two different films that came out that I kept thinking about
while watching A Complete Unknown. The first is Walk Hard: The Dewey
Cox Story, which parodied how bad and repetitive musician biopics are and
which feels increasingly relevant every year. The other is I’m Not There,
Todd Haynes’ experimental biographical drama of Bob Dylan which stars six
different actors playing different facets of Dylan’s public and private life. I’m
Not There is not a perfect film by any means, but it at the very least was
interesting, and sought to capture the idea of who Bob Dylan is and what he
represents in a countercultural way that feels true to Dylan as an artist. To
consider I’m Not There is to understand why A Complete Unknown feels
particularly bad: its genericness is familiar, but considering that it is
covering an artist as groundbreaking and distinct as Dylan makes that lack of
originality particularly galling. It is a film that fails to artistically
understand Bob Dylan, and worse, feels uninterested in even trying.
The
film follows a young Bob Dylan’s rise through the folk music scene, culminating
with his controversial choice to use electric instruments. It was certainly a
controversy at the time, and the film depicts why, but it’s not a particularly
exciting drama to watch unfold on screen. Will this destroy Bob Dylan’s
reputation?!?! No. No, it won’t. He will go on to become one of the most
celebrated figures in music ever, and if you’re seeing the Bob Dylan movie, my
guess is you know that. There’s no sense of conflict. And the screenplay
(written by Jay Cocks and director James Mangold) seems to know this too. While
there’s a general sense that Dylan’s choice to use electric instruments will be
frowned upon, the movie never really puts a face to who these people might be.
Sure, Pete Seeger (Edward Norton) is vocally against the choice, but he is
hardly an antagonist in the film, and if he’s supposed to be that’s a very odd
choice. Not only is there no conflict here, there’s no real conflict ANYWHERE.
The movie is simply a string of Bob Dylan songs performed by Timothée Chalamet
(which we’ll get to…good lord, we’ll get to) and other people hearing those
songs and going “Wow! This guy is great!” And while Bob Dylan isn’t portrayed
as an angel in his personal life, the movie doesn’t ever seek to understand him
as an artist or explain what exactly made him so great. He starts out as a brilliant
genius, and then continues to be a genius, who everyone agrees is a genius. And
that’s it. That’s the movie. And part of the problem is that Bob Dylan was a
once-in-a-lifetime sort of musical icon. There is no way to truly demonstrate
that artistry on screen in a standard boilerplate biopic. Dylan’s voice was
both literally and metaphorically unlike anything people had heard before. I
would argue that the only person who would find the songs in A Complete
Unknown powerful in any sense is someone who had never heard Bob
Dylan’s music before. And for that person, I would rather they actually listen
to Bob Dylan instead of watching this movie.
Which
brings us to the performances. A Complete Unknown received three Oscar
nominations for acting, tying with The Brutalist for the most out of any
movie this year. But, like with a lot of biopics, the goal of the film is
recreation as opposed to innovation. Most of the performances here are
perfectly fine, including Norton’s nominated work as Pete Seeger. But there are
really only four performances in the film that really felt noteworthy to me to
talk about: two for good reasons, and two for bad. On the good side of things, I did think that
Monica Barbaro was quite strong as Joan Baez, and it is in her scenes where A
Complete Unknown comes the closest to feeling like it has anything to say. I
also quite liked Boyd Holbrook as Johnny Cash, and simply wished he had more
time on screen. On the bad side of things, poor Elle Fanning tries her best in
a completely thankless role. Here character, Sylvie Russo, is fictional,
although based rather specifically on Suze Rotolo. But she’s given nothing to
do other than the thankless jilted lover role we’ve seen so many times before.
And worst of all is Chalamet. Chalamet, in my eyes, continues to be one of the
most uncharismatic actors of the current day, despite his inexplicable
superstardom. I actually think Chalamet used to have talent. But ever since his
breakout year of 2017, when he was in both Call Me by Your Name and Lady
Bird, he continues to be cast in roles he has no business playing, and has
failed to give a good performance since. Yes, I’ve seen his indulgent and
inauthentic work in Beautiful Boy. I’ve seen his incredibly out-of-place
performance in Little Women. I’ve seen him blankly stare in not one but
two Dune movies. Worst of all, I had to endure every second of Wonka,
a film which asks the question, “What if we took the basic aesthetic of the Paddington
films and made it a forgettable musical about a man who wants to buy a
factory?” So, to be fair, I’m not exactly a fan of Chalamet’s work. I actually
think his performance in A Complete Unknown might be on the better end
of his filmography, simply because he’s not the real source of the film’s
problems. But the truth is that he makes an unconvincing Dylan. Chalamet fails
to really convey what makes Bob Dylan tick—he mumbles through scenes and
attempts to capture Dylan’s disaffected coolness, but it means that he never
seems to have a genuine relationship with anyone on screen. As for the musical
numbers, Chalamet’s Dylan impression rates as among the better Bob Dylan
impressions you’d find in most college dorms. It was an impossible task for
anyone to truly be Bob Dylan who isn’t Bob Dylan, and Chalamet noticeably comes
up short. Searchlight has put a lot of money behind A Complete Unknown’s
Oscars campaign, and have leaned heavily on Chalamet, as their most likely
winner of the night. He even recently hosted Saturday Night Live and served as
the musical guest singing a Bob Dylan medley, in one of the most blatant acts
of awards season pandering I’ve ever seen. Given the Oscars’ penchant to award biopics
in the Leading Actor category and he’s an early favorite to win. That’s what this
sort of film is designed to do, after all, regardless of the quality. Fair
enough.
THE
UNEVEN
#8:
Wicked
Okay,
first of all, hear me out. I don’t hate Wicked. One of the most popular
movies of the year, with both critics and audiences, Wicked became one
of the biggest blockbusters of the year and has entered phenomenon territory. To
place it so low on my own list is probably rather controversial, but for all of
you Wicked fans out there, I hope I can explain. Like I said, I don’t
hate Wicked. I think it’s a very entertaining movie. But I also don’t
think it’s any great artistic achievement. As a blockbuster hit, heck yeah, I’m
on board with Wicked! As a Best Picture nominee? To quote Glinda:
Based
on the musical Wicked, which was based on the book Wicked, which was inspired
by the film The Wizard of Oz, which was based on the book series by L.
Frank Baum, Wicked tells the story of how a young witch known
as Elphaba became known as the infamous Wicked Witch of the West in the land of
Oz. Or at least…it will eventually tell that story. Wicked is actually Wicked: Part I, and only covers the first act of the Broadway musical. Much has been
made of the choice to break the story up like this, and I know a lot of people
ended up liking the choice. But, even if the division of the story works for
you, the choice was not made for artistic merit, it was obviously made to
increase profit. Why reap the benefits of one blockbuster film, when you can do
two? It’s a strategy that has certainly paid off for the producers. But I do
think this choice is emblematic of all of my thoughts about Wicked. The choices made are not inherently bad, but everything is calibrated
for profit over artistic merit. Ariana Grande does a very good job as Glinda
the Good Witch, but her casting feels designed to get people to see the movie
more than anything else. It’s not that the choreography is bad, but it is shot
in a way that feels like it’s made to be viewed in short spurts on social
media. The famous show-stopping number Defying Gravity marks the
end of the first act of the stage musical, and is where the movie ends. It’s a
moment for Elphaba to find her inner strength and literally soar. It’s a number
designed to highlight the vocalist in the role. In the movie, it is stretched
out to a 14-minute sequence which frequently cuts away to other characters and
scenes, literally breaking up the song. It’s a choice made not to actually
highlight the strengths and intentions of the number; it’s a choice made simply
to make the number last as long as possible. And that’s fine. It’s exciting to
watch, even if the song doesn’t pack the punch that it does on stage. But the
approach to Wicked is the same as the approach to Marvel
movies—there can be good and even great aspects to it, but it’s not striving
for anything beyond the surface. And this isn’t accidental! To put a film like
this together successfully is genuinely quite hard to do. Director Jon M. Chu
has a great sense of how to make these types of films, and deserves quite a bit
of credit for Wicked’s popularity. But the goals it is trying to
achieve are different from those which I personally look for when I go to see a
film.
Chu does what he does very well, but the direction
of Wicked lacks specificity.
Despite only covering Act One of the stage musical, Wicked
the movie’s runtime is as long as the stage show in its entirety. But the
changes made were, to me at least, rather odd. In the musical and book, Elphaba
(Cynthia Erivo) and her sister Nessarose (Marissa Bode) are both enrolled at
Shiz University, where Elphaba is immediately ostracized. In the film, Elphaba
is simply there to see her sister off, and then is enrolled at the University
after the fact. The change doesn’t really make any sense, and just feels like
there isn’t a need for this to have happened. In the stage show, the headmistress
of Shiz is Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh). In the movie, Morrible is simply
the Dean of Sorcery, and a new character—Miss Coddle (Keala Settle)— has been
created to be the headmistress. Again…why? There are several things like this
which aren’t necessarily bad, but simply feel arbitrary. And what’s strange is
that, despite the bloated runtime for Wicked,
the film felt strangely rushed. The extra padding given to the film occurs in
specific scenes and during specific moments, but the time between scenes moves
quickly. The extra time is certainly not given to further develop these
characters. Because the story is broken in two, absolutely none of these
characters are able to be developed because we don’t get to see their full
story. There is a lot of potential for some of these characters in Part Two,
(I’m actually quite intrigued to see the rest of Jonathan Bailey’s performance
as Fiyero, which surprised me in a good way), and a few that I fear are going
to remain pretty one-note, but nobody’s performance feels complete. The only
characters the film actually cares about are Elphaba and Glinda, but I somewhat
controversially feel the film fails them most of all. Erivo and Grande have
received quite a bit of acclaim, and both are very serviceable in the roles,
but neither can break the confines of the cinematic world in which they’ve been
placed. The foes-to-friends narrative of Elphaba and Glinda is at the heart of
the film, but the switch feels like it happens VERY suddenly, and given how
much we have lingered on their (cue the song…) loathing of each other, felt
quite unearned to me. Grande is very funny in the role, and showcases the
comedic chops everyone knew she had if they’d been paying basic attention to
her career. But many of her line deliveries are the same, and even as Glinda
learns and grows as a character, the humor surrounding her character never
progresses in any way. Erivo is as astounding a vocalist as ever, and shines in
any musical number, but in scenes where she’s not singing, there’s a certain closed-off
shyness that prevents us from truly understanding who we’re supposed to see
this character as. This is by design—in the musical, Elphaba needs to be
internally focused so that Defying Gravity feels like a big change and sets us
up to see what she will do in Act II. Since we have to look at Wicked as a film on its own merits, we
don’t get to see the completion of Elphaba’s arc, and in turn, Erivo’s
performance. It’s an intentional choice, but it’s not exactly a complex
performance to watch unfold.
Again, Jon M. Chu does what he does very well, but
much of his magic lies in the editing room. Wicked
as a film suffers for me from a lack of details. The same specificity I felt
was lacking in the performances I also felt was lacking in the visuals of the
film. Wicked is quite colorful.
But color alone doesn’t make something interesting. The cinematography feels
static and unintentional. The production design struggles to find its own
identity. Shiz University itself doesn’t feel particularly magical beyond the talking
animals, and the land of Oz itself just didn’t feel magical to me. There are,
of course, visual references to the original movie, but those references don’t
feel like they are a part of a distinct world for THIS film and THIS story. It
doesn’t help that The Wizard of Oz
is arguably the most visually famous film in cinematic history, because that’s
a tough shadow to step out of, but surely that means there were more
interesting choices to make. The only design element that, to me, really
capitalized on the potential for innovation that a movie like Wicked offered were the costumes from
acclaimed designer Paul Tazewell. These costumes are INCREDIBLE. They manage to
take references from the original film and the stage musical, but Tazewell also
creates his own aesthetic that feels new and distinct. They feel fantastical,
yet believable as costumes that would exist in this specific world. This is the
sort of design work that really could have made Wicked
great for me. World-building through these sorts of design choices is so
important, and could have established an identity for the film as a whole,
which could ground the film and give it more weight. That doesn’t happen, and
the strength of Tazewell’s costumes drive home how much other aspects of the
film could have created their own unique visual language.
I know, I know, I insisted at the start of this
that I don’t hate Wicked
and then went on to list a whole bunch of problems I had with it. But there’s
an extra level of scrutiny that I feel compelled to apply to a film that’s an
awards contender. Sure, in Oscars history, the Best Picture title rarely
actually goes to the actual “Best” film of the year (and in fact, unequivocally
choosing one film to be “the best” is a silly idea that is antithetical to
artistic pursuits) but it’s nonetheless tough to hear “Wicked is one of the best films of the
year,” and not think, “…No. No it isn’t.” This is a fairly common phenomenon. Films
that people liked suddenly see a drop in public opinion if they are nominated
for Best Picture, and even moreso if they win. Would people even still talk
about Crash if it hadn’t won Best
Picture over Brokeback Mountain?
Probably not. And now there are people who absolutely HATE that movie. I can’t
help but think back to Steven Spielberg’s remake of West Side
Story in 2021 and how the narrative around it differs
from Wicked. Sure, West Side Story received a Best
Picture nomination, but it was a disaster at the box office and was never seen
as a serious Oscar contender, nor did it have the same awards season
consistency that Wicked
has shown to have. West Side Story
is also simply a much better film. The choices Tony Kushner made to the
screenplay are purposeful and genuinely update the film for a new audience in
an intriguing way. The craft behind the film itself is consistently strong, and
it’s one unfortunate Ansel Elgort away from perfection. So why did West Side Story falter while Wicked feels like it’s on the rise?
Well, simply put, it’s a happier movie. While I’ve seen a lot of commentary on
the politics of Wicked
and how the symbolism of the story can be applied to many real-world issues,
the truth is that Wicked
isn’t interested in fully engaging with these issues in a meaningful way. And
that’s fine—that’s not what it’s trying to do. Sometimes you don’t need a movie
that’s going to make you think. Sometimes you need a movie that’s going to make
you feel good. That’s going to have you leave the theater ready to defy
gravity. In a time when America has for the second time elected a truly
terrifying monster as President, the “I can take on anything” attitude of Wicked is the sort of balm that a lot of
people need. I genuinely wonder if, in another year, at another time, Wicked would have received the same Best
Picture buzz. But regardless, for many, it is the right movie for the moment. It
hit on emotions that people needed to feel, and gave people inspiration and
excitement and a sense of escape. That’s fantastic, and is absolutely worthy of
praise. But…it’s not worthy of Best Picture.
#7: Dune: Part Two
I get it: some people really love Dune. I
don’t have much to say for it except to say that these movies are not really
for me. The story is dense, and the characters indecipherable; two movies in
and I couldn’t tell you much about any of them. But I also can understand why
some people are so captivated by Denis Villeneuve’s Dune franchise.
It’s clear that it’s very loving adaptation. While I struggle to find interest
in these characters, they do seem to be quite accurate to the ones that exist
on the page, so if someone is already invested in who these characters are it’s
probably exciting to see them portrayed on the screen. And the visuals are
impeccable. The first Dune
film already created an impressive and distinct world. Dune: Part Two actually manages to
improve on the visuals of the first film. It creates its own aesthetic that
feels cohesive with the first, but actually feels evolved. It plays within the
same sandbox as the first, but creates bigger and more ambitious worlds. Even
as someone who is not a fan of the franchise, the sequel felt even better,
which we all know is not usually the case.
So I’m excited for the Dune fans
out there. This movie was obviously great for you! And, just like with Wicked, I’m very happy for the Dune fans to love it. And there’s a
place for a film with such technical prowess on a Best Picture lineup. The
problem is that the design elements of Dune
do the heavy-lifting, and if the visual world of the film isn’t enough to get
you invested, there’s not much more to these films. Obviously Frank Herbert’s original
novel is a classic, and has endured because of the distinct world it created
and the themes it explores. But I also think that much of the subtext that
makes Dune the novel so rich has
been left on the page. It’s a film that comes with homework. Why is this
happening and what does it mean? You won’t know from watching the film, but
there’s an essay about it somewhere. The characters themselves serve as vessels
to explore these themes rather than fully-formed people that you might care
about or become invested in. It makes the drama feel small. It feels like
Villeneuve is saying, “Don’t pay attention to these people, look at everything
going on around them!” Dune: Part Two
is far from the only film to employ this technique, but I will say it’s one of
the only ones to do this so effectively. While often films use big flashy
visuals to entertain their audience, the mood of Dune: Part
Two is rather maudlin and filled with gravitas. It’s a
much more solemn spectacle, and one that makes Dune: Part
Two FEEL important. As if to say that this isn’t just a
movie that’s pretty pretty pretty, it’s a movie that really makes you think.
The problem is that Dune: Part Two
is ultimately very hollow. The metaphors at play are ones that we’ve seen many
times since Herbert initially published his influential book. And the philosophies
are either basic or obtuse.
I feel like I understood Dune: Part Two just fine. But I don’t
feel like I GOT Dune: Part Two.
It’s just not for me. It places as high as it does on technical prowess alone,
and because I can understand the feeling some people have had watching Dune: Part Two. It’s a feeling I’ve
had watching many other films; just ones that I think have more going on under
the surface. I don’t really have much more to say about it. If you love Dune: Part Two please continue to do
so! But if you don’t, you’re not alone. There are dozens of us! DOZENS!
#6: The Brutalist
Much like Dune: Part
Two, one’s feelings about The
Brutalist are going to depend on the degree to which you
fall under its spell. And The Brutalist
has the potential for a considerable spell. At over 3 and ½ hours, this is a
film with epic ambition, and director Brady Corbet proves to be a brilliant
craftsman. There are moments of true beauty in this film, and I greatly admire
the immense task that Corbet is trying to pull off. Like Brutalist architecture
itself, the film has a stark and grand effect that can be powerful to behold at
first glance. But when you look for details and more intricate beauty, you’re
going to be disappointed. The Brutalist
follows architect László
Tóth (Adrien Brody), an architect who emigrates to the United States after
surviving the Holocaust, leaving behind his wife and orphaned niece who he has
been separated from. László experiences many hardships while in America, while
also receiving great acclaim for his architectural work, particularly the work
he does for wealthy industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce). There
have been tremendous efforts put into making The Brutalist FEEL real. In
fact, it would be understandable for someone to leave The Brutalist
thinking that it depicted real, historical events. Everything feels in line
with historical dramas we’ve seen before, and a lot of research was done
concerning post-war life for immigrants in America, which clearly shows. These
characters might not be real people who existed, but they’re an amalgamation of
real experiences. In creating the character of László Tóth, Corbet wanted
someone to represent the post-war immigrant experience itself. Just as Harrison
Lee Van Buren represents the fickleness and cruelty of American wealth and
industrialism. Again, it’s an ambitious goal, and in the moments it pays off The
Brutalist truly shines. It can allow people to see their own experience, or
their family’s experiences in the film and in these characters. But this generality
is exactly why The Brutalist didn’t really click with me. Making these
characters metaphors prevents them from ever feeling like real people. Pearce
might as well be twirling a handlebar mustache for how villainous he is. Felicity
Jones shows up late in the film as László’s wife Erzsébet, who he has longed to
be reunited with, but her appearance doesn’t create any change in the film or
story. She brings with her László’s orphaned niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), who
has stopped speaking after surviving Dachau, and the symbolism of being
literally silenced by this trauma is heavy-handed to say the least. The
character who suffers most from this sort of characterization is of course László
himself. Brody won his first Oscar, and established himself as a serious actor,
for his work in The Pianist, a film similarly about an artist surviving
the horrors of the Holocaust. Brody is as committed to the performance as ever
and inevitably has some moving moments in his performance. But it was hard for
me to be invested in László’s story because, again, he just didn’t feel real. László
exists as a blank slate. His own personality and emotions are not as important
as the things that happen to him. He reacts to the action as opposed to driving
it, which was unsatisfying for me personally in a protagonist.
The
considerable efforts to make László feel like a real historical figure honestly
made me wonder why Corbet didn’t just make a historical piece. I’ve already
discussed in this article how I am typically disinterested in biopics, and I
appreciate that this is an original story. But it felt like because these were
fictional characters, all of Corbet’s efforts went into manufacturing a sort of
authenticity that many films gloss over with the phrase “Based on a True
Story.” It’s a convincing illusion, and again, you leave the film believing
that László and his creations truly existed. But it’s the sort of illusion that
loses its luster very quickly. I’m not exactly sure what the point of it all
is. The main benefit of having original characters and telling an original
story is that it should have given Corbet a chance to surprise us. ANYTHING
could have happened. And while making more unexpected choices could have felt
hokey or unrealistic, I had an unfortunate sense while watching The
Brutalist that I’ve seen all of this before. When you merge a bunch of
images together, the details become less defined and more monochrome. In not
wanting to make László’s story more specific, The Brutalist’s plot reads
like a series of every post-war period film trope. As László experiences both
triumphs and downfalls, the beats feel steady and predictable, and given the
film’s long runtime, that lack of excitement felt really tiring. When there’s a
sexual assault late in the film, I was officially done. It felt like the last
nail in the coffin of tired tropes, and an exhibition of misery for misery’s
sake rather than for a greater point. In fact there’s a lot of that in The
Brutalist: certain weighty themes or ideas are peppered throughout the film
which are then never explored.
Again,
there are moments of The Brutalist that hint at this film’s potential,
and which give me a glimpse into what the film’s biggest champions see in it. The
opening sequence, for example, is stunning: a boat ride pulling into Ellis
Island which ends with a solitary shot of the Statue of Liberty, shown at askew
angles and eventually seen upside down. With no dialogue, that image sets up a
poetic vision of what to expect: an examination of the warped promise of The
American Dream. Corbet as a filmmaker is strongest when he deals with images
and design, and when he leans into that The Brutalist succeeds. When
those ideas had to be translated into words and story, I found The Brutalist
frustrating and underwhelming. It’s an ambitious misfire, and ultimately a film
as complicated as the ideas it attempted to explore, with mixed results.
THE GOOD
#5 Anora
I’ve admittedly had a bit of a struggle with Anora this awards season. This was one
of the films from this year I was most excited to see. I think Sean Baker is
one of the most important filmmakers currently working today—his films Tangerine, The Florida
Project, and Red Rocket
have all set him up as a creator with a distinct voice. His films are
categorized by complex characters who Baker is able to portray is a very human
way. After Anora received rave
reviews at Cannes, where it became the first American film to win the Palme
d’Or since 2011, I was incredibly excited. I think Anora
is a very good film, but I will admit that I was disappointed upon initially
seeing it. It can be difficult to treat something fairly when you come into it
with strong expectations, and it was difficult to judge the film on its own
merits when I found it lacking in the strengths that to me are so
quintessentially Sean Baker. This didn’t feel like a Sean Baker film. I wanted
it to feel like one. But that also doesn’t mean that Anora is bad.
The film follows Ani (Mikey Madison), a stripper
living in Brighton Beach who develops a relationship with her client Vanya
(Mark Eydelshteyn), a 21-year old son of a Russian oligarch. Vanya is a party
boy, whose careless but well-funded lifestyle is intoxicating to Ani, and a
whirlwind week-long trip to Vegas ends with the two of them getting married.
When Vanya’s family learns about this development they send henchman to his
house to arrange an annulment immediately, and wild antics ensue as Ani comes
to question the strength of the passionate relationship she has recently
developed. The movie undergoes a drastic tonal shift once the henchmen show up,
and to me the change is welcome. Vanya is, by design, not a particularly complicated
character. While not painted as a villain, Vanya’s shallowness and immaturity are
immediately apparent, and I think Baker does a great job of showing us why Ani
is taken in by his glamorous life while also making it clear that this whole
thing is not going to end well. The problem is that this goes on for a LONG
time. The henchmen don’t show up to deal with this marriage until 45 minutes
into the film, and that ends up being a long time to spend with characters who
are intentionally meant to be superficial.
And this is why I say Anora
didn’t feel like a Sean Baker film. In his previous works, Baker’s protagonists
have not been exactly likable people. In The Florida
Project, Halley (Bria Vinaite) is irresponsible to the
point of being a danger to her daughter. In Red Rocket,
Mikey Davies (Simon Rex) is openly manipulative and reckless. These characters
are compelling not because they’re likable, but because they’re human. Baker
doesn’t want to vindicate them, but wants to portray them as human, which makes
them compelling. The mistakes they make are compelling because they are made by
characters we feel we truly understand. I don’t think that Vanya is an
unrealistic character—in fact I think he’s a very accurate portrayal of what
the playboy son of a Russian Oligarch living in New York would be like. The
problem is that he overstays his welcome. There are no depths to Vanya, so we
spend the first 45 minutes of Anora
waiting for the spell to break, and end up waiting an awfully long time. Ani is
not the first time that Baker has had a protagonist involved in sex work, and
when you compare her to characters like Mikey Davies, or Sin-Dee Rella and
Alexandra from Tangerine,
there’s just not as much going on. Mikey Madison’s performance has been much
acclaimed, but to me fell a bit short—more due to the writing than to Madison’s
abilities as a performer. Ani simply didn’t feel particularly lived-in, and her
drive to succeed felt far more contingent on the people around her (like Vanya)
than the internal motivation that characterizes most of Baker’s stronger main
characters. We can understand Ani’s choices, but don’t really understand her as
a fully-formed character.
The film starts having more momentum once the
henchmen show up, but again I found myself a little disappointed. For example, Anora offers a great introduction to
Toros (Karren Karagulian), Vanya’s godfather, who leaves a baptism he was in
the middle of performing to rush to Vanya’s aid. It’s a very funny sequence
that really sets him up as an interesting character. Karagulian is great, but
the intriguing character of an Armenian priest who works as an enforcer for
Russian oligarchs never fully pays off. Once Karagulian is interacting with
Ani, he becomes one-note. The inner lives of these henchmen that we expect
we’re going to see remains unexplored. The exception, of course, is Igor,
played by Yura Borisov in what is pretty unanimously considered the breakout
performance of the film. Igor is the only character in Anora that really feels like what I
have come to expect from Sean Baker. Sensitive and sympathetic, Borisov’s
performance as Igor shines particularly bright against the backdrop of
one-dimensional and utilitarian characters. From almost the moment he’s
introduced, there’s something intriguing about him, and he’s the only character
whose journey and development genuinely surprised me.
The film had a major shift once the henchmen show
up, and has another shift in the last 18 minutes of the film, when most of the
action of the film is done, and Ani and Igor are left alone, with Igor keeping
a watchful eye over her in the aftermath of the main plot of the film. This
part feels a bit like an epilogue—again, the main story Baker has been telling
has concluded, and there are a lot of filmmaker who would have ended the film
without these final scenes. But I’m so glad that these scenes with Ani and Igor
exist, because they’re where Anora
truly comes alive at the film. And, I would argue, the rest of the film is a
two hour preamble to the movie Baker actually wanted to make. In this aftermath,
both Borisov and Madison’s performances truly come to life. The last 18 minutes
of Anora are rather beautiful,
and while they are not quite enough for me to truly love Anora, they do make the whole film feel
worthwhile. Baker for the first time allows these characters to breathe and
simply exist, and it’s a refreshing and touching set of scenes. In isolation,
the end of Anora would be one
of the best short films of the year.
So, that’s my main takeaway from Anora. A very good movie that I simply
wished I had responded to more, and which might have suffered from the high
standard I was holding it too. There might be other reasons Anora wasn’t really for me: I know fans
of the film have referred to it as “hilarious,” when it never really felt THAT
funny to me. And while I didn’t think Madison was bad, I imagine those who
really responded to her performance probably had a more distinct connection to Anora as a whole. It’s definitely a
film that’s worth seeing without bias, and forming one’s own opinions about. Much
like some of the other film’s I’ve talked about, I can understand why others
truly love this film, and just wish I could have had the same response.
#4 Conclave
Conclave takes
place at the College of Cardinals follows the Pope’s sudden death, meaning that
a new Pope must be elected. As Dean, Cardinal Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) is
in charge of overseeing this election and ensuring that a successor is chosen
fairly and correctly. As the election goes on, secrets about the leading
candidates are revealed, and Lawrence must navigate the political implications at
play to ensure that the right Cardinal is elected. The setting is one rife with
symbolism and meaning, which gives Conclave
a sense of important and grandeur that is undeniably intriguing. But Conclave is also not particularly
interested in rewriting the book. The way the story plays out is a pretty
boilerplate political thriller. But it’s, for the most part, incredibly
well-done. New secrets and developments come out exactly when they should, and
the film feels intriguing and exciting each moment. The Papal setting not only
allows for some beautiful visuals, but it gives Conclave a
sense of gravitas that sets it apart from other similar political thrillers.
There are natural stakes at hand, and director Edward Berger has a keen
understanding of how to play with the audience’s expectations for maximum
effect. There’s really not much to fault with Conclave,
but that also is what puts Conclave right
in the middle of my rankings. Comparing Conclave to
The Brutalist for example, I
enjoyed Conclave much
more and have significantly fewer problems with it. But I also appreciate that The Brutalist is more ambitious and
opened itself up to criticism far more. Conclave is
a good time, and a strong entry in a popular genre. But it’s not a challenging
film. Which is absolutely okay! But the competition reality show-esque elimination of
scandalous Cardinals is more about entertainment value than it is about being
thought-provoking. And there’s a sense of idealistic optimism in Conclave that makes the film especially crowd-pleasing.
The entire vibe of Conclave
can be epitomized by its ending, which I’ll try to discuss here are
spoiler-free as possible. Throughout the film, one of the most intriguing
characters has been Cardinal Vincent Benitez (Carlos Diehz) who comes to the
Vatican from Kabul and had been named a Cardinal by the late Pope in secrecy. A
calm and pensive presence in the film, Benitez stands out against the other
Cardinals for his wisdom and his unselfish approach to the election. Every one
of these characters is harboring some sort of secret, and Benitez’s is the
final one to be revealed. It’s a secret that, frankly, comes out of nowhere,
and involves a topic that easily could have been handled poorly by the film,
and could have caused some genuine controversy for this film. Conclave has managed to mostly avoid
controversy not because it handled this topic well, but because it doesn’t
really touch on it at all. The more weighty subjects Conclave brings up are not things that it
looks to seriously engage with, which is ultimately to the film’s benefit. It’s
a film which gets away with a lot because its ideas are so intangible, and the
general approach is wide-eyed and idealistic. The end of the film in particular
feels naïve, and a bit unearned, but the optimism of it nonetheless feels
welcome. It’s a film that is both critical of the Catholic Church, and openly depicts
Cardinals engaging in behavior that ranges from ethically ambiguous to
downright despicable. But it’s also a film that has managed to avoid criticism
from the Church by clearly believing in what the Church should represent. It’s
a rose-colored view to be sure, but Conclave
is just earnest enough that it pays off.
#3 I’m Still Here
Brazilian film I’m Still
Here is probably the most unexpected Best Picture
nominee since 2009’s A Serious Man—a
movie that few if any prognosticators (including myself) even considered as a
possibility for the lineup. But I’m glad to see I’m Still
Here represented, not just because it shows that the
Oscars are able to still be unpredictable at times, and because this is a
genuinely very good movie. From director Walter Salles (best known for films
like Central Station, City of God, and The Motorcycle Diaries), I’m Still Here tells the true story
of activist Eunice Paiva (Fernanda Torres) as she deals with the forced
disappearance by the far-right military dictatorship government of her husband
Rubens (Selton Mello), a former congressman. It’s a harrowing story, and
although this happened in 1970, the implications of forced disappearances like
Rubens still loom large in Brazilians’ memories, especially as this film is
based off of a memoir by Eunice and Rubens’ son Marcelo (Guilherme Silveira)
which was published in 2015. I’m Still Here is effective as both a
depiction of the horrors of the past, and a warning for the grim possibilities
of the future. It’s not surprising that Brazil’s far-right tried to arrange for
a boycott of the film. It’s also not surprising that this boycott didn’t work,
as the film continues to break records for Brazilian cinema with both awards
ceremonies and box office returns. The story is tense, and any depiction of
these events would probably be powerful. But Salles is an incredibly skilled
filmmaker who is not content to simply rely on the impact of the subject
matter. Moments that feel casual or laidback are incredibly purposeful, and
once the action really gets going, Salles never takes his foot off the pedal.
If you haven’t gathered from my criticisms of many of the films I’ve already
discussed, I think great characters are CRUCIAL for a good story, and Salles
understands this. He takes time for us to get to know this family and they’re
dynamic, so that we’re invested in how this tragedy will affect them personally,
and are not just focused on the political implications. This makes sense
considering the film is adapted from a memoir that Marcelo wrote when he was a
child. It’s a film that feels intimate and personal even while discussing a
global issue.
You
can’t talk about I’m Still Here without talking about the lead
performance of Fernanda Torres. Torres’ win for Best Actress at the Golden
Globes was a big surprise, primarily because the movie had not been released in
the U.S. and nobody had been able to see her work yet. Having now seen the film,
it’s clear why she has become a frontrunner once people had a chance to see her
work. This is a towering performance. The screenplay really is written to be a
showcase for a performer, and gives Torres opportunities for to showcase
vulnerability, ferocity, and everything in between. She rises to the occasion,
and is absolutely commanding on film. While the movie starts off as an ensemble
piece, once Rubens is taken by the government it unequivocally becomes Eunice’s
film. I’ve seen some reviews refer to Torres’ performance as subtle, and I
disagree. Not that Torres’ work doesn’t include subtlety, but that is not the
word I would use to define it. It’s a very in-your-face performance, that
demands attention.
Just
as I felt The Brutalist went to great pains to make the fictional story of
László Tóth feel real, I feel like I’m Still Here goes to great pains to
make the real world story feel relatable. I’m Still Here reads as a
Kafkaesque fable, a nightmarish journey that feels larger than life. But truth
is stranger than fiction, and knowing that what’s depicted are real events makes
I’m Still Here particularly gripping and dangerous. It’s a glimpse at a
part of history that many Americans probably don’t know about. It’s told with
urgency and care, and is an unforgettable watch.
THE GREAT
I’m not going to say as much about my top two
picks, only because I’ve already written about them! And while I could just
copy and paste some of what I’ve already written, check out my Favorite Films of 2024 post for more in-depth thoughts! These are not just my two favorite of
the Best Picture nominees, they are my two favorite films of the year. So, read those writeups, but I’ll
still say a little bit more just in the context of this particular post.
#2 The Substance
As much as I love The
Substance, I truly never expected it to be a Best Picture
nominee. The Academy is notoriously averse to horror films, and The Substance is the only the 7th
horror film to receive a Best Picture nomination. That’s already a major feat,
but The Substance being an
Oscars contender felt particularly unlikely considering the type of horror that
it is. Previous Oscar-recognized horror films like The Silence
of the Lambs, or more recent nominees like Black Swan or Get Out skew more towards a thriller vibe
on the horror spectrum. But The Substance is
full on gross horror. It’s messy, it’s gross, and it’s by far the goriest of
the Oscars’ horror lineup. It’s a refreshing choice for an awards season, and I
think is a great example of how the Oscars’ is starting to diversify the types
of films they recognize even if they’re still very much stuck in their ways in many
aspects. A great example is how The Substance has
been received versus a film like Titane.
The winner of the Palme d’Or at Cannes has also received an Best Picture
nomination at the Oscars 4 of the past 5 years, with the only exception being the
film Titane. This is in many ways
not surprising, as Titane
is also a body horror movie that didn’t exactly give off Oscar vibes. But The Substance receiving so warm a
reception implies that a film like Titane
perhaps could have been recognized in another year.
There are other reasons why The Oscars might have
recognized The Substance
over other similar films. For one thing, it’s VERY much a movie about Hollywood
and the entertainment industry, which obviously is going to be relatable for Oscar
voters. The Oscars’ acting branch also loves a comeback story, and the awards
season campaign surrounding Demi Moore is reminiscent of the winning campaign
for Brendan Fraser just a couple of years ago. But by putting Moore front and
center of the awards campaign, it was a way to sneak the film into voters’
consciousness, and allowed people to watch the movie earnestly who otherwise
might not have. And the last reason is, frankly, that The Substance is very good. And
while quality is not enough to put a film on the Academy’s radar, it can occasionally
help to overcome the Academy’s pre-existing prejudices. The hope is that The Substance’s recognition is not
just isolated to The Substance.
The hope is that this can help change the narrative of what an awards season
film can be, and maybe encourage distributors to launch campaigns for films
that are more innovative and lie outside of what we assume an Oscars film has
to be.
#1 Nickel Boys
As time goes on, I continue to be increasingly furious about the
lack of attention Nickel Boys
has gotten all season long. I’m glad it received a Best Picture nomination, of
course, but the fact that Nickel Boys
will go into Oscars night with no chance of winning is criminal. This is an
extraordinary film, and I genuinely think will eventually be remembered as one
of the most important American films of the decade. It’s in good company with Past Lives and Women Talking as being recent Best
Picture nominees that are at the top of the pack in terms of quality, but which
failed to gain a nomination outside of Best Screenplay. It’s truly baffling to
me that Nickel Boys
was not able to gain traction this awards season outside of for its screenplay
and for the film as a whole. There is so much technical skill at play! RaMell
Ross’ direction is not only the best of the year, it’s also very distinct and
present. Since I just mentioned Past Lives,
I absolutely believe Celine Song should have gotten a Best Director nomination,
but I can understand why her work might have been too subtle to make her stand
out in that particular category. The Academy doesn’t get the same excuse for snubbing
Ross. And there are so many other categories down the ballot that deserved
attention. Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor gives a beautiful performance that deserved a
spot in the rather flimsy Supporting Actress category. Jomo Fray’s cinematography
wasn’t just beautiful, it was innovative, and pushed the envelope far more than
any of this year’s nominees. Production Design, Costume Design, Film Editing,
Sound, this is such an impeccably crafted film that deserved so, so, so much
more attention than it received.
But, of course, this is the nature of the Oscars. For
someone who obsesses about the Academy Awards each year, I’m also very critical
of them. Even when the Oscars happens to get the awards “right,” the wins have
everything to do with campaigning more than the quality of the work itself. If
I ask, “Why did Nickel Boys not
get more attention?” I ultimately know the answer. Obviously, racism and the
bias of the Academy’s voting blocks will play a part. But also, it simply wasn’t
campaigned for. The reason I love the Oscars has little to do with the Oscars
themselves. I simply love the idea of celebrating achievement in film, and the Oscars
is at its best when it feels like a celebration of work rather than a
competitive awards ceremony. I obsess about the Oscars because I think they’re
meaningless if they don’t lead to more conversations. If you feel someone was
snubbed by the Oscars, that’s a great way to start a conversation about why you
loved their work. While Nickel Boys
deserves more Oscars attention, the attention it has received will encourage
more people to see it, and it will encourage theaters to put it on more
screens. This is only a good thing. Watch Nickel Boys.
Watch great movies. And, hey, watch bad movies because there can still be
tremendous value in that! When I consider why exactly I love the Oscars, it
comes down to the fact that I simply love movies. And Nickel Boys is the exact type of
artistic expression which exemplifies the powerful effect that movies can have
on us.
