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.
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