Almost nothing is as commercial as an Oscar-nominated film—except in the case of the nominees that frankly aren’t. This year’s nominees are as eclectic a marginal mix as anyone can remember: a grumpy alcoholic mumbling his way through a high plains road trip, an elderly British woman tracking the baby she gave up for adoption, a mustachioed misfit who falls in love with his computer, a brutal backstory of the Old South, a female scientist having panic attacks in space, some of our finest actors screaming and swearing their way through a family dinner, and a close-to-X-rated rococo romp through the sex and drug excesses of Wall Street securities trading.
Invoking my inner Gloria Swanson, I wonder what ever happened to the Big Pictures? Given the nominees this year, it looks as though Netflix is winning. The youth market might be too addicted to Facebook to sit still for two hours without texting, and not all seniors are eager to embrace the raunchy black humor of Martin Scorsese. Not knowing whom to aim at, most of the Big Production House films seem to have just fallen flat.
It was a year of films you either loved or hated. For every viewer who howled at the satiric bawd of Wolf, there were two others who walked out in disgust. For every viewer moved to tears by the true-life soap opera of Philomena, there were some (like me) who remained underwhelmed. Nonetheless, every filmgoer has some idea of who will actually win the Oscars, and we all know that artistic greatness is never the deciding factor.
Will this be a year in which Tom Hanks—whose past solid gold blockbuster track record endears him to the Hollywood community—wins again at the March 2 ceremony? Or are his detractors, the bitter ones who lost out to him in the past, setting up a negative PR campaign against the mega-star? Given the tender youth of last year’s Best Actress winner—the adorable Jennifer Lawrence—will this year’s Best Actress Oscar go to octogenarian Dame Judi Dench? Will dueling political stances cancel each other out? For example, Matthew McConaughey as the HIV-positive entrepreneur of Dallas Buyers Club, and Chiwetel Ejiofor as the educated freeman forced to suffer through 12 Years a Slave? If they trump each other, then perhaps sloe-eyed Leonardo Di Caprio could walk away with a well-deserved statuette. Will the skillfully timed accusations of abuse against Woody Allen ruin chances for Blue Jasmine‘s many nominees? Given the fact that Allen is so New York and never shows up at the Awards ceremonies, and given the fact that Mia Farrow comes from Hollywood royalty, who knows? Hollywood memories, like Hollywood rivalries, are passed down from generation to generation.
Given the way things are going in the current White House, this might be a year in which politics does not play the obvious part it has in the past. Awards might not be given on the basis of how good the Academy will feel by its largesse, but on the basis of less utopian concerns. Such as box office (Gravity, American Hustle). Or lifetime contributions (Judi Dench). Or dues paid (Matthew McConaughey, Cate Blanchett).
Venturing out on a few limbs: I predict Emmanuel Lubezki (Gravity) will receive the Oscar for Best Cinematography, and Michael O’Connor (The Invisible Woman) will get the Best Costume Design award. Unless there’s an American Hustle sweep, and then it will be Michael Wilkinson. See what I mean?
