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Volume CXXXII, Number 15 |
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Oscar spans from the grouchy to the great
MONICA GUZMAN
COLUMNIST
Fashion sense isn't exactly at its peak at 5:30 in the morning. So the world had no choice but to witness Hollywood's most anticipated announcement, the Academy Award nominations, decreed by Marisa Tomei in a dress that looked somewhat fecal.
Regardless of this ickiness, the race is most certainly on. Somewhere in the gated palaces outside Hollywood, some lucky movie stars are feeling very good about themselves, lying back in their favorite celebrity spa, sipping their weight-loss formulas, and planning out an outfit for the Jay Leno interview. In the corner offices of the film studios, lucky executives and producers are grinning ear to ear, placing ads in trade magazines and campaigning like mad for their million-dollar babies.
Perhaps no studio is beaming with more hard-headed confidence than good old Miramax, by far the most notorious when it comes to relentless campaigning. It's got not one, not two, but three of its releases in the Best Picture category: The Hours, Best Picture at the Golden Globes; Chicago, Hollywood's jazzy darling and this year's "13 nomination" headliner, and the unfortunate Gangs of New York, a film too many people spent too much time and money on.
Despite that little glitch, Miramax can rest assured that one of the other two will surely take the prize. The remaining nominated films should have been Adaptation, Far From Heaven, and maybe even About Schmidt. But apparently, these were too quiet, too humble, and too inexpensive to bother recognizing. The other spots were rounded out by far bigger, more piercing films.
Although The Pianist was good, it wasn't that good; the Academy may be growing weary of depressing World War II movies, and Hollywood hates director Roman Polanski. As for the fifth nominee, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, victory would be far sweeter next year after the third and final installment, when the acceptance speech is sure to gain higher ratings.
Another ratings booster? Record breakers. If Jack Nicholson is awarded the Best Actor Oscar this year, he will be tied with Katherine Hepburn for the most Oscar wins. He got the Golden Globe, and his performance as Warren Schmidt in About Schmidt went far beyond even his own previous work, so his chances are certainly good.
But it won't be so easy. Daniel Day-Lewis, not to be blamed for the overall blandness of Gangs of New York, put on a phenomenal show as Bill the Butcher-even making up his own accent-and a convincing one at that. And then there's Nicolas Cage, who clearly deserves something just for agreeing to look so ugly as Charlie Kaufman in Adaptation (what kind of balding pattern was that?), and much more for contributing so wonderfully to the film's authentic weirdness, so to speak. This one is far too close to call.
The Best Actress category is no easier. America's two perennial female nominees, who have quite a knack for picking the right role at the right time, are back again. Nicole Kidman, clearly the leader after her Golden Globe win for The Hours, was nominated twice last year. Julianne Moore, another favorite (if we excuse Evolution, a perfectly well-meaning dumb comedy she destroyed) could easily overthrow the new-nosed Australian with her painful portrayal of a 1950s housewife in Far From Heaven.
Renée Zellweger, the vicious Roxie Hart in Chicago, may pull this off just on the charm and popularity of the film. But talent-wise, she's far outmatched, even by newcomers like Diane Lane, who's already won some lower-status awards for her deep and sensual performance in Adrian Lyne's very R-rated Unfaithful. She's got the talent and the critic's approval, but gosh-darn-it, she doesn't have Miramax.
All four of these women do have an advantage over the fifth nominee Salma Hayek: they're white, and they appear in Americanized films. Hayek's performance as the Mexican painter Frida Kahlo in Julie Taymor's Frida showed extraordinary talent and commitment.
A nomination was obvious. But a win (gasp!) may be too revolutionary for Hollywood's current, rather biased politics. Still, this category is full of equally-deserving women, and could prove to be quite a catfight.
The Supporting Actress category seems a bit less vicious; the award will most likely go to Meryl Streep (doesn't it always?) for Adaptation. Julianne Moore's got a chance with The Hours, although this is only hearsay; that @*%$&*# movie hasn't played anywhere even remotely near here (not even in Portland!). Kathy Bates could only win for About Schmidt if the 5,800 members of the Academy think her comfort with nudity adequately made up for her miniscule role.
Catherine Zeta-Jones danced and sang. She didn't act. And as for Queen Latifah, well, at least Richard Gere wasn't nominated for anything, so I guess I should be thankful for that.
But Chicago still just had to have someone else nominated, so they got John C. Reilly, Roxie's husband, in the Best Supporting Actor category,for reasons that escape any serious judge of talent. Lord save us if he wins. Much more worthy is Chris Cooper of Adaptation, who looked so genuine with a mullet and no front teeth that his character ended up stealing the show. He has no serious contenders; Ed Harris (again hearsay) had a teeny role in The Hours, Paul Newman is getting to the age where the Academy will nominate him just as a pat on the back, and Christopher Walken didn't do anything new in Catch Me If You Can.
One category that usually slips by finally has a reason to be noticed: Best Documentary. You know how you usually feel dumb as you read the nominees and realize you've never heard of any of them? Well, this year Bowling for Columbine has changed all that. Michael Moore's word-of-mouth hit has not only been seen by millions nationwide, it's also been praised-and loved. This isn't a movie only for intellectuals or academics. It should have been nominated for Best Picture of the Year. But I suppose I'll be happy if it kicks the other nominees' celluloid butts and finally brings the documentary genre to a new, more popular level.
Another category entering a new level is Best Song. Never before has a song from a movie been so popular as "Lose Yourself" by Eminem. No one even knows the other songs anyway. "Burn It Blue" from Frida? "I Move On" from Chicago? "Father and Daughter" from (gulp) The Wild Thornberrys Movie? Come on. I think the choice is clear, and the door will just have to open to rap.
And that's not the only door being opened. We may just get a foreign film winning Best Original Screenplay. Clearly, Y Tu Mamá También was the best screenplay of the year, but maybe I just know that because I am fluent in Spanish. The language barrier will most likely keep the monolingual members of the Academy from going down this road, but it would certainly be interesting. I guess as long as My Big Fat Greek Wedding, the film that makes everyone feel smarter because it's "independent," doesn't win, I'll be happy.
The Oscars are certainly not an objective measure of artistic merit, although they claim to be. Politics, popularity, box office status, and plain old business usually affects a few of the decisions.
After all, the Academy isn't made up of snobby art critics; its members are mostly actors, producers, and studio gurus, and not always good ones at that.
But whatever happens the evening of March 23, there are a few things viewers can be sure of. At least one actress will cry. At least one losing actor will be unable to hide his disappointment from the camera pointed mercilessly at his face. Someone will go up to the podium drunk.
And we can rest assured that the stars' fashion tastes will most definitely exceed Marisa's Tuesday morning getup.
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