Johnny Simmons

By nature, I am an obsessive soul. Thus, whenever I get interested in something my appreciation of it is not often tempered and usually veers into the neurotic. Neurotic is probably an ideal way to describe my relationship with the Academy Awards. Even though the actual results were less than perfect that first time [re picture] I was hooked from the beginning. There was a time I could list [from memory] Oscar winners in the major categories from the mid-seventies onwards. I told you – neurotic. Even though I’ve gotten wiser in the missteps of the Academy I still [inadvertently sometimes] end up regarding that day in Spring as the culmination of all things cinematic. This year, however, the nominees have not even been announced and I’ve already become disillusioned, I fear.

             

The state of the race [a word more pertinent than we realise] had exasperated me before it even began. The fêting of Meryl Streep from the get-go already annoyed me. Sometimes it really doesn’t help not being a fan of Streep because she is the most ubiquitous actress [actor] at the moment. Nevertheless, despite my general my general apathy towards her I wouldn’t deny excellence if I see it. I'm always ready to recognise a good performance form her, which is why Julie & Julia disgusted me so much. Of course all these adjectives – best, excellent &etc – are completely subjective, but the only thing Julie & Julia did was confuse me as to the validity of its place in the Oscar race. I’ve never been fond of the accented Streep preferring her more subtle performances [her Clarissa Vaughn remains as one of my favourite portrayals of the last two decades]. Of course, she’s accented quite often but Julie & Julia regurgitated memories of Bridges of Madison County a film that only makes me see red. I finally realised my issue with Streep when I read this lucid article on the woman. It gets a bit snarky, but is a startlingly good read. It’s not that her Julia Child is a horrid performance. But, chameleon or not as someone who knows absolutely nothing of Julia Child her performance made me cringe at points. I couldn’t help but imagine the more unaffected Sigourney Weaver in the role. What really irked me was the residual belief that Meryl had been robbed of a third Oscar, this entitled to this win for Nora Ephron’s diverting comedy. It’s as if they had forgotten that La Streep has two Oscars – the entire debate of her comeuppance being extinguished by woman after woman was lost on me. What turned my disappointment in the Best Actress race into the deepest dredges of disgust was the addition of a certain Sandra Bullock. I’ve never bore ill will towards Ms. Bullock – her work in countless comedies from the inspired Ms. Congeniality and While You Were Sleeping to even the dubious Two Weeks Notice has always charmed me in their placid way. I saw The Blind Side late in the game, and although the term abject horror would be an over-exaggeration of my response it wasn’t far from it. I couldn’t even write a proper review the thought of the film annoyed me so much. Of course I’d prefer Streep’s flawed but superior Julia to Bullock’s uninspired Leigh Ann, but the very fact that that’s the end all of it is quite dismal.

                                                      

I’m yet to see the heavyweights for the Actors’ race. Bridges and Firth are not my favourite actors, but with the good roles I’m willing to board either train; but I can’t help feeling cynical and thinking that perhaps Bridges is not being rewarded for a [possibly] good performance in Crazy Heart but for lifetime achievement. Noble perhaps, but still annoying. When people like Ben Foster and even Sam Rockwell are ignored at ceremony after ceremony while Morgan Freeman – a man I admire without fail – can be nominated for his unimaginative Nelson Mandela only puzzles me, but is nothing compared to George Clooney’s moderately charming but lifeless Ryan in Up In the Air. But then I realise that with so many celebrating these pieces it’s not so much as unoriginality from the awards’ ceremonies than actual belief that these performances are the best of the year, which is even more disconcerting. If Freeman gets love for coasting in Invictus, why not Johnny Depp for Public Enemies?

Mo’Nique’s Precious win has many citing it as one of the imminent saving graces of the next award ceremonies and with her eclectic Mary Jones it wouldn’t be completely undeserved. But that category has become so auto-tuned that voters just seem to throwing the usual suspects together and ignoring quieter gems with potential to disturb the waters – Samantha Morton, Marion Cotillard [not only for Nine] on some days even Patricia Clarkson. I’m not saying that all of these women trump Mo’Nique, perhaps none of them do. I realise the ball’s completely in her court, and since I’m an undeterred fan of the comedian I don’t call foul. I’m worried that I’m missing something when Anna Kendrick keeps appearing on so many best-of lists, Seriously? We're touthing this performance? But, I won’t go there.  Again.

          

The race seems to have come down to Avatar and The Hurt Locker and scores have cried foul at Avatar’s Golden Globe win. Not me. I’m still undecided as to which of the two I’d give my vote to, but Cameron’s Avatar has turned into the film I’m rooting for. Not because it’s my favourite film of the year. It’s not. But despite it’s gigantic box-office it’s ironically tuned into the underdog. Someone, I can’t recall who, called it the tendency to hate the popular kid – which Avatar has turned into. I won’t deny the ostensibly potency of The Hurt Locker – it’s probably even more profound for Americans who know its themes all to well. Bigelow and Boal have crafted something wonderful, but the relegating of Avatar to some strange names “video-game movie”, “Pocahontas redux”, “stilted dialogue”, "stodgy acting" and on and on and on confuses me. Some people just don’t like it. That’s understandable, but I’ve never been a film apologist yet I can’t recall the ludicrously horrid dialogue of Cameron. I’m sure it wasn’t Oscar winningly quotable. But since when has Best Picture turned into a screenplay award? I understand the correlation between the two, but I can’t help calling foul when Avatar’s screenplay is advertised as one of the worst this year. But that’s probably one in the long list of things eluding my poor brain this Oscar season.

I’m signing off from this season. I doubt I’ll continue my four year long tradition of skipping school to hear the nominations live [embarrassing], and I’m definitely not inclined to join in predictions, though it’s always fun to read others. I’ve already committed to the LAMB’s 2010 production of Devouring the Oscars and will be writing on a Best Picture nominee. I’d love to see an off-kilter choice like Bright Star, The Messenger or Coraline. I’d prefer not to write on Invictus, Up In the Air, Inglourious Basterds or Precious. I don’t want to write a bashing post since nominations should be a happy thing. I’m sure at least a few of the nominees will be pleasing. Watching the Golden Globes though, I couldn’t ignore the number of sad [and sometimes angry faces] – Lee Daniels, Jason Reiteman, Quentin Tarantino, Jeremy Renner all looked peeved throughout. I wouldn’t have been backing many of them but I realised that each of the nominees want to win and deserved or not I wish them the best of luck. Being nominated has become less estimable and I can understand their apparent melancholies. But as far as Oscar is concerned, I've lost the drive. Let's hope next year is better...

Someone I read, I can't recall whom, recently remarked of a film It didn't need to be made. And that got me thinking. What films don't need to be adapted to bet put on screen. I think I may have found the answer with Invictus. It's a story about Nelson Mandela [Morgan Freeman]. He's the new president of South Africa, a nation divided. Through his ingenuity he hopes to reconcile the country with sports and the help of the rugby team captain played by Matt Damon.

           

Now would be the ideal time to reveal by hatred apathy towards Clint Eastwood. I'm just not a fan. That being said, I can't say that Invictus is like anything he's done before. But still, I'm essentially unmoved. It's not that biographical films shouldn't be made. But when we make a biography, something like The Aviator, or Schindler's List or Raging Bull or The Hours [and it's inexhaustive] something fresh is added. Sometimes, history is rewritten like in The Aviator, but there is that ecelctic feeling that this story must be told. As heartwarming as Invictus may try to be, I don't get that feeling from it.

The rugby that is so important to the film is never explained to the audience. What of those who don't play rugby? There isn't even a smidgen of explanation as to what's going on, and the cuts away from the actual game don't help.The first third of the film seems unsure of where it's heading, the second third seems unsure of why it's there and the last third is so predictable that you just aren't that invested anymore. I like Morgan Freeman a whole lot actually, but he does nothing for me here. It's the perfect example of an actor phoning it in, and the accent which comes and goes does not help. Actually, Matt Damon is the one who emerges as impressive here, in a stock role albeit. Where everyone is obviously acting I truly believe his performance.

              

Invictus main problem is its writing, but the direction and the action don't particularly help it's cause. I'm no fan of Clint, but this is a particularly underwhelming piece.