1992, Day Nine: Supporting Actress

If you've talked to anyone who was following the 1992 Oscar race, you will hear an oft-told urban legend about how Supporting Actress shook out. 

Basically, going into the Oscars, this was a three-woman race between Judy Davis (the ninth of sixteen actors nominated for a woody Allen film), Joan Plowright (never nominated veteran and widow of Laurence Olivier) and Miranda Richardson (the critics' darling). Looking back at Inside Oscar's account and contemporaneous sources, Richardson was the favorite, not just for delivering a killer monologue à la Network's Beatrice Straight, but for also having central roles in sleeper hits Enchanted April and The Crying Game. Smart money was on Davis or Richardson; I know one person who put money on Plowright; and of the two "surprise" nominees, Vanessa Redgrave would be the obvious spoiler pick.

No one saw it coming:

You can hear the screams! It's one of Oscar night's biggest shockers, and immediately gave rise to a number of theories. 

The most prevalent one purports that Jack Palance, that doddering old fool, read the wrong name. The Academy, not wanting to start the night by embarrassing an elder statesman of Hollywood, let it slide. That's not how the Oscars work, and if you think it does, then you somehow missed the time Moonlight won Best Picture while the La La Land producers were giving their acceptance speeches - there are measures put in place to prevent it, starting with the damn envelope. But you don't even need to get into the 2016 Oscars to see why the Palance theory doesn't work: just watch the clip! Having told the TelePrompTer to take a hike, less he be distracted, he takes his time reading the card, making sure he gets it right. People have also said he was going off of the memory of the last time he read aloud, but you're telling me Jack Palance isn't aware of Joan Plowright or Vanessa Redgrave?

Even those who accepted that it was the right name had a horrid little theory: it must be because Tomei was the only American nominated - Palance himself points this out before he reads the name - and in a xenophobic fit of solidarity, conferred the honor on her rather than these upstart Brits (well, and Aussie Davis). It's a bizarre theory that flies in the face of both the Academy's international membership ranks and its willingness to award the British. Hedda Hopper used to write op-eds about it. Redgrave herself was a previous winner! That very evening, Emma Thompson won Best Actress. That dog don't hunt.

Finally, there comes the "crotch vote" theory, which is very simple: the mostly male membership voted for Tomei because she was the most fuckable. She's the youngest nominee, undeniably beautiful, and while her character, Mona Lisa Vito, may have a smart mouth, she stands by her man...who just happen to be twice her age. She's not the cold ball-buster Davis plays, nor the cheated-upon housewife portrayed by Richardson, and she's certainly not Plowright or Redgrave.

The theories are not nice, and speak more to the gatekeeping of how we define "An Oscar Movie" than anything else, a gatekeeping that has made certain Oscar ceremonies seem more medicinal than celebratory. Still...if one actually takes the time to sit and watch the performances, did she deserve the win? 

Casting Coup Tuesdays: The Mousetrap

It's Casting Coup Tuesday, where we dream-cast an imaginary adaptation of a beloved work. All month long, we're celebrating the work of Agatha Christie in anticipation of the November 10th release of Murder on the Orient Express. We've imagined adaptations of a Poirot, a Miss Marple, a Tommy and Tuppence, Witness for the Prosecution - and now, a real dream, that will probably never, ever happen....

Strangers find themselves snowbound with a murderer at a remote guesthouse run by inexperienced newlyweds. That's the gist of it, though of course, Christie employs a nursery rhyme motif, chilling on-stage kills, and enough twists to make another autobahn.

The Mousetrap is the longest continuously running play in the history of the theatre. Premiering in London's West End on November 25, 1952, its initial run is still going, and as of this year, has exceeded 26,000 performances. The cast changes annually, the set has had some alterations, they even moved venues, but the show goes on...and on...and on...

Christie herself thought the play wouldn't last a year, and gave all royalties to her grandson Mathew Prichard as a birthday present when he was nine years old (in regards to that arrangement, Christie later quipped that Mathew was "always lucky that way"). That longevity has led to some fascinating arrangements. For instance, while the play began first as a radio drama for Queen Mary's 80th birthday, then later adapted into a short story called "Three Blind Mice", neither of these incarnations have seen the light of day since the stage version's premiere. Indeed, Christie even asked that "Three Blind Mice" not be published in the United Kingdom during The Mousetrap's first run; luckily, the United States has no such condition. To maintain its West End production's profitability, only one other production a year may run in the United Kingdom. It's never played on Broadway.

And as for film? Don't hold your breath, honey. John Woolf - who would later win the Best Picture Oscar for Oliver! and brought classics like The Day of the Jackal and Room at the Top to the screen - bought the film rights back in 1956, under the condition that production would not begin until six months after the final performance. You don't need me to tell you the rest...

BUT!

If the play did close, and they were to make a film within the next six months, who would be best to play a part in the ensemble? I'm glad you asked - or rather, I'm glad I asked myself. Do feel free to comment with your own picks...after the jump.