Casting Coup: Nicholas and Alexandra

NOMINATIONS

Best Picture

Best Actress - Janet Suzman

Best Cinematography - Freddie Young

Best Original Score - Richard Rodney Bennett

Best Art Direction-Set Decoration - John Box/Ernest Archer/Jack Maxsted/Gil Parrondo/Vernon Dixon (WON)

Best Costume Design - Yvonne Blake/Antonio Castillo (WON)

And so we come to this.

Nicholas and Alexandra is a handsomely-mounted, old-fashioned epic bio from the producer of Lawrence of Arabia. I admire much of it -- the production value, most of the performances, the way the screenplay tries to tell the full story of the Revolution. It's a movie I might like to revisit -- though I will say Janet Suzman is not the most exciting actress to watch, and the film tends to drag in its attempts to justify a three-hour-plus length.

You know what I love most, though? As always? The all-star cast! And here, I hoped to repeat that same magic for our final Casting Coup of 1971.

Some of the biographical elements of the real people may seem a bit muddled, as I wrote first my memory of their characters, then checked them out on Wikipedia -- and discovered that some of their roles in the film may have been a wee tweaked. So, scholars of Russian history, do not scoff too loudly. After all, this is about the cast.

Who you can see after the jump.

Eight Against Five: Best Picture, 1971

Was 1971 the greatest Best Picture lineup ever? The American Film Institute certainly must think so -- in its original presentation of the 100 Greatest Films of All Time, two of these films made it in: A Clockwork Orange and The French Connection; in the 10th Anniversary reassessment, The Last Picture Show joined them. At least one of these choices is wrong, in my opinion -- and you won't wait long to hear which of them it is!

And what of today's crop of Best Picture nominees? Will they one day be added to the list of Greatest Films of All Time? Certainly there are early arguments to be made in favor of Birdman and Boyhood, both uniquely consructed and executed. And I'm sure history will correct the perceived snub against Selma -- though, hey, being one of the eight movies named Best Picture of the Year is no slight, you know what I mean? 

Oh, Lord, eight pictures. How ever will I compare each of them to 1971's crop of five?

The American Tale 

I suppose Iraq could make a tale of a sniper, and I know there's that Seven Up series of films from Britain that document a group of people from childhood through...well, ongoing. And Lord knows every country has its take on small town living. But the slacker musing/iMac using/Obama loving of Boyhood; the blind patriotism unsettlingly ignoring the moments of doubt, along with the overseas vengeance, of American Sniper; and the village existence that is physically easy to leave but mentally and emotionally always there, trapping you, keeping you in a place where the cinema is the symbol of a dying town, as in The Last Picture Show. These concerns, and the execution thereof, are, I think, uniquely American.

The Jerk-As-Genius Appeal 

"He's unlikable but maybe he's right!" the film screams. And maybe it's true! Maybe the biggest assholes in the room...are the brightest assholes in the room! The guy who hates sandwiches and doesn't like jokes might be the one who brings down the Nazis (The Imitation Game). The teacher who physically and verbally abuses his students is the only one able to bring out the untapped potential in the truly talented (Whiplash). The cop shouting racist epithets, bedding barely legals, and randomly shaking down people he just doesn't like, is more dedicated to seeing justice done than anyone else working in the system (The French Connection). They're uncompromising, but dammit, they get results.

The Historical Romance  

Admittedly, The Theory of Everything is much more of a biopic, more micro, than Nicholas and Alexandra, which not only explores the devoted marriage of Russia's last royal family, but how that effected the rest of their Empire, until it finally crumbled. Theory of Everything is not about crumbling empires, but strengthened wills that fight back against the undefeatable...and defeat it. In one film, an entire world that has been granted to the central couple is taken away; in the other, the couple itself builds its own world. Really, what a fascinating double feature it would make -- even if it got a bit long.

The Auteurist Work 

The director's thumbprint is on every single aspect, and not just because they also contributed to the screenplay. For some, this gets in the way of the film, as the director's confident choices appear to mesh uncomfortably with their intent; for others, it all goes together beautifully, the Auteur Theory made perfect, and all the more beautiful because the director refused to compromise. For Birdman, it resulted in an Oscar; for A Clockwork Orange, it resulted in infamy and immortality; what, then, will it yield for Selma? Time will tell, but there is no doubt that each film is unflinching in its vision. Iñárritu, du Vernay, Kubrick -- no need to specify with first names, we know immediately who you're talking about.

The Non-Drama with Technical Prowess  

Not to say that it's all fun and games, necessarily, but it's certainly a respite from the often more dour work in the category -- and the craft elements are so specific, so impressive, that they alone make the case for its being here. This year, we were blessed with The Grand Budapest Hotel, which I consider the best of Oscar's nominees -- movingly-written, superbly-designed, and with a soundtrack that is delectable to the ears. In 1971, audiences were blessed with Fiddler on the Roof, another movingly-written, superbly-designed, musically-orgasmic motion picture which I consider...ah! But you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? After the jump, please....

A Fine Vintage: Best Actress, 1971

One of my favorite categories -- after Supporting Actress, of course, and right ahead of Adapted Screenplay. And I have to commend both 2014 and 1971 for the strength of their lineup. Even if not everybody made it to my personal ballot, I still find the overall list to be well above-average. Both years.

Here's to the ladies who...

...go back and forth between determination and humiliation. They're capable, haunted, and don't want to have to beg and plead to maintain their existence. 

(Marion Cotillard in Two Days, One Night / Glenda Jackson in Sunday Bloody Sunday)

...doggedly pursue a fresh start, as they sometimes face, sometimes escape their past. Too many strangers have seen them naked; they're getting their self-control, self-worth, and confidence back!

(Reese Witherspoon in Wild / Jane Fonda in Klute)

...live every moment with the threat of disease destroying their family, their household, and their legacy -- and refuse to let it defeat them.

(Julianne Moore in Still Alice / Janet Suzman in Nicholas and Alexandra)

...stick to their guns, even as the world around them gives them every reason and opportunity to abandon their cause. It's not about stubbornness; it's about love.

(Felicity Jones in The Theory of Everything / Vanessa Redgrave in Mary, Queen of Scots)

...are in control of every situation, even if the man in their life thinks otherwise.

(Rosamund Pike in Gone Girl / Julie Christie in McCabe & Mrs. Miller)

More thoughts on the 70s gals, after the jump....

Crafty Bugger: Best Art Direction-Set Decoration, 1971

In looking at this year's nominees for Best Production Design, one cannot help but be reminded of the nominees for its then-equivalent Best Art Direction-Set Decoration in 1971. Especially if, like me, you're devoting an entire month to forcing those kind of parallels. Hopefully, however, you'll see a pattern emerge...one that makes the word "forcing" seem like a disservice.

Take Interstellar, which showcases the same grounded sci-fi steeliness as The Andromeda Strain.

Or  The Imitation Game, whose attention to period authenticity does for World War II Britain was Mary, Queen of Scots' similar approach does for Elizabethan England.

Take Into the Woods, with its rather ugly, straight-faced take on fantasy, much as Bedknobs and Broomsticks grounds itself in a reality unprepared for the witchcraft on display.

Or Mr. Turner, with lived-in locations that echo the same intimate veracity as Fiddler on the Roof.

And then, of course, there's The Grand Budapest Hotel, grand and big and bold and colorful, as befits a fantastical Wes Anderson flick -- it's amusing, then, that its closest counterpart is the historically-based Nicholas and Alexandra, a film that went to great lengths/expense to capture the ostentatiousness of the Romanovs.

And we'll see just what I mean, after the jump....

Tuning In: Best Original Dramatic Score, 1971

I can't help but think of Best Original Score as a category full of types -- indeed, most Oscar categories are full of types (doubters should look to StinkyLulu for clarity). Of course, what those categories are differ from person to person, but let's see how wildly I can draw parallels between the films of today and those of 1971!

Looks Like a Winner: Best Cinematography, 1971

I probably shouldn't point out that this is almost a full week late, but hey -- it's here, right?

Now we come to a difficult point of assessment: Cinematography. Many times, we grade it in terms of what looks prettiest, but this is not necessarily the best choice -- not all movies are made to be pretty. We also sometimes judge on technical wizardry or degree of difficulty -- better, perhaps, but I don't care how much of Gravity was a single take, it was a 3D film that looked flat. In the end, one must always consider what it does for the film.

And sometimes, I just go for the prettiest.

As with any category, there are certain looks, and certain genres, that tend to crop up come nomination time. If I may...

THE EARTHY ART PIECE

The film that people would describe as "painterly", yet not necessarily bold in color. It was meant quite literally for biopic Mr. Turner this year, a reflection of the titular painter's own very mustardy canvases, but also serves well for 1971's Fiddler on the Roof, which, despite its musical genre, has a quite natural, clay-like look to it. Both have phenomenal sunsets, too.

THE MONOCHROME MASTERPIECE

In the age of color film, going black-and-white seems to almost guarantee a nod (Nebraska, for God's sake). Artfully applied this year for Poland's Ida, a tale of identity, memory, morality, and the grey areas in all; also beautiful in 1971's The Last Picture Show.

THE SINGLE-TAKE WONDER

Nothing impresses like a beautifully-lit film with at least one single-take scene, one that makes our jaws drop and exclaim, "HOW?!?" This year, Birdman is getting the praise, as the entire film is comprised of several long-take scenes; in 1971, Summer of '42 the climax is filmed uninterrupted within a single room.

THE HISTORICAL EPIC FROM OL' RELIABLE

There are masters of the craft who are respected and beloved by their peers. Today, we have Roger Deakins, once again nominated (and, once again, probably unsuccessfully) for his reliably great work on the war film Unbroken. In 1971, there was Freddie Young, celebrating the last of his five nominations (three of which he won) for the Romanov bio Nicholas and Alexandra.

THE WINTRY WONDER

There is, I think, a special talent to making a frosty frame, to capturing the genuine chill of a setting. Certainly The Grand Budapest Hotel feels like winter, even indoors; so, too, does The French Connection. Neither really looks similar, and they certainly cover action differently, but at least I'm not alone in admiring icy cinematography.

Less muddle after the jump