The longlists are here!
For those of you who don't know, every year the British Academy for Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) release a "longlist" of contenders for their awards before nominations are finalized. Each category has been boiled down to fifteen finalists, and it is from that list that members can pick their five nominees. It's actually one of my favorite parts of awards season, allowing us a clue into how the voters are thinking, and I'm sure allowing them to gather their thoughts, as well.
But that's all over. A recent rule change has eliminated the longlists from existence...leaving me to carry the flame.
As stated previously, I have watched a total of 60 films released in 1975. This breaks that down to 15 movies in 16 categories. This year, I'm ignoring the Academy rules of '75 and offering nominees for Makeup and Visual Effects, but since they were easily whittled down to five, you'll just have to wait to see.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
How'd I Do?
Ok, so I didn't hit 70....is 60 all right?
When I think of my first go-round at the Retrospectives, I am amused at what I considered "good enough": 47 films. I would never consider such a low number acceptable, but in those early days, I felt I had to accept the fact that not every film released then would be readily available now. If I had pushed more, I could have seen more.
Still, 60 really is good enough (those 13 make a difference!). Usually, I don't see more than 75 new releases a year, anyway, and when one factors in all the things that went wrong -- unavailable films, wonky Internet that interfered with Netflix, migraines, 8-day work-weeks -- 60 is not half-bad. I still got to see the masterpieces, the top-earners, and the cult classics; who cares if I missed out on Olivier's Three Sisters or The Happy Hooker or Emmanuelle? I still managed to get hold of Messiah of Evil, Teenage Hitchhikers and The Story of O!
The complete list of films is below. Tomorrow, I'll start on my famous longlists, followed by the Retro Hollmann Awards of 1975!
When I think of my first go-round at the Retrospectives, I am amused at what I considered "good enough": 47 films. I would never consider such a low number acceptable, but in those early days, I felt I had to accept the fact that not every film released then would be readily available now. If I had pushed more, I could have seen more.
Still, 60 really is good enough (those 13 make a difference!). Usually, I don't see more than 75 new releases a year, anyway, and when one factors in all the things that went wrong -- unavailable films, wonky Internet that interfered with Netflix, migraines, 8-day work-weeks -- 60 is not half-bad. I still got to see the masterpieces, the top-earners, and the cult classics; who cares if I missed out on Olivier's Three Sisters or The Happy Hooker or Emmanuelle? I still managed to get hold of Messiah of Evil, Teenage Hitchhikers and The Story of O!
The complete list of films is below. Tomorrow, I'll start on my famous longlists, followed by the Retro Hollmann Awards of 1975!
Act of Vengeance (aka Rape Squad)
Amarcord
At Long Last Love
Barry Lyndon
The Black Gestapo
Bite the Bullet
The California Reich
Coonskin
Dark Star
The Day of the Locust
Death Race 2000
The Devil's Rain
Dog Day Afternoon
The Eiger Sanction
Escape from Witch Mountain
Farewell, My Lovely
Friday Foster
Funny Lady
Galileo
Give 'Em Hell, Harry!
Hedda
The Hindenburg
Jacqueline Susann's Once is Not Enough
Jaws
The Land That Time Forgot
Lies My Father Told Me
Lisztomania
Lost in the Stars
Love and Death
The Magic Flute
Mahler
Mahogany
The Man in the Glass Booth
The Man Who Would Be King
Mandingo
Messiah of Evil
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Nashville
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
The Other Side of the Mountain
Pick-Up
Prisoner of Second Avenue
Race with the Devil
The Return of the Pink Panther
Rhinoceros
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Scent of a Woman
Shampoo
Sheba, Baby
The Story of Adele H.
The Story of O.
The Sunshine Boys
Switchblade Sisters (aka The Jezebels)
Teenage Hitchhikers
Teenage Tramp
Ten Little Indians
Three Days of the Condor
Tommy
The Wind and the Lion
The Yakuza
Friday, August 31, 2012
The Toughest Choice of All: Actress, 1975
Well, this is it. The end of my look at the 1975 Oscar nominees.
I wish it could be more complete, truly. But after trying the library, appeals on Twitter, etc., I just couldn't find a way of getting to Hester Street. I learned to accept this, though. As I mentioned earlier, I missed A Better Life last year, and I managed to survive. Truthfully, I love seeing every nominee if I can -- but if I can't, I must accept it.
The four I did get to see were phenomenal, though. I know I'm supposed to view 1974 as this category's zenith, but I prefer the zaniness of this year's line-up. Indeed, it was difficult to choose a winner...not until today did I settle on my champion.
But you'll see that eventually. For now, the nominees for Best Actress:
Isabelle Adjani in The Story of Adele H.
Only nineteen when she took the role, Adjani surprises with her subtlety and insight. She is Adele H., the daughter of Victor Hugo who pursues the man she loves all the way to Nova Scotia -- though he does not love her back. Look at the way Adjani allows Adele to practically swoon over the lies she tells, until she herself believes them. The self-righteous anger with which she writes her parents, asking for more money and announcing a fictional betrothal, is immediately recognizable in any number of young people who insist that they have found their one true love. And the unconcerned, confident way she struts about, hair akimbo, talking to herself: that's the confidence of a crazy person who has no idea why the world is conspiring against them.
Ann-Margret in Tommy
As one critic put it, "she sings and dances like the fate of western civilization depends on it." Or at least that of her son, the titular deaf, dumb and blind kid. Ann-Margret is remarkable as Nora Walker: after her Act One hysterics of "What About the Boy?", she shows a mother who still tries to get her son some sort of help -- specialists, religion, whatever -- but has more or less shut down. And when he has finally found something in his pinball wizardry, she shows us the conflict between enjoying his success and weeping the inability to communicate with him. Surely the sequence of "Smash the Mirror/I'm Free", when she can finally tell him how he's a Messianic millionaire inspiring people, is her strongest moment: as she reaches out with the love of a mother, her eyes roll with the madness of a fanatic. It is an utterly bizarre, gaga performance, but damn if she isn't selling it.
Louise Fletcher in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Displaying the same knack for understatement she displayed in Thieves Like Us, Fletcher's legendary portrayal of Nurse Ratched is more textured than the rest of the film wants to allow. Certainly, Ratched seems cold-hearted in her clinical detachment from her patients, and almost sociopathic in her humiliating goading of public confessions during "group therapy". But when dealing with a floor full of emotionally unstable people, voluntary or not, clinical detachment is probably the best course of action. Indeed, whereas other actresses could have made this a monstrous, power-mad villain, Fletcher makes it clear that while Nurse Ratched may indeed be controlling, she is a nurse who cares for her patients: witness her "NOOOO!" at the fate of one the patients in the finale. And when someone comes along to threaten what she considers to be the Right Way to Do Things, he must be stopped -- by any means necessary. Of course, I still consider this a supporting role, so I dinged her a star (as is my custom), but Fletcher's contribution is not to be understated.
Glenda Jackson in Hedda
It is said that Hedda Gabler can be played as a victim, a villain or a feminist hero. Jackson does a bizarre combination of all three that is absolutely delicious. Jackson's performance is the delirious icing on the crazy cake that is Best Actress, 1975. She presents Hedda as a woman who has made her bed, but refuses to lie in it; who entraps the man she loves and the people who love her as a bizarre revenge for crimes against her pride; who knows she's funny and brilliant, but also knows that that's worth peanuts to this group of academics and gossips. In short, Jackson plays Hedda as far too good for these people -- and this play -- and as such is someone who, in my most egocentric moments (don't we all have those), I completely identify with. Confident of her smarts, mystified by her presence among these people. Her reading of "vine-leaves wrapped in his hair" is to die for.
I wish it could be more complete, truly. But after trying the library, appeals on Twitter, etc., I just couldn't find a way of getting to Hester Street. I learned to accept this, though. As I mentioned earlier, I missed A Better Life last year, and I managed to survive. Truthfully, I love seeing every nominee if I can -- but if I can't, I must accept it.
The four I did get to see were phenomenal, though. I know I'm supposed to view 1974 as this category's zenith, but I prefer the zaniness of this year's line-up. Indeed, it was difficult to choose a winner...not until today did I settle on my champion.
But you'll see that eventually. For now, the nominees for Best Actress:
*****
Only nineteen when she took the role, Adjani surprises with her subtlety and insight. She is Adele H., the daughter of Victor Hugo who pursues the man she loves all the way to Nova Scotia -- though he does not love her back. Look at the way Adjani allows Adele to practically swoon over the lies she tells, until she herself believes them. The self-righteous anger with which she writes her parents, asking for more money and announcing a fictional betrothal, is immediately recognizable in any number of young people who insist that they have found their one true love. And the unconcerned, confident way she struts about, hair akimbo, talking to herself: that's the confidence of a crazy person who has no idea why the world is conspiring against them.
****
As one critic put it, "she sings and dances like the fate of western civilization depends on it." Or at least that of her son, the titular deaf, dumb and blind kid. Ann-Margret is remarkable as Nora Walker: after her Act One hysterics of "What About the Boy?", she shows a mother who still tries to get her son some sort of help -- specialists, religion, whatever -- but has more or less shut down. And when he has finally found something in his pinball wizardry, she shows us the conflict between enjoying his success and weeping the inability to communicate with him. Surely the sequence of "Smash the Mirror/I'm Free", when she can finally tell him how he's a Messianic millionaire inspiring people, is her strongest moment: as she reaches out with the love of a mother, her eyes roll with the madness of a fanatic. It is an utterly bizarre, gaga performance, but damn if she isn't selling it.
***
Displaying the same knack for understatement she displayed in Thieves Like Us, Fletcher's legendary portrayal of Nurse Ratched is more textured than the rest of the film wants to allow. Certainly, Ratched seems cold-hearted in her clinical detachment from her patients, and almost sociopathic in her humiliating goading of public confessions during "group therapy". But when dealing with a floor full of emotionally unstable people, voluntary or not, clinical detachment is probably the best course of action. Indeed, whereas other actresses could have made this a monstrous, power-mad villain, Fletcher makes it clear that while Nurse Ratched may indeed be controlling, she is a nurse who cares for her patients: witness her "NOOOO!" at the fate of one the patients in the finale. And when someone comes along to threaten what she considers to be the Right Way to Do Things, he must be stopped -- by any means necessary. Of course, I still consider this a supporting role, so I dinged her a star (as is my custom), but Fletcher's contribution is not to be understated.
****
It is said that Hedda Gabler can be played as a victim, a villain or a feminist hero. Jackson does a bizarre combination of all three that is absolutely delicious. Jackson's performance is the delirious icing on the crazy cake that is Best Actress, 1975. She presents Hedda as a woman who has made her bed, but refuses to lie in it; who entraps the man she loves and the people who love her as a bizarre revenge for crimes against her pride; who knows she's funny and brilliant, but also knows that that's worth peanuts to this group of academics and gossips. In short, Jackson plays Hedda as far too good for these people -- and this play -- and as such is someone who, in my most egocentric moments (don't we all have those), I completely identify with. Confident of her smarts, mystified by her presence among these people. Her reading of "vine-leaves wrapped in his hair" is to die for.
Carol Kane in Hester Street
ABSTAIN
--------------------------------------------------
As I said, I had the devil of a time choosing my champion. I even thought about a tie, but no...one must choose. So, while Fletcher won the real Oscar, my Oscar vote goes to:
ISABELLE ADJANI
for
THE STORY OF ADELE H.
quelle superb!
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
The Legends Giveth: Director, 1975
The nominees for Best Director are:
All the directors here do wonders with their ensemble, but Altman especially is spectacular in his handling of the multi-storied, plotless sprawl of Nashville. I'm not just talking about his handling of the 24 stars, but of the performances he captures from Merle Kilgore as a local bartender, the Smoky Mountain Laurels, the diner talking to Keenan Wynn at the airport cafe, the girls working on the political campaign. He never overplays the satire, nor does he alienate with the darkly comic tone. This is his masterpiece.
If Spielberg must be left out of the party, at least his replacement is a worthy one. Fellini may be at his strongest here, leaving his camera sometimes stationary (the family dinner), sometimes at a distance (from the uncle up a tree), sometimes moving about, discovering people along with his ensemble (various times). He's pitched the actors at that wonderful place between reality and hyperbole, so that even in the most exaggerated of memories we still identify with them. His handling of different tones within a single sequence -- the Fascist rally being the best example -- is seamless. It looks like a memory, and that's important.
Forman's light touch allows his scenes to feel unconfined: a major plus considering the setting. Indeed, surely we must credit him with the excellent chemistry shared by the patients of the 4th floor ward, and for integrating star Nicholson so comfortably with the rest of the group. He doesn't treat the triumphs of the fishing trip or the Christmas party with too much fanfare, maintaining the sense of transience that is McMurphy's presence. No, his moments of triumph are unusual: not watching the World Series is more inspiring than getting Ratched's approval, and the final scene...well, just listen to that celebratory whoop given by Lloyd.
Kubrick's unparalleled in his execution of tone; here, his choice of music, framing, lighting and actors all serve his darkly comic, unsettling masterpiece of social climbing and class snobbery. Everything is as meticulously arranged as the class structure -- or at the very least the drawing-room. Casting dashing blank slate Ryan O'Neal as dim, handsome Barry and the tragically beautiful Marisa Berenson as the melancholy Lady Lyndon are great coups. And while Kubrick is often accused of being a cold director, here his clinical eye is the perfect one with which to witness the bullshit.
Like Altman, Lumet's style is fast and loose, allowing for a spontaneous energy to flow throughout the proceedings -- even though everything is obviously lit and covered quite methodically. It's this energy that gets that electric current running through his ensemble of actors, ratcheting up the tension in each successive scene until that breathtaking climax. Too, more than any other director I've watched, Lumet's New York City is vibrant and real. Surely it's his New York we see in our heads when we think of the city, and here it is, captured in one of its infamous, broiling summers.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Cuckoo's Nest was sweeping the race, so Forman got his first Oscar. But you may have noticed that I've got a sweeper of my own. And so, it is with great pleasure that I award my Oscar vote to:
Robert Altman for Nashville
*****
All the directors here do wonders with their ensemble, but Altman especially is spectacular in his handling of the multi-storied, plotless sprawl of Nashville. I'm not just talking about his handling of the 24 stars, but of the performances he captures from Merle Kilgore as a local bartender, the Smoky Mountain Laurels, the diner talking to Keenan Wynn at the airport cafe, the girls working on the political campaign. He never overplays the satire, nor does he alienate with the darkly comic tone. This is his masterpiece.
Federico Fellini for Amarcord
****
If Spielberg must be left out of the party, at least his replacement is a worthy one. Fellini may be at his strongest here, leaving his camera sometimes stationary (the family dinner), sometimes at a distance (from the uncle up a tree), sometimes moving about, discovering people along with his ensemble (various times). He's pitched the actors at that wonderful place between reality and hyperbole, so that even in the most exaggerated of memories we still identify with them. His handling of different tones within a single sequence -- the Fascist rally being the best example -- is seamless. It looks like a memory, and that's important.
Milos Forman for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
***
Forman's light touch allows his scenes to feel unconfined: a major plus considering the setting. Indeed, surely we must credit him with the excellent chemistry shared by the patients of the 4th floor ward, and for integrating star Nicholson so comfortably with the rest of the group. He doesn't treat the triumphs of the fishing trip or the Christmas party with too much fanfare, maintaining the sense of transience that is McMurphy's presence. No, his moments of triumph are unusual: not watching the World Series is more inspiring than getting Ratched's approval, and the final scene...well, just listen to that celebratory whoop given by Lloyd.
Stanley Kubrick for Barry Lyndon
*****
Kubrick's unparalleled in his execution of tone; here, his choice of music, framing, lighting and actors all serve his darkly comic, unsettling masterpiece of social climbing and class snobbery. Everything is as meticulously arranged as the class structure -- or at the very least the drawing-room. Casting dashing blank slate Ryan O'Neal as dim, handsome Barry and the tragically beautiful Marisa Berenson as the melancholy Lady Lyndon are great coups. And while Kubrick is often accused of being a cold director, here his clinical eye is the perfect one with which to witness the bullshit.
Sidney Lumet for Dog Day Afternoon
****
Like Altman, Lumet's style is fast and loose, allowing for a spontaneous energy to flow throughout the proceedings -- even though everything is obviously lit and covered quite methodically. It's this energy that gets that electric current running through his ensemble of actors, ratcheting up the tension in each successive scene until that breathtaking climax. Too, more than any other director I've watched, Lumet's New York City is vibrant and real. Surely it's his New York we see in our heads when we think of the city, and here it is, captured in one of its infamous, broiling summers.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Cuckoo's Nest was sweeping the race, so Forman got his first Oscar. But you may have noticed that I've got a sweeper of my own. And so, it is with great pleasure that I award my Oscar vote to:
ROBERT ALTMAN
for
NASHVILLE
let me the one who understands you, Bob
And with Best Director gone, there's only one more category left! Check back tomorrow for Best Actress in a leading role, and next week for the start of my Retro Hollmann Awards, awarding the best my favorites of 1975.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Lush, Lovely and Loyal: Supporting Actress, 1975
The nominees for Best Supporting Actress:
With her fragile looks, gentle manner, and bright smile, it's not hard to see how this young woman became the Queen of Nashville -- and when she sings, you might as well be hearing the choir of Heaven. Blakley sells this personable creature, but also keeps us clued in on her instabilities -- the petty jealousy of a rival, the childlike dependency on everyone around her, the far-off look of a woman not totally there. It all culminates in one of the most grueling breakdown scenes in cinema, as the stage persona and sick woman come up against each other during a performance at Opryland. Devastating.
The Academy handed Grant the Oscar for this role, that of horny, unfaithful Felicia, a member of Beverly Hills society addicted to Warren Beatty's cock. She's funny enough, but being a fan of hers I couldn't help but be disappointed. There's so much more that could have been done with this role...but neither the character or the actress is given her due. I don't completely buy her character's actions, since there's little through-line from that bitter society dame to the careless nympho. Solid work, but nothing more.
Miles wittily declined interviews upon receiving this nomination with the line: "Anything I say will be longer than the performance." How true, but it is a good one. As a tired broad who's seen better days, she's got the information Marlowe needs and only needs some booze to get talking. Miles' helplessness gains our sympathy, lending the film some gravitas, and we miss her when she's absent.
She manages to maintain the life of a mother, choir leader, recording artist and housewife without ever coming loose. Of all the women, she's the only one who knows what Tom is all about, and so she can be affectionate without getting attached. Her sphinx-like face holds a multitude of secrets -- Lord knows her inattentive husband doesn't know half the things she does -- but rather than wearing her down, each new development is filed away. She's Southern housewifery at its best.
A caricature of a role brought to larger-than-life by a game actress. Vaccaro sells the insecurity behind the frank talks, as Linda Riggs bluntly talks about tits and dick and incest, but immediately breaks down the moment a man rejects her advances. Selfish, warm, kooky, and a little much, she's a hoot, and Vaccaro's having a ball. In my apartment, Linda Riggs is a hero.
-----------------------------
The Academy finally gave Lee Grant her due, though it figures they'd do it for the wrong film. The winner for me, however, is crystal clear:
Ronee Blakley in Nashville
*****
With her fragile looks, gentle manner, and bright smile, it's not hard to see how this young woman became the Queen of Nashville -- and when she sings, you might as well be hearing the choir of Heaven. Blakley sells this personable creature, but also keeps us clued in on her instabilities -- the petty jealousy of a rival, the childlike dependency on everyone around her, the far-off look of a woman not totally there. It all culminates in one of the most grueling breakdown scenes in cinema, as the stage persona and sick woman come up against each other during a performance at Opryland. Devastating.
Lee Grant in Shampoo
**
The Academy handed Grant the Oscar for this role, that of horny, unfaithful Felicia, a member of Beverly Hills society addicted to Warren Beatty's cock. She's funny enough, but being a fan of hers I couldn't help but be disappointed. There's so much more that could have been done with this role...but neither the character or the actress is given her due. I don't completely buy her character's actions, since there's little through-line from that bitter society dame to the careless nympho. Solid work, but nothing more.
Sylvia Miles in Farewell, My Lovely
***
Miles wittily declined interviews upon receiving this nomination with the line: "Anything I say will be longer than the performance." How true, but it is a good one. As a tired broad who's seen better days, she's got the information Marlowe needs and only needs some booze to get talking. Miles' helplessness gains our sympathy, lending the film some gravitas, and we miss her when she's absent.
Lily Tomlin in Nashville
****
She manages to maintain the life of a mother, choir leader, recording artist and housewife without ever coming loose. Of all the women, she's the only one who knows what Tom is all about, and so she can be affectionate without getting attached. Her sphinx-like face holds a multitude of secrets -- Lord knows her inattentive husband doesn't know half the things she does -- but rather than wearing her down, each new development is filed away. She's Southern housewifery at its best.
Brenda Vaccaro in Jacqueline Susann's Once is Not Enough
***
A caricature of a role brought to larger-than-life by a game actress. Vaccaro sells the insecurity behind the frank talks, as Linda Riggs bluntly talks about tits and dick and incest, but immediately breaks down the moment a man rejects her advances. Selfish, warm, kooky, and a little much, she's a hoot, and Vaccaro's having a ball. In my apartment, Linda Riggs is a hero.
-----------------------------
The Academy finally gave Lee Grant her due, though it figures they'd do it for the wrong film. The winner for me, however, is crystal clear:
RONEE BLAKLEY
in
NASHVILLE
i love you, i'm thinking of you, i'll never let you go
Monday, August 27, 2012
Past, Present and Poon: Original Screenplay, 1975
It's been a while since I've actually written an introduction, but I felt it necessary to shed some light on my ratings here.
Often, I feel, we champion individual screenplays based on our affection for the finished film, not for what the original author wrote. Because of this, we often miss out on very good screenplays that are poorly executed by a pedestrian director, or overpraise shallow work that a particularly skilled filmmaker polished into something enjoyable. It is understandable -- not everyone has access to screenplays (I don't), and so we can only go on what we see. If the movie's great, the screenplay must be great, and vice versa.
Well, I've done my best to concentrate on the individual screenplays as opposed to the finished product. It's difficult, and I don't claim to have been fully successful, but sometimes one can feel when a strong piece of work was mishandled, or the reverse. Take, for instance, Shampoo, a film that I will no doubt revisit for the performances, cinematography and direction, but also a film that, I feel, works in spite of its screenplay. More on that later.
Hopefully, I've done all right, and made clear why I rated these films the way I did. Hopefully, too, you'll feel free to argue with me. Anyway, the nominees for Best Original Screenplay:
With a colorful array of characters, Fellini's look at one year in a small town during Mussolini's reign is as uniquely Italian as it is universal. With the title translating to "I Remember", we are offered episodic glimpses into life at school (where the teachers are dull and pranks are pulled), home (quarreling yet well-meaning parents), and the neighborhood, along with those significant events that mark a lifetime. I'm talking holiday traditions, weddings, funerals, political rallies...and first brushes with sex. Warm, funny, with a teary-eyed mix of sadness and nostalgia, it's like hearing familiar and beloved stories from an old friend.
The phrase "churning out" has a negative connotation, usually, but man -- the 70s really churned out some perfect original screenplays, didn't they? Every line, every action offers something new, be it plot twist or character detail. Pierson provides those nuances that give Lumet his ensemble, the actors those incredible scenes, and cinema a masterpiece. Still, it's based on article, and I've always found it especially odd that screenplays based on newspaper articles are not considered adaptations, especially when it's credited like this.
Well-meaning film about a boy in a Canadian Jewish ghetto who adores his grandfather, a rag-and-bone man. The relationship with the grandfather is sweet, but the parents are sketchily written, though it could have worked in the hands of some stronger actors. It's sweet enough, and I shan't punish the screenplay for the shortcomings of the cast and director.
It's okay that I think this is slightly overrated, right? Has some great lines, and does a great job with some of its supporting players, but I find its protagonist undercooked - yeah, yeah, he's kind of dim and it's one of those characters who is who he is, but who he is, is a half-baked mechanism to satirize sex, gender relations, politics (I guess?), and changing times. I don't find it nearly as clever as it thinks it is, nor do I feel that most of the pivotal plot points come from logical transition so much as a necessity to keep the story going.
---------------------------------------------------
Dog Day Afternoon won the Oscar, and might have won my vote if not for the category confusion. Sorry, but if a sequel's an adaptation, then so is a film based on a newspaper article. So, my vote goes across the Atlantic:
Often, I feel, we champion individual screenplays based on our affection for the finished film, not for what the original author wrote. Because of this, we often miss out on very good screenplays that are poorly executed by a pedestrian director, or overpraise shallow work that a particularly skilled filmmaker polished into something enjoyable. It is understandable -- not everyone has access to screenplays (I don't), and so we can only go on what we see. If the movie's great, the screenplay must be great, and vice versa.
Well, I've done my best to concentrate on the individual screenplays as opposed to the finished product. It's difficult, and I don't claim to have been fully successful, but sometimes one can feel when a strong piece of work was mishandled, or the reverse. Take, for instance, Shampoo, a film that I will no doubt revisit for the performances, cinematography and direction, but also a film that, I feel, works in spite of its screenplay. More on that later.
Hopefully, I've done all right, and made clear why I rated these films the way I did. Hopefully, too, you'll feel free to argue with me. Anyway, the nominees for Best Original Screenplay:
Federico Fellini & Tonino Guerra for Amarcord
*****
With a colorful array of characters, Fellini's look at one year in a small town during Mussolini's reign is as uniquely Italian as it is universal. With the title translating to "I Remember", we are offered episodic glimpses into life at school (where the teachers are dull and pranks are pulled), home (quarreling yet well-meaning parents), and the neighborhood, along with those significant events that mark a lifetime. I'm talking holiday traditions, weddings, funerals, political rallies...and first brushes with sex. Warm, funny, with a teary-eyed mix of sadness and nostalgia, it's like hearing familiar and beloved stories from an old friend.
Claude Lelouch and Pierre Uytterhoeven for And Now My Love
ABSTAIN
Frank Pierson, from an article by P.F. Kluge and Thomas Moore, for Dog Day Afternoon
****
The phrase "churning out" has a negative connotation, usually, but man -- the 70s really churned out some perfect original screenplays, didn't they? Every line, every action offers something new, be it plot twist or character detail. Pierson provides those nuances that give Lumet his ensemble, the actors those incredible scenes, and cinema a masterpiece. Still, it's based on article, and I've always found it especially odd that screenplays based on newspaper articles are not considered adaptations, especially when it's credited like this.
Ted Allan for Lies My Father Told Me
***
Well-meaning film about a boy in a Canadian Jewish ghetto who adores his grandfather, a rag-and-bone man. The relationship with the grandfather is sweet, but the parents are sketchily written, though it could have worked in the hands of some stronger actors. It's sweet enough, and I shan't punish the screenplay for the shortcomings of the cast and director.
Warren Beatty & Robert Towne for Shampoo
**
It's okay that I think this is slightly overrated, right? Has some great lines, and does a great job with some of its supporting players, but I find its protagonist undercooked - yeah, yeah, he's kind of dim and it's one of those characters who is who he is, but who he is, is a half-baked mechanism to satirize sex, gender relations, politics (I guess?), and changing times. I don't find it nearly as clever as it thinks it is, nor do I feel that most of the pivotal plot points come from logical transition so much as a necessity to keep the story going.
---------------------------------------------------
Dog Day Afternoon won the Oscar, and might have won my vote if not for the category confusion. Sorry, but if a sequel's an adaptation, then so is a film based on a newspaper article. So, my vote goes across the Atlantic:
FELLINI & GUERRA
for
AMARCORD
because, while i haven't gone, i've totally been there
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Hello, Gorgeous: Cinematography, 1975
The nominees for Best Cinematography are:
Jaw-dropping. Lit predominately with natural light and candles, John Alcott captures the period not just in flawlessly imitating the artwork of the period, as per Kubrick's vision, but in also capturing how this world must have looked before the light bulb switched on.
Conrad Hall constantly invokes the guignol aspirations of this adaptation through his eerie lighting choices, often drowning the cast in pitch black, or else emphasizing the bags, wrinkles and shadows under their eyes. Spotlighting the action in certain pivotal scenes, as though it's a star on the red carpet, is a brilliant choice.
It honestly seems too bright most of the time. A marvelously-lit train scene is to be praised, but otherwise we get flat images, whether it be a stage performance or a dressing-room scene. Disappointing.
I like the difference between the brightly-lit passenger area and the darker recesses of the zeppelin's skeleton well enough. But you just know this nomination comes from the final sequence, where the film stock is suddenly grainy black-and-white to match the newsreel footage of the original blimp's destruction. It's as it should be: the sequence is marvelously captured, breathtaking, and seamless.
Solid work. His lighting emphasizes the cold sterility of the ward by day. At night, his moonlight is never too much, but just enough to cast all but the scene's focus in ignorant darkness.
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When only one Best Picture nominee is a lavishly-mounted period piece, you know it's going home with all the craft trophies. Maybe that's a bit expected and predictable, but it doesn't make the film any less worthy. Like its members, I give the Academy Award to:
John Alcott for Barry Lyndon
*****
Jaw-dropping. Lit predominately with natural light and candles, John Alcott captures the period not just in flawlessly imitating the artwork of the period, as per Kubrick's vision, but in also capturing how this world must have looked before the light bulb switched on.
Conrad Hall for The Day of the Locust
****
Conrad Hall constantly invokes the guignol aspirations of this adaptation through his eerie lighting choices, often drowning the cast in pitch black, or else emphasizing the bags, wrinkles and shadows under their eyes. Spotlighting the action in certain pivotal scenes, as though it's a star on the red carpet, is a brilliant choice.
James Wong Howe for Funny Lady
**
It honestly seems too bright most of the time. A marvelously-lit train scene is to be praised, but otherwise we get flat images, whether it be a stage performance or a dressing-room scene. Disappointing.
Robert Surtees for The Hindenburg
****
I like the difference between the brightly-lit passenger area and the darker recesses of the zeppelin's skeleton well enough. But you just know this nomination comes from the final sequence, where the film stock is suddenly grainy black-and-white to match the newsreel footage of the original blimp's destruction. It's as it should be: the sequence is marvelously captured, breathtaking, and seamless.
Haskell Wexler and Bill Butler for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
***
Solid work. His lighting emphasizes the cold sterility of the ward by day. At night, his moonlight is never too much, but just enough to cast all but the scene's focus in ignorant darkness.
------------------------------------
When only one Best Picture nominee is a lavishly-mounted period piece, you know it's going home with all the craft trophies. Maybe that's a bit expected and predictable, but it doesn't make the film any less worthy. Like its members, I give the Academy Award to:
JOHN ALCOTT
for
BARRY LYNDON
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