My Nickel’s Worth

Okay, now that that’s over with (Valentine’s Day), we can get on to what the rest of February is all about, for me anyway. The Oscars. Next Sunday marks the 87th annual Academy Awards, and as you may have noticed, I’ve increased my value over last year’s two cent’s worth post.

That’s both because I’ve seen more of the movies and performances nominated (all the Best Picture nominees except for Selma, and many films that contain nominations in other categories) and because I value my own opinion on the subject more (thanks, Mom). As for Selma, I opted not to see it. What can I say? I’m kind of a baby. I never saw 12 Years a Slave either. I can tolerate fictional violence if it has a point, but have a harder time with true portrayals, particularly of shameful periods in history. So, without further ado — my nickel’s worth.

My favorite movie of the nominees and personal pick for Best Picture is Whiplash. I’m not saying it’ll win, but I absolutely loved it. Perhaps it resonated with me so much because it appealed to my artistic side. This inspiring film carries the message that what is necessary to become one of the greats in any creative endeavor (in this case Andrew Neyman, played brilliantly by Miles Teller, aspires to be a legendary jazz musician) is a drive that eclipses all else and leaves the rest of the world questioning your sanity. I’ve had this very conversation with writer friends and personally determined that I probably don’t have what it takes to make it big. Not for lack of talent, though unbeknownst to me that may be an issue too, but because I desire to have a long, sane and balanced life!

J.K. Simmons, formally known as “that guy,” plays whip-cracking professor/conductor Terence Fletcher, who takes the concept of tough love to new heights and rattles off offensive insults with rapid, drill instructor precision. Simmons has my vote for Best Actor in a Supporting Role, though I liked Mark Ruffalo in Foxcatcher (is Channing Tatum too much of a hunk to even be considered?) and Edward Norton’s performance is one of the few things I actually liked about Birdman.

I had planned a whole separate review of Birdman called “Snobby Bird,” but as usual, time got away from me. I know, I know. A lot of people liked it. I thought it was a pretentious, artsy, load of poo. Okay, maybe calling it poo is a bit much. After all, it’ll probably win. But I’d even prefer to sit through American Sniper again! (Read my earlier review of it here.) Well, wait. I’m not sure that’s true. As a writer and wannabe film critic, I’d probably read up on Birdman and suffer through it again just to try to figure out what all the fuss is about. Am I missing something here?

What bothered me about it is that it took me back to my college days as an English major or even further back to high school drama geek days when I was surrounded by hoardes of goth-styled, eyebrow-pierced young adults all trying to prove how unique and smart they were. At first, it’s intimidating. Like being stuck wearing penny loafers in some dark, artsy dive bar on open mic night listening to spoken word poetry. But then you really listen. And realize no one’s saying anything that profound or that you yourself can’t say anyway.

So, this is how Birdman struck me. Like a rebellious teenager desperately trying to prove how clever he is, director Alejandro Inarritu dazzled us with stylistic camera shots, an annoying, almost continuous drum soundtrack and heady, superfluous dialogue that had most of the audience nodding in approval while I bet they secretly scratched their heads, particularly at Keaton’s surreal alter-ego’s antics, and wondered but what’s it all mean? I understand the dig it took at today’s audience for needing superhero fueled action and explosions versus thoughtful Raymond Carver adaptations, but I still left feeling like I needed the CliffsNotes. Or Award Nominees for Dummies. Or maybe that’s all me and I just didn’t get it. I ‘d like to think I’m fairly smart, but I guess it’s possible. That’s probably why I prefer straightforward, simple writers like Hemingway.

For other nominations, I like Benedict Cumberbatch in The Imitation Game or Eddie Redmayne in The Theory of Everything for Best Actor. (In Redmayne’s case, he deserves to win for the sheer physicality it took to transform into Stephen Hawking alone.) Speaking of amazing transformations, Meryl Streep would be my pick for her bajillionth award, this time for Best Supporting Actress in Into the Woods, if it wasn’t for Patricia Arquette in Boyhood. Into the Woods, by the way, is my favorite film not nominated for Best Picture. It’ll be a shame if it doesn’t at least take home an Oscar for Costume Design. I pick Julianne Moore in Still Alice for Best Actress. No, I haven’t actually seen the movie yet so I guess I can’t say, but I just bet she’s fantastic. I won’t be unhappy if Rosamund Pike wins either. She was truly twisted in Gone Girl, while Reese Witherspoon and Felicity Jones played parts that really didn’t do much for me.

So, there you have it — my nickel’s worth. I guess you know what I’ll be watching next Sunday. It’s the only thing that could tear me away from Downton Abbey. Well, that or a movie.

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My Two Cents

I realize the fact that I write and happen to love movies doesn’t make me a film critic, but if you can’t wax poetic and force your opinion on the world on your own blog, than where can you? Besides, the Oscars are on tonight and I have some thoughts on the nominees.

One of my favorite movies of the nominees this year is Nebraska. I thought it was smart, funny, touching and well-acted. I doubt that it, or Bruce Dern, will get any well-deserved recognition aside from the nomination, but I’ve cast my vote. It’s probably too simple of a film to take Best Picture or Actor anyway, but that’s what I loved about it. It was like good writing, full of rich observations of character and human nature while leaving a little something to the imagination. It was quiet where that other family drama was loud. I mean screaming, crying, in-your-face, over-the-top loud. Of course, I’m talking about August: Osage County, a movie that really let it all hang out. Every twisted, horrid detail was shouted out on screen until you felt as drained and limp as dirty laundry left flapping in the breeze. Or like you’d just been hit by a bus. And not the happy, hippy Partridge family bus either.

Another of my favorites, and one that stands a better chance of winning, is Dallas Buyers Club. I’ve never been more impressed with Matthew McConaughey, who even managed to be memorable in a bit part in The Wolf of Wall Street. And Jared Leto has my vote for Best Supporting Actor for his gender bender role as Rayon, particularly over Barkhad Abdi in Captain Phillips. Not that I have anything against the Somalian actor, he was truly frightening as a Somalian pirate, but c’mon, how much of an actual stretch was it? Jared Leto played a transvestite. I had to look him up, wondering what I’d seen him in. Turns out, I’ve seen him in everything! (Fight Club, Requiem for a Dream, Alexander.) And each time he’s been virtually unrecognizable, from one role to the next or from himself. Besides, acting is his life’s dream. I gotta support that. If Barkhad Abdi won, it’d be similar to how I feel when one of the real housewives writes a best selling novel. (Like whining, “That’s not faaa-irrr!”) 

I confess to not seeing two movies, mostly by choice. 12 Years a Slave, because I prefer to be emotionally disturbed in the privacy of my own home, and Her, because the idea of Joaquin Phoenix falling in love with his phone creeped me out. Joaquin is creepy enough as it is.

The movie I’m afraid will take the majority of awards is Gravity. Don’t get me wrong, Sandra Bullock was great, as were the visual effects. But, in the end, I couldn’t have cared less whether George and Sandra made it safely back down to earth or spun away in space forever. I’ve read there were more than a few gaffs in both the laws of physics and credibility and heard Clooney’s character likened to that of Toy Story’s Buzz Lightyear, which cracks me up and seems accurate enough.

While I may have been impartial to the astronaut’s fate in Gravity, in All Is Lost, I wanted to shove Robert Redford off the boat and drown him myself. As someone who continually mutters and curses to herself (just ask my mom), I couldn’t get past the lack of dialogue. If it weren’t for the lone dropping of the F-bomb, I’d have wondered if Redford’s character were human at all. Thank goodness all it’s up for is a Sound Editing award, and even that I have to give to Gravity. There was something very cool going on with sound, from the deafening silence of space to the crash of flying debris. I’m not savvy enough to know what it was, just that it was good.

So there you have it. My two cents, for what it’s worth. Feel free to agree, or disagree as the case may be. It will be published in the comments for all the world to see. Today we’re all film critics. And that’s gotta be worth at least a penny.

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