Yesterday, I began my very far-fetched (and in some cases, frankly impossible) wishlist for Tuesday’s Oscar nominations with my favorite achievements in the technical categories. Today, I offer up my picks in the top races, and I don’t mind telling you things got pretty agonizing in some categories.
“Why can’t I have 15 nominees for Best Supporting Actress?” one half of my brain asked earlier this morning, as I once more marvelled that any pundits could once have deemed that particular race “weak.” Cooler instincts prevailed, but it bears repeating just what a staggering, and pleasingly varied, year it’s been for female performances on both sides of the category divide. I was also surprised to see how many performances stood tall from films that weren’t necessarily on their stars’ level — I like to think there aren’t too many coattail picks here.
I’ve veered from Academy format in one respect: I’ve dispensed with a Best Foreign Language Film category. Not only do I dislike the award in principle — it’s a different language, not a different medium — but my general picks are heavy enough on foreign fare that a ghetto category seemed superfluous. Check out my picks after the cut, and share your thoughts in the comments.
For the past two years running, I’ve celebrated Oscar Nomination Eve by assembling my own ideal (and, usually, incredibly far-fetched) ballot, so here we go again. As well as a kind of last-ditch prayer to the Oscar gods, I also look on it as a salute to the worthy contenders who haven’t a hope in hell of hearing their names read out on Tuesday morning.
The New York Times has an annual tradition of getting its three top critics — Manohla Dargis, A.O. Scott and Stephen Holden — to craft ideal Oscar ballots, and
Now is the time when everyone begins assessing the race at its beginnings, and the gist I’m getting is that no one really knows what to write about. Stabs at analysis end up being responses to other takes or rehashed arguments, and nothing really insightful is being brought to the table.
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Okay, so I was mainly
Guy will comment further on these winners later, but for now, just the facts:
And so it comes to this. Ten days of blazing sunshine, free-flowing Prosecco, occasionally “Brazil”-style administration and – oh, right – a few films too, will come to a head tonight as Ang Lee and his merry band of jurors will name the supposed best of the fest.
Whether due to general festival raggedness or some iffy shrimp, I’ve been decidedly under the weather today, and a day spent in a darkened movie theater was not the obvious solution. So I’m writing to you from a quiet cafe on a canalside terrace near the Biennale site, where a combination of sunshine and pistachio pastries are doing the healing.
Something struck me while watching Todd Solondz’s “Life During Wartime” earlier this morning. Actor Michael K. Williams is having a coming out moment this year with powerful supporting performances both here and in John Hillcoat’s “The Road.”
In less than a week I will kiss my wife and kids goodbye and head into Toronto, about 50 miles away, for this year’s Toronto International Film Festival. Twelve years ago my wife and I found it makes no sense for me to attend the festival for 16 to 18 hours and then try to drive home; beyond the danger of driving exhausted, arriving home at three in the morning tends to wake them up because our stupid, stupid dog begins barking the moment anyone pulls into the driveway. So for 10 days I live in the Delta Chelsea Hotel on Gerrard Street.
I had every intention last night of bringing you a report on a couple more films, but packed-out screenings and overlapping screening schedules put paid to that idea.
Sorry to duck out there for the whole morning — a combination of wireless misbehavior and delayed screenings has played havoc with my planned writing time. As a festival, Venice has multiple charms, but smooth organization is not among them.
Tomorrow morning I’m on a plane at 10:30 to the mountains of Colorado and the 36th annual Telluride Film Festival.
Greetings from the cavernous, marble-clad press room of the Venice Film Festival. After a more-frenzied-than-average day’s travelling (thanks to a domino set of transport delays resulting in the kind of mad airport dash usually reserved for rom-com heroes only), I have arrived in Venice in more or less one piece — and if ever a city was designed to melt away the stresses of a rough transit, it’s this one.
At the crack of dawn, I board a flight to Italy — so this time tomorrow, if all goes well, I’ll be writing to you from the water-riven city of Venice after having attended a festival screening of John Hillcoat’s “The Road.” It’s both my first visit to the city and my first taste of one of the major film festivals, so it should be an exciting few days all round.