The Oscars: Picks, Pans and Prophecies

By Victoria Looseleaf

Now that Downton Abbey is finished for the season, there is something we have to look forward to this Sunday, besides HBO’s Luck: The Oscars, the mother of all awards shows. Having declared The Artist best picture immediately upon seeing it last November (click here for our rave), we’ve been on that Hazanavicius (pronounced Ha-zahn-a-vish-us), train ever since. And nothing has changed! The Artist is a feel-fabulous film that reminds us why we love movies in the first place. (We’re not even going to list the other eight best picture nominees, though we were high on Hugo, Midnight in Paris and Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life.)

We’re also gonna stick out our swan-like necks and declare that, oui – Michel H. will snag best directing honors, thus needing both arms to schlep his Hollywood gold back to France. Meanwhile, Michel’s wife, Bérénice Bejo, won’t be so charmed – she’s up for best supporting actress. No matter; she’s got him and her career has now officially been launched into the stratosphere, her funky dancing aside. As to the other director nominees, we generally like Alexander Payne (hello, Sideways), but found The Descendants dull and disjointed. On the other hand: The charm of Hugo won’t garner another little man for Scorsese, who won an Oscar for The Departed, and hope he returns to gangsta form with something a little less kid-friendly for his next outing. (We know, that was the whole point of the flick. Actually, Sacha Baron Cohen, who once thought we were, gulp, porn stars, should have been nominated for his turn as the Station Inspector.)

That brings us to Woody Allen. Since having taken a darker turn with the wonderful Match Point and Cassandra’s Dream (nobody but us saw the latter), he’s been on a roll – not counting the ill-conceived Scoop, of course – with his Midnight in Paris absolutely brilliant. This marks Allen’s 15th nomination as a writer and seventh nod as a director, but he’s not gonna show up to collect the statuette for best original screenplay, so let’s give him a hand here and now. (How J.C. Chandor got a nod for Margin Call, we’ll never know. But since we saw it minutes after finding out Steve Jobs died, we attribute some of our disinterest to that; click here to read our Jobs remembrance; here for our Son of No One/Margin Call musings.)

As for the acting categories: Our readers are well aware that we dissed Michelle Williams as Marilyn (click here for that), but loved Rooney Mara as the sado-masochistic Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Neither chick, however, will win. After all, Monroe doing Monroe was never nominated, and Mara, though young, lovely and über–talented, will have her shot in due time. Then there are the grande dames: Meryl Streep and Glenn Close (The Iron Lady and Albert Nobbs, respectively). Though we’re huge fans of both these gals, we didn’t see either film (we’re not alone there), so sue us. Seriously, we would like to see Glenn win, but fugeddaboudit for now.

This brings us to the winner, Viola Davis (below, right). We disliked The Help on many levels (perfunctory script and directing, for two things), but since Davis has been wowing everyone with her acceptance speeches and did do a fine job in a mediocre film, the Oscar goes to…her. (Disclosure: We interviewed Viola back in 2004 for the Los Angeles Times, when she appeared on stage at the Mark Taper Forum in Intimate Apparel. What a lady, what an actor; click here for our story).

The big given: Christopher Plummer (above), is a lock for best supporting actor in Beginners. We were, however, also very keen on Max von Sydow in the otherwise bad film, Extremely Mawkish & Incredibly Pretentious, er, well, you know what we mean. Cheers, then, to Plummer! Octavia Spencer (near right), nominated for best supporting actress in The Help, is the other no-brainer. We like Jessica Chastain, but, frankly, she was overexposed. (Indeed, she was in so many movies last year that her performances bled together like madras shorts in warm water, what with Wilde Salome, Coriolanus and Take Shelter giving her the Jude Law dubious distinction award. We didn’t mind her, however, in The Tree of Life; click here for our take on that; and bah to those who didn’t “get” it.)

Alas, we’re torn between best actor nominees. It’s about time that Gary Oldman was recognized for his abilities, which finally culminated in a pitch-perfect portrayal of George Smiley in the formidable Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. And it would be a coup if he carried off the upset of the evening. In a perfect world…maybe, though we doubt this will happen. (Remember Javier Bardem in last year’s Biutiful? He didn’t win, but click here for our interview with him anyway.) But we digress: Brad Pitt is always good, just not good enough in Moneyball (okay, we didn’t see it, but are longing to). We also didn’t see Demián Bichir in A Better Life, so congrats on the nom, but the statue, we feel is a tug of war between George Clooney (The Descendants) and The Artist‘s Jean Dujardin. (Above: The five best actor nominees at the Academy’s annual luncheon.)

And while we’re crazy for Clooney, The Descendants did less than nothing for us (not nothing, but less than nothing, hah!). Who cares that Clooney cried while talking to his philandering, coma-ridden wife? Who cares that he huffed and puffed in flip-flops? No big whoop. But we do care about Dujardin as a fading silent movie star who eventually finds his footing, all puns intended, in the form of tap dancing. Thus it would please us, très beaucoup, to see Dujardin take home the Oscar – as long as he shares it with Uggie, and doesn’t tap dance over the heads of the audience (shades of Roberto Benigni, when Mr. Looseleaf and I were in attendance way back in 1999).

And while we’re grateful that Anne Hathaway and James Franco will not be returning as hosts (click here for last year’s coverage), we’re not thrilled with the old-school casting of Billy Crystal, whose face, as of late, seems to have been rearranged like a Picasso portrait. (Mr. Crystal should take some cues from the queen of cosmetic surgery, Joan Rivers; we’re just sayin’.) We’re also rooting for Wim Wenders’ Pina (above) to win best doc (click here), and, finally: We’re sad that Oscar’s star scribe, Bruce Vilanch, has not been recruited for this year’s telecast, meaning we’re gonna need to stockpile the Veuve Clicquot …beginning, well, maintenant.

P.S. We also want to mention A Separation, our pick for best foreign language film – and, in a complete aside – are hoping that The Dictator rabble-rouses a bit, either before or during the proceedings, cuz afterwards we just won’t care.