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| Laura Dern in Wild: Sunshine in human form. |
The race is approaching the finish line! Oscar voters have until February 17 to cast their ballots, and many of this year’s races feel so close that winners could be determined by just a few votes. Here a few worthy nominees that we submit for the Academy’s consideration:
Best Documentary Feature: Finding Vivian Maier
Hey, Oscar voters and doc fans! If you
like 2012’s Oscar winner Searching for
Sugarman, then you are going to love
this year’s nominee Finding Vivian Maier.
This year featuring documentary race is one of the strongest of late, and Finding Vivian Maier deserves the prize
because it breathtakingly fuses form and content as all the very best
documentaries should. Directors John Maloof and Charlie Siskel perform an
extraordinary feat of storytelling and investigation by mining into a wealth of
negatives and photographs to uncover the mystery of the elusive identity of
late street photographer Vivian Maier.
Finding
Vivian Maier stands as an excellent film on both facets of documentary
filmmaking because the directors use the visual power of the medium to give
Maier’s work its due by bringing her haunting and arresting art onto the screen
in a series of still frames while using archival footage—old documents, photographs,
and more home movies—and interviews with various people who crossed Vivian’s
path during her idiosyncratic journey. The showcase of Maier’s work, on one
level, calls to mind the powerful way that 20
Feet from Stardom showcases the unsung voices of many back-up singers in
the music industry, for Maier’s work wouldn’t find a larger audience if not for
the wide reach afforded by the film. The film therefore poses a powerful
example for the democratic power of documentary form, since it shines a light on
one under-represented voice and gives her more exposure than one quick stint in
a gallery ever could. Moreover, Finding
Vivian Maier’s exploration of the psyche that keeps such a talent from the
public eye expands into a larger analysis of the artistic canon—why some
artists simply cannot break through while others flourish—as well as the individual insecurities and fears that
keep any person, artistic or not, from achieving his or her full potential. The
film is as beautifully composed as it is entertaining and enlightening—both
because of Vivian Maier’s own obvious knack for artistry and for that of Siskel
and Maloof as their own playful inquisitiveness engages the viewer in the mysteriousness
of this reclusive artist.
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| Laura Dern as Bobbi in Wild. Fox Searchlight Pictures |
Best Supporting Actress: Laura Dern in Wild
The Academy made a smart move on the
morning of the nominations and included one name that largely escaped
recognition from many voices clambering about during the award season glut:
that of Laura Dern. Thank goodness, because Dern’s performance as Bobbi in Wild is the best supporting turn of 2014. Dern is so good in Wild that even I, an avowed Streep fan who would gladly and
enthusiastically give Meryl Oscar #26 just for eating lunch, think that this
performance should be victorious on Oscar night.
Dern’s merit in both the nomination and
the award is evident in her ability to make Bobbi such an omnipresent character
in Wild even though she has fairly
little screen time. Capturing an effusive lust-for-life and an indefatigable
spirit as Bobbi, Dern creates a tangible character through the cutaways and puzzle
pieces of Wild’s memory game. This
spirit essentially lets Wild achieve
such rich, understated catharsis as Cheryl (Reese Witherspoon, who also
deserves consideration for Best Actress) says goodbye to the love of her life
as she recalls her greatest memories with her mother and finds her strength in
Bobbi’s unshakable optimism and humour.
Just look at the pivotal kitchen scene
that comes near the climax of Wild
when Cheryl recalls the death of her mother. It’s a scene that puts Cheryl’s
own recklessness and disorderliness into perspective. The scene begins with one
of the gestures that typify Bobbi’s presence in Wild: she dances to the tune of one of her musical influences that
guide Cheryl along the Pacific Coast Trail. She bops with spirit, spunk, and
energy: she is sunshine in human form. Instead of cutting away from
Bobbi as Jean-Marc Vallée frequently does in the film, though, Wild builds upon its emotionally associative
editing and holds the shot for one of Bobbi’s biggest moments. Dern turns to
Witherspoon after Cheryl dismisses her mother’s unfaltering happiness. Bobbi transforms
with a brief flicker of jarring severity before she recounts each of the hard
knocks that Cheryl thinks should strip her mother of her happiness and she
finds the beautiful outcomes that make each experience worth the trials, and Dern
voices each cross without the slightest hint of unhappiness. It’s the same
lesson of finding one’s best self that returns in Cheryl’s final monologue
about not having any regrets because her experiences transform her into the
women she is by the end of the film, and Wild
arguably would not be as bracingly life affirming as it is if it were not for
the wisdom and genuine love that Dern injects into the film.
2014 offered some of the best and most
memorable mother characters amidst a small, but rich, field of strong female
performances, and Dern’s range is evident in her one-two punch of Wild and The Fault in Our Stars by showing just how far an actress can take
the standard “mom role” and make it the life force of a film. Dern’s radiant
presence is the best embodiment of maternal love among them all. She deserves
this.
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| Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix in Inherent Vice. Warner Bros. |
Best Adapted Screenplay: Paul Thomas Anderson, Inherent Vice
I really don’t think one can understate
the difficulty and ambition in tackling an adaptation of a Thomas Pynchon
novel. The scope and ballsy brilliance makes Paul Thomas Anderson’s work on Inherent Vice the worthiest of the four
adaptations nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay to represent the art of
adaptation this year. Inherent Vice is
a difficult book to tackle simply for the sheer density of the book with its
innumerable characters and exhaustingly convoluted plot (intentionally so), each
word of which seems inextricably essential for building the rambling world of Inherent Vice. However, Anderson matches
it (and exceeds it in some cases) by running with the wacky Pynchon-esque
elusiveness of the novel and ensuring that Inherent
Vice never really fits into any clean category nor satisfies any demand for
conventional classical cinema. (Does it even have a beginning, middle, and an
end?) Writers, film lovers, and book worms appreciate the audacity of a
page-to-screen endeavor like Inherent
Vice, which shows its roots to the novel with the addition of a loony and
unreliable narrator who brings Pynchon’s wacky prose to the screen in an
enjoyable feat of misdirection.
Inherent
Vice is an entirely new experience even if one has read Pynchon’s novel
since Anderson brings a hip grammar and a madcap energy to the sprawling LA
underworld and web of paranoia. Don’t let all the characters and nonsensical chaos
of Inherent Vice fool you: this
adaptation smartly tackles the wackiness of Pynchon’s world with the flair of a
Robert Altman film hepped-up on goofballs. The film has too many characters to
count, but each one of them brings something unique and memorable to the film
as they jive in sync to the weird psychedelic-noir-comedy of Pynchon and
Anderson’s world.
Zany, manic, and utterly original, Inherent Vice finds the beat and syntax
to match its drugged-out cast of characters, and Anderson writers a perfectly
bong-hazed atmosphere to convey the surreal sense of American finding itself in
a time of uncertainty and change as Doc Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) leads the
audience along a typically Pynchon-esque mystery that’s really a McGuffin of
sorts for a larger musing on contemporary culture.
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| Benedict Cumberbatch and Charles Dance stars in The Imitation Game. Elevation Pictures/Jack English |
Best Original Score: Alexandre Desplat, The Imitation Game
Another year, another plug for Alexandre
Desplat. When will he win? Let his banner year in 2014 be the one that finally
brings him an Oscar. Desplat’s extraordinarily strong and prolific year is
evident in his pair of nominations for The
Imitation Game and The Grand Budapest Hotel. (He also scored Unbroken, Godzilla, and The Monuments Men.) Either nominee could bring a well-deserved win
for Desplat, but as much as I adore the playful friskiness of his score for the
Wes Anderson film, his work for Morten Tyldum’s The Imitation Game easily stands as the best nominated score of the
year.
The
Imitation Game boasts the signature sweep and complexity of Desplat scores
like The Painted Veil, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and
The Tree of Life. The score seems
like a straightforward classical composition on the surface, but Desplat’s
compositions are as complex and enigmatic as The Imitation Game’s chameleon-like protagonist Alan Turing
(Benedict Cumberbatch). Desplat’s score draws out the loneliness of The Imitation Game’s code-cracker with
the coldness of the piano keys, but it also has the engaging flounce of a game,
of the pure, genuine thrill that Turing gets from trying to break the codes as
the score evolves and embellishes itself with mysterious strings. Desplat’s
work propels The Imitation Game with
the pulse and atmosphere of a thriller and it gives the film a dual emotional
resonance both as a celebration for heroic deeds and as an elegy for an outsider.
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| Keira Knightley and Adam Levine in Begin Again. eOne Films. |
Best Original Song: “Lost Stars,” Begin Again
Did you ever read the Nick Hornby book Juliet, Naked?
It’s one of Hornby’s best and funniest books as it launches a messy break-up
from a simple disagreement: is music best served by a raw and stripped acoustic
version, or does a song bring the fullest range of its emotions with an
over-produced poppy orchestration? That disagreement forms the same emotional
current of Begin Again as Gretta
(Keira Knightley) and her ex Dave (Adam Levine) see the dissolution of their
love embodied in the concurrent bastardization of Gretta’s soulful love ballad
“Lost Stars.”
“Lost Stars,” which has the strongest
narrative and thematic role of any of this year’s nominated songs, works as a
musical embodiment for Gretta and Dave alike, and for the differences that
separate them as artists and lovers. The song first appears as a bare bones ditty
that Gretta sings to Dave as a personal gift. It’s an honest and intimate
phrasing of their romance. But “Lost Stars” then reappears towards the endpoint
of Begin Again once Gretta has
finally found her footing as an independent musician and artist: songs, for
Gretta, are an expression that are meant to be shared and evoke feelings;
they’re not about profits, chart rankings, awards, or YouTube hits. (She’s an
idealist, for sure.) She confronts the other side of the industry when Dave
presents her with his final version of “Lost Stars”: a full studio production
embellished with fake instruments and tuning, which stands as the complete
antithesis of Gretta’s eclectic work. She’s insulted, but Dave insists that she
come hear the song as it’s meant to be heard: live and on stage, complete with authentic
emotions as Dave shares his soul with the audience. It’s a lovely, bittersweet
apology. The contrasting versions of “Lost Stars” are beautiful evocations of Begin Again’s musing of the ways that
music defines the individual, and of how a single song can save your life.
Which version of “Lost Stars” do you
prefer?
The acoustic Gretta version:
... or the studio label Dave version:
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| Director Alejandro G. Iñárritu, Edward Norton, and Michael
Keaton on the set of Birdman. Fox Searchlight Pictures. |
Best Picture Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
and Best Director, Alejandro G. Iñárritu
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: the
adaptation nut in my loves, loves, loves the film/theatre dynamic of Birdman. It’s absolutely thrilling to
see director Alejandro G. Iñárritu harness the seemingly disparate energies of
the two art forms. Academic jargon aside, theatre has an ‘inward’ momentum that
sees all action converge towards the stage, whereas film has an ‘outward’
energy that shoots the boundaries of art and storytelling away from the seeming
inertia of the stage’s fixed plain of action. Birdman ingeniously combines the two energies by devising a backstage
drama shot in a maverick ‘long take’ à la Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope (i.e.: a bunch of long takes
spliced together to form one seemingly continuous shot) and the perceptual
momentum of the long take grants Birdman
the feeling of a live performance as it moves in, out, and around the Broadway
theatre, and soars away from the limitations of the stage to grand cinematic
moments of snazzy explosions and special effects.
The inward/outward pull of Birdman is a lot more than just one bravura gimmick, although the awesome
difficulty of executing those long takes in fluid choreography with the actors,
the camerawork by Emanuel Lubezki, and the jazzy drum score by Antonio Sanchez
alone merits the Oscar for Iñárritu. Birdman
never forgets that this seemingly bipolar collision/fusion of artistic identities
acts as an expression of the psychological chaos brewing in the mind of Riggan
Thompson (Michael Keaton). As Birdman’s
leading man struggles with his own fear of being a man defined by Hollywood
(yet he clings to any shred of his cinematic stardom), the über-cinematic Birdman is itself a dazzling act of
reinvention for Iñárritu, whose previous films have relied heavily on raw aesthetics
and fractured storytelling.
If Oscar wants to hit us with his best shot, then Birdman’s the film.