Awards season is upon us, and I’m hoping soon to have seen enough of the contenders to post a preview of the “Should Win, Will Win, Did Win” Oscar extravaganza that Impudent Dandelion and I have had going on for 10-odd years.
I believe I’ve made my feelings about Juno clear elsewhere, and I reiterate my assertion that Michael Clayton is one of the best films of the year. The scene between Clooney and Wilkinson in the alleyway is Mamet-esque in its awesomeness, and if I ever get a chance to interview either one of them, I intend to ask them about it.
No Country For Old Men is another contender for best picture (for me, I mean; for Oscar, obviously). Full disclosure: I am a huge Coen Bros fan; The Big Lebowski is definitely on my desert-island movie list. So take my praise with a grain of salt.
Javier Bardem is garnering all the attention (and who can blame the media – did you see how smokin’ he looked at the SAGs? And that’s not even a particularly good picture!). He was great, but in fact I felt the Chigurh character fell apart if you looked at him too closely. I, at least, went through most of the film thinking he was an extremely dedicated-to-the-job, end-justifies-the-means contract killer, when in fact he turned out to be a psychopath. Which is far less interesting, unless you intend to delve into his psyche, which the film doesn’t.
Leaving that aside though, you’ve got Roger Deakins’s stunning cinematography, and the fact that, for a chase picture, the Coens allow you an awful lot of time here to contemplate the details. Think about the moment when Moss realizes he must be being tracked. Most films would cut directly from that realization to the discovery of the bug, or speed up the process through a series of “edgy” jump cuts. The Coens let us discover it along with Moss, and for that I love them.
(On the other hand, I think the SAG was on crack when it nominated – and then anointed! – No Country over Juno for best ensemble. As I said to Impudent Dandelion, that movie was not a chorus, it was a series of linked solos and duets, whereas Juno‘s cast was the best thing about it.)
Next up: Sweeney Todd.
I am not a Sondheim fan. I recognize the cleverness in his melodies, but I prefer my wit verbal: give me Porter or Coward any day. That’s not to say Sondheim doesn’t occasionally come up with a winner – “Shepherd’s Pie peppered with actual shepherd” – but think of West Side Story and then think about what moves you more – the music or the lyrics. I’m guessing that as great as “I’ll bring back new washing machine/What have they got there to keep clean” is, it doesn’t overcome the insipidness of “Maria, Maria, Maria, Maria, Maria, Maria….” ad infinitum.
But I digress. If I’m not a Sondheim fan, I am a Tim Burton fan, and as soon as the first stills of this flick appeared I knew I was going to see it: Johnny Depp in Victorian garb with a dash of Susan Sontag in his ‘do? You betcha. I’ve come to the conclusion that Depp can do pretty much anything. Granted, he could not perform this on Broadway, and neither could his Mrs. Lovett, Helena Bonham-Carter – they aren’t trained singers and Sally Bowles would eat them for breakfast. But Renée Zellweger couldn’t have done Chicago on Broadway without serious amplification either, and AMPAS was ready to give her a statue for that Fosselized fandango. In short, fucking give Johnny Depp the Oscar this year, Academy, or be prepared to feel my wrath. I don’t care how much scenery Daniel Day-Lewis chews in There Will Be Blood, the man who unleashed Magnolia on the world deserves no reward, even if it’s for having good taste in leading men.
Next post: Charlie Wilson’s War, The Savages, Sicko and anything else I manage to see by that time.
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