The Show Must Go On, the lucky 13th ye olde Oscars preview

“Most important, don’t get caught up thinking about winning or losing this game. If you put your effort and concentration into playing to your potential, I don’t care what the scoreboard says at the end of the game, in my book we’re we’re gonna be winners!”

-Gene Hackman, as Coach Norman Dale in Hoosiers

I mean I love the Oscars, but do they really matter if David Lynch never won one?

Fire walks with us now, like a shadow ready to spring at us with the gentlest push from beyond. It becomes something to compartmentalize, tuck away lest we think it approaches again. And then I watch a Lynch movie, Lost Highway say, and there is the beautiful orange glow, softly sweltering up into the night sky, and I dwell on the whole thing again. It’s been a while since I’ve sat with the late auteur’s work, but his passing forced me to revisit him and uncover gems of his that I had never seen (like Erasherhead at an epic showing at the Egyptian recently). Sure, Twin Peaks was burned into my young mind, hitting me when I just got out of college and was about to descend into the dungeons of the workforce (I can still recall watching it on the TV in my musty basement apartment room, with the massive dog that never stopped barking above me), and it felt like the world outside- strange, unknown yet familiar, quirky and full of pie and coffee, yet also laced with the shadow of recent and impending murder. And now those days are buried in my subconscious, rising forth in dreams and occasional visions of madness, not too far from the worlds Lynch shared with us. And now, I mentioned to my friend who I sometimes talk with about Twin Peaks, he’s like a writer whose books find their ways to you in the most unusual and seemingly fateful of ways, a flower of death rising from the ashes of our nonsensical world.

Ladies and gentlemen and peoples of this great earth, the 97th Academy Awards!

I’ve been peppering in a few Lynch films amongst the nominees in my annual watchathon of Oscar hopefuls and it has reminded me, as ever, of how good the snubs and films that come away empty handed from the awards can be (Killers of the Flower Moon from last year anyone?). One of those I’d urge readers to check out is Legacy: The De-Colonized History of South Africa, directed by Tara Moore, a powerful documentary that offers a sweeping history of Apartheid, features interviews from those who have experienced that terrible reality, and is one of those rare films that hits you both in the gut and the head. It was longlisted for the Best Documentary Oscar and won the award at the Pan African Film Festival. Evil Does Not Exist and Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga are a few others that didn’t make the Best Picture cut this year and I’m not sure why, as they were both as thrilling, thoughtful, and well constructed as anything I’ve seen in recent memory. While we’re at it, the continued snub of animated films in the Best Picture category is a head scratcher (I also would have given some love in the Best Animated category to Moana 2, which featured some of the most stunning animation I have ever seen), although at least horror is getting a little love with The Substance (even though I think Robert Eggers’ modern classic Nosferatu should have gotten in there as well).

Come on man, what about the films chasing greatness?

Alright alright, I forgot it was a subjective business for a second. As for the ones that may or may not be feted on Sunday night, I’m pulling for Anora, independent cinema’s man of the moment Sean Baker’s gem of a dark fairy tale, led by a titanic Mikey Madison performance (the question of whether to award her star-is-born turn or finally fete Demi Moore for her gut-projectiling, erm wrenching, modern day update on Sunset Boulevard turn in The Substance is an impossible one in this man’s eyes) that delicately threads a deft comedic touch through its rags to riches to rags examination of an underbelly of society often relegated to the dismissed shadows (I also have a not fully fleshed out idea that Anora is a sneaky unofficial Christmas movie). With wins at the Spirit, Critics Choice, P.G.A., and D.G.A. awards, Anora seems like a solid bet for the ultimate prize come Oscar Sunday, but meheard the Academy’s would-be cardinals are still deliberating on whether Edward Berger’s Conclave, which won at the BAFTAs and SAG, will take the golden cake. I can see the case, with the film’s depiction of how we wrangle with the past to take direction of the future and in so doing make compromises that reveal more of who we are, not to mention some fine acting from messrs Ralph Fiennes and Isabella Rosselini (also nominated for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actress and who I also saw recently in a Wild at Heart viewing at ye olde Egyptian for an American Cinematheque retrospective for Lynch), not to mention Carlos Diehz as Cardinal Vincent Benitez (and if it won Best Pic it would be the rare one to do so without getting a Best Director nod, maybe Ben Affleck will give a knowing grin if this happens again).

At one point, the leader in the clubhouse seemed to be Emilia Perez, but no more! Even before Karla Sofia Gascon’s tweets surfaced that may prove the death knell of the Emilia Perez campaign, the film had its fair share of detractors, some of whom took the gracious and open-minded stance of telling people not to even bother having their own opinion and seeing the movie in the first place (a few samples (they’re not hard to find): “It’s one I would recommend skipping entirely.” -Forbes; “although honestly if you’ve made it this far and are still planning on watching this film, I should probably quit my job” -Slate). Yes these types of critics probably should quit their jobs, but not because they weren’t dictatorial enough in steering you away from something that was audacious enough to take a risk but not ably enough, apparently. When did it become less important to see things you don’t agree with and more to avoid anything that might offend? Like it or dislike it (and I for one enjoyed it), Emilia Perez does what art should do, which is take big swings and maybe end up being a little messy, but letting you feel something. Heaven forbid! Maybe people are happy that this movie was effectively silenced and left to the digital dustbin. I can already hear the Netflix algorithm reformulating and saving us from such painful experiences of movies THAT YOU CAN TURN OFF IF YOU WANT TO. Good Lord. Go Zoe Saldana.

How dare you defend a movie I, and more importantly, other people, whose authoritative opinions are more important than my own, hate?

I’m not cut out for prolonged internet arguments. I feel dumb and evil. Oh well. On with the show!

A few more scattered thoughts, because the show is almost here and I’m tired and what would a good Oscars preview column be without them:

• Part of me wanted A Complete Unknown to be more along the lines of the brilliantly out there, fractured character study of I’m Not There (no I’m Still Here is not a sequel, see it if you’re a Dylan fan!) or have more of an auteurist vision for depicting the vortex of the great musician’s vision (paging George Miller to turn Highway 61 Revisited into a Mad Max sequel). James Mangold’s film is somewhat barebones in its presentation of the music, you see the young Dylan, portrayed by Timothee’ Chalamet, usually just scribbling lyrics in a cramped west Village apartment or knocking out songs in a studio booth or cafe Wha? type venue (well maybe the finale is a little more than this). But this choice lets the music land on the viewer how it will and in so doing opens up the imagination in an open-ended way. And that final scene at Newport SLAYS. That’s not a bad experience to be having these days, when we are often spoonfed meanings and ways to feel about things.
• I’m Still Here is a powerful docudrama anchored by a titanic Fernanda Torres performance that reminds of film’s power to tell stories across time and space and make sure that the stories of our past are not lost. “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” Amen.
• C’mon, did you really need me to say anything about Dune: Part 2?
• I got into somewhat of a strange conversation with my Uber driver about Wicked. “Weird thing to be doing,” told me, “indoctrinating children to be witches!” Well I just hope they find the right shade of green paint.
• I’m still wrapping my head around The Brutalist. Stay tuned…

Okay, but what about the animated movies, man?

• I dug The Wild Robot but thought some of its messaging was a little telegraphed. It was a movie where all the beauty of its world could have been sat in a little more (there was almost too much going on for me to process at times), similar to an Avatar or Dune to some effect. Also of note, if there’s ever a Best Voiceover performance (and there should be), the performance that Lupita N’yongo gives here would be award worthy.
• Pixar’s Inside Out 2 was very moving and well made, and commendable for how it honored the spirit and logic of the original movie while expanding the world in a way that felt fully necessary and a moving trip back down memory lane.
• But Flow is a movie I’ve been dreaming of for some time, an essentially silent movie that is inviting and warm and makes you think without hitting you over the head with the message. TLDR: It is a silent movie with animals and a pretty score- what more could you want?
• Memoir of a Snail was a refreshingly dark and weird movie, with intricately constructed sets and a beautiful message at its core, reminding me a little of the underrated Mary and Max with the late, great Philip Seymour Hoffman.
• But then again, Wallace and Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl was a sorely needed gift released the week of the L.A. wildfires (and I was already eternally grateful for Aardman Animation’s work (and in the list of greatest movie villains how does Feather McGraw compare to Dennis Hopper’s Blue Velvet turn?)). I watched it twice in two days and I’m gonna watch it again soon when I really need it (you never know these days).

Well that seems like as good of a note to end on as any: W&G, Hopper (remember when coach Gene Hackman (RIP to a legend) made him coach the game in Hoosiers?), and Feathers McGraw? Maybe they’ll catch that damn bird someday. Until then, may the awards and the speeches of awardees be righteous, the people beautiful, and our Sunday night full of merriment and joy. Damn it still feels good to be a movie lover.