Rest of the Best

I watched the final five candidates for Best Picture yesterday. As always, if you want an actual review, ask a movie critic.

Dunkirk ­– One day, someone will explain to me the absolute manic devotion of white males of a certain age to WWII. The war ended 74 years ago! There have been lots of wars since then (unfortunately) and lots of other stories to tell about lots of other things. But every goddamn year, we get another goddamned WWII movie. Enough. Considering how little dialogue was actually in the movie and how little plot, I wish Nolan had fully committed to his theory of making a movie based entirely on visuals and music and eliminated dialogue entirely or had subtitles. I also think he and Tom Hardy should just fuck already because Nolan obviously has a hard on for Hardy’s eyes. Why else does he once again make a movie that all but covers up Tom Hardy’s face and filters his voice.

The Darkest Hour – Gary Oldman only did this movie because he lured famed makeup artist Kazuhiro  Tsuji out of retirement. If Oldman wins, and Tsuji doesn’t, then Oldman should absolutely hand his Oscar over, post haste. It was absolutely the best makeup I have ever seen in film. Hands down. Oldman was completely unrecognizable as himself and totally and completely Winston Churchill. That was the whole point of the movie, really. They could have told any story from any point in Churchill’s career, and the only thing really holding it up was the makeup and acting. It certainly wasn’t the lighting. Apparently overhead lighting was outlawed during the war. Only small desk lamps or whatever light filtered in through windows. (Please don’t tell me about London turned off its lights at night to avoid bombing. This wasn’t that. This was “setting a mood” and it was ridiculous. )

Call Me By Your Name – This was the most honest acting I’ve ever seen. It was also as if the actors didn’t realize they were acting at all. I was constantly surprised by the line readings and by how they handled every scene. It was very intimate and disarming. Slightly problematic was the concept of consent and watching sex scenes between a supposed 17 yr old and a 27 year old, but I liked that the movie didn’t have a label. No one was gay or straight or bi. They were just who they were. I also think it did wonders for Italian tourism.

The Post – This was a perfectly respectable movie with perfectly respectable acting in a mediocre script. Spoiler, the Washington Post wins. And while I have watched movies with obvious outcomes before (Titanic, for example), there was no real sense of suspense. There was also some questionable dialect work. Was Tom Hanks supposed to be from Boston? Every few scenes, he’d remember to throw on an accent. This movie is a textbook account of white male Oscar voting. Meryl Streep? Check. Tom Hanks? Check. Steven Spielberg? Check. A plot that makes liberals look good and politicians look bad? Check.

Get Out – This movie did NOT fuck around. You know how in most movies, when the young blood ingenue starts getting scared, she doesn’t really try to kill her assailant, but mostly run from him? Not this movie. Chris was out for blood the minute he realized what was happening. But Jesus, his apartment was the most over decorated room I have ever seen. I met my husband when we were 24. His apartment had the bare minimum of cast-off furniture, no art, one massive television, and linens straight from Target. Every male apartment I have ever been in was about the same, plus or minus some crappy posters on the wall. Chris had beautifully framed art, a complete living room set, a complete bedroom set, and everything was color coordinated in pleasant hues of greys and blacks and blues. Bull. Shit. Also, who starts a transplant without having both the donor and the receiver in the room? A terrible surgeon, that’s who.