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.
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