The Grouch
I swear there was a time in my life when an Academy Award was a high honor that, on a personal level, congratulated a human being’s contribution in a film. By this, I mean, the person who provided the judges with the best perceived directing performance won an Oscar for “Best Director,” or his “Best Direction,” depending on the wording you like. “Best Performance by an Actor” went to said actor, and so forth. Even the “Best Picture” goes to the Producer of the picture. It was straightforward, they lined up all the dogs, and the nicest one got the title of Best in Breed.
But then the tail started wagging the dog. And that is not (just) a timely pun — it is a VERY good illustration of what is happening.
The Academy Awards game show is a temporary, in-the-moment event. The fact that it’s held every year calls attention to the fact that these winners need not be perennial talents; any one-hit wonder who turns in one of the best performances of the year gets the call. And that’s fine. The transience of the show echoes the fleeting nature of the literal cinematic experience.
But some time ago, the Annual Academy Awards – whose number they put in the title, just so we remember – became the Annual Distribution of the Lifetime Achievement Awards. It may have been the show in 1996, when Tom Hanks didn’t win a third Oscar, for Apollo 13 (1995), after doubling up on Philadelphia (1993) and Forrest Gump (1994). Maybe the Academy wants parity, no more dynasties, like the NFL was supposed to have before the current Pats got together.
When it started isn’t as important as the fact that this phenomenon exists – that Oscars aren’t only given for great performances. I hear, “Oh, he’s good enough in this to win, and he hasn’t won yet, and…” Can it. Let’s award who does the best job, within a certain time period. Or let’s extricate ourselves from this masturbatory popularity contest.
OR:
If this problem won’t end this year – and it won’t – let’s give Scorsese the Oscar already. Some say he should have gotten it for Raging Bull (1980). Okay. And yeah, he often makes movies that are very, very long, that don’t have to be even half their final length, that he turns every hero story into an epic, that he rambles like this all the time…
Maybe it’s because he’s independent, and doesn’t crave the Hollywood scene, creatively, financially or culturally; maybe he’s too New York. No matter. Good for him. Whether he had the best directing performance all year – not for me to judge. For whatever, and every, reason, let’s praise him now. Anxious speech, eyebrows and all.
