O Oscar, My Oscar

Greetings and salutations. I don't know why I went for the Dead Poets Society reference, which references Walt Whitman's poem "O Captain, My Captain," after looking that up. This morning--I started this on Tuesday--the Oscar nominations were announced. I voraciously watched the live stream on my phone during my 8 a.m. class because I was just that eager. This year, contrasting previous years of awards season fever, I find myself in a different state of mind. Prior to the political and social uproars that now characterize these Hollywood events, the Oscars and accompanying awards ceremonies were joyous occasions celebrating the absolute best in cinema. Now, we live in an era of fear and quotas, sorry to say. This year is profound in its transition into a social-issue battle of oppression with a massive movement that has swallowed Hollywood whole: the #TimesUp trend. I call it a trend for the time being because, like #OscarsSoWhite, this too will fade away. Yet I'm about to contradict myself as I say this movement of brave women is consuming the fabric of Hollywood and spitting out what seems to be a new landscape. Men are no longer men, says the bigoted female writer. The moment a man is accused and bombarded with allegations--yes just allegations--they are seemingly jettisoned from the Hollywood arena. Take a look at James Franco, a Best Actor frontrunner who was a shoo-in for an Oscar nod. Alas, he was absent from the final rendering of Best Actor potentials. All because a galley of ladies launched accusations against him...immediately after he won a Golden Globe mind you. I hate to express disbelief in my tone, but what are the odds? All this time, women in the entertainment industry have been pointing fingers and condemning actors ranging from irrelevant (Steven Siegal? Really, who cares?) to a monolith of influence (Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, Dustin Hoffman, Louis C.K. don't even get me started on Louis C.K.). These women, I'm sorry, but they could have exposed James Franco at any damn time. The sheer coincidence of timing comes off as conspiratorial. I'm a conspiracy theorist at heart, don't ya know, so this endless stream of accusations just scream witch hunt to me. Yes, I said it: this whole thing is a goddamn witch hunt. But I digress. There will be plenty more conspiracy psycho-babble coming as I go down my list of grievances at this year's Oscar Nomination line-up.

Baby Driver - Funny story about this one. I've watched it twice, with intentions to watch it several more times in the future, and I even started a whole post back in July about how extraordinary this film was. I love this movie so much that I have overhyped it to everyone I know. Though I'm afraid that post will not come to fruition the way I'd like it to. However, I don't want to just toss what I already have written for the movie. That being said, without further ado, allow me to express my sincere adoration for Edgar Wright's brilliant, exhilarating masterpiece, Baby Driver:
At this point, everyone who has been a breathing part of society has heard of Baby Driver and how amazing it is. Such lofty praise is sure to breed skepticism, particularly with me because I'm a cynical bastard like that, so I entered the theater with moderate hopes and an objective mindset. I will not be swayed by word-of-mouth as I nearly was with La La Land. Now there is some widely undeserved praise that rises well above lofty and into pretentious adulation. Anyway. Baby Driver. This film certainly delivered in regards to how amazing it was because it was amazing. In the following post, there will be some spoilers. Each individual scene exhibits master filmmaking, so I have to describe what exactly is so fantastic beyond just saying it was fantastic. Catch my drift? Each screenshot from Baby Driver is an upbringing of unique cinema from the innovative mind of Edgar Wright, and each shot is assembled into one coherent and, most importantly, breathtaking piece. That's the perfect word to describe this film: breathtaking. In the sense that it can be suspenseful and literally take your breath away for a few tense moments. In the sense that the music of the film is its own entity, one that can lift the film into a lively crescendo and take your breath away from how impressive this feat truly is. In the sense that the entire production works and flows in such balanced harmony. Isn't harmony always balanced? Isn't that the meaning of the word? Each aspect of the movie meshes perfectly that you find yourself in the presence of outstanding filmmaking that is, dare I say it, breathtaking. That whole bit sounded a little like slam poetry and for that I extend my sincerest apologies. This also feels like the ideal way to end this post rather than start it...but what's done is done. What's that? I could just move that chunk to the end and find an alternate way to write an intro? W-well y-you know what, I'm not going to do that. Moving on.

Baby Driver begins somewhat uniquely. Right away, you can see that this movie is of the crime variety. I could have just said this was a crime film, but I just can't make things that simple, can I? Our title character, Baby (played impressively by Ansel Elgort, so impressively that he garnered a Golden Globe nod to my hysterical delight), is sitting in the driver's seat of what appears to be a getaway car. The three passengers dressed in all black exit the car, place masks over their mouths, and walk toward a bank with the intention to rob it. I've seen movies before, don't ya know. Rather than pan in to the actual robbery where the excitement is surely unfolding, Wright hones in on the getaway driver, Baby. Cue "Bellbottoms" by The Jon Spencer Blue Explosion and Baby breaks into a carefree lip-sync rendition that gets the movie rolling. Here, you can see Baby's personality as well as Elgort's interpretation of this mellow character. Here he is, just about to escape the crime scene, and he is blithely mouthing the words to "Bellbottoms," a song which fits seamlessly along with the subsequent car chase mind you. In fact, Wright himself (or was it Elgort?) said that each scene is like a music video that goes along with the song in the background. This suggests that the film was fit around the soundtrack rather than the soundtrack complementing the film. It is such a refreshing, unique concept to orchestrate a movie like this, at least in my eyes, that immediately cements Baby Driver into the category of modern-day classic. To end this tangent, I will say that Baby Driver has the distinct feeling of a cult classic yet thus far has received praise that is present day and not ahead of its time. No, the time for exceptional films like Baby Driver is now, and I hope Hollywood follows suit to churn out such ingenuity like this in the future. I repeat movies like Baby Driver are creative relics, not Get Out; for god's sake listen up. Again, that felt like a concluding statement, but I'm keeping it right here in this paragraph. Moving on. The opening sequence demonstrates Baby's unreal driving skills. This entire scene is full of such a frenetic energy that immediately after leaving the theater you just want to shift gears and drift all across the roads at 80+ miles per hour. But you don't do that because, let's be realistic here, you probably don't have the edge and talent to execute that successfully. Me especially, considering I am car illiterate and deem shifting gears to be a wild thing to do on the road. The manner in which Wright filmed the car chase, as well as every driving scene, is as effortless as Baby's driving, which is a mighty fine compliment for the directing and cinematography. Once this car chase slides to a smooth close, the title card appears. The next scene is a one-take shot of Baby going to get his heist crew some coffee. As mundane as this scene sounds, the music set to this scene--"Harlem Shuffle" by Earl, Bob--is seen in the backdrop as the lyrics of the song appear as graffiti behind Baby as he strolls along. That sentence was choppily phrased, I realize, but you get the gist and may I say that is some damn clever filmmaking right there. I'm going to say filmmaking a lot, aren't I? From here on, I am relying solely my recollections of the film. For potential future reference, I may refer to this for future writing reference. That was quite a bit of writing influence in one sentence that encapsulates one paragraph. I'm done now, maybe. What the hell did I even say just then?

I just did some perusing on the dark channels of the Internet (i.e. critics' reviews) and found a disturbing pattern in regards to labelling this film. Many have called Baby Driver a "summer action comedy." I disagree wholeheartedly with this label because it diminishes the profound excellence of the film. The Other Guys is an action comedy. Rush Hour is an action comedy. Beverly Hills Cop is an action comedy. I can go on and you notice a trend, yes? The aforementioned films are funny movies with strong elements of action. Baby Driver, on the other hand, is a crime film with very strong elements of action and merely hints of quality comedy. The various outcomes of the film, including several gruesome deaths, dispel any suggestion of this movie being a full-on action comedy. Granted, every critic's interpretation is different, but to filter such an exceptional film like Baby Driver under the not-to-be-taken-seriously category of action comedy is erroneous. Why I care so much about the wording here is because action comedies do not receive golden praise during awards season. Maybe an obligatory Best Comedy/Musical nod at the Golden Globes, but nothing more. However, Baby Driver is worthy of far more praise, as it is the one of the most acclaimed films of the year and by far the most refreshing in terms of novelty. That's my two cents right there, take it or leave it. On that note, I believe I made a damn decent conclusion, wouldn't you say? Until I said that last bit anyway.
What a sad last paragraph that was. How hopeful, how naive I once was. Believe me, I did not expect Baby Driver to get a Best Picture or Best Director nod, I merely hoped with all hope that the Academy would recognize a masterful piece of cinema since, ya know, that's what the Oscars are supposed to do. No, instead let's nominate a film that is not only overhyped but wildly mediocre in quality. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Get Out.

Get Out - One of the most extolled films of the year is undoubtedly Jordon Peele's directorial debut, Get Out. With the massive yet surprising amount of hype for what is essentially a horror film, I entered the theater (that is, my home theater) with skepticism. With my newfound love for the horror genre, I embraced the opportunity to add another horror film, especially one so universally appreciated, to my list of great horror films. I don't have an actual list like that written anywhere, it's all up here. I pointed to my head. Anyway, Get Out started as any horror movie does, with trepidation and false-hope that this is actually a sweet Meet the Parents-esque comedy. Of course, there is a twist that almost guarantees this movie won't be as light-hearted as Ben Stiller milking cats. Daniel Kaluuya drifts rather emotionlessly throughout the film as Chris Washington, the male protagonist in the equation, while Alison Williams plays his girlfriend Rose Armitage. Writing all this out, I don't want to do a synopsis because (1) you've probably seen Get Out and you probably loved it, and (2) synopses are boring and readily available on more reputable sources than my blog. Daniel Kaluuya's performance in the film is average at best. It's certainly not terrible and he portrays a very likable protagonist, one you root for without question. This likable persona is also thanks to the dexterity and sheer awfulness of the film's villains; in fact, most cases I've seen in my movie-watching experience demonstrates the villain as a superior actor. In Get Out, since we're being specific, I give the most credit to Alison Williams's performance because--spoiler alert--she was in on her family's sick, generational game all along. Now we approach the twist, after skipping past the minor details of the plot. Why I will introduce the term "recycled material" is because the twist in Get Out is remarkably similar to the memorable twist in Skeleton Key. That's right, the twists are nearly identical. In Skeleton Key, the spirits of Cecile and Justify, two former house-servants, conduct a "transference of souls" whenever their host bodies start getting old. I would watch the entire movie to get a better idea of what I'm trying to say--even though I essentially just spoiled it for you--because the film itself is a wonderful gothic mystery that is absolutely without question superior to Get Out in my humble opinion. Enter Jordon Peele's social commentary that sneaks past viewers as a rendition/remake of Skeleton Key. I'm not chastising Peele for copying the 2005 horror film per say, I just don't see how audiences and critics alike are calling this film innovative. Please.

Let me get into exactly what it is about Get Out that I'm just not crawling up the walls in admiration like everyone else. Did that sentence make sense? Sure. The film started as very promising--I repeat, I was very impressed with the first half of the movie. It is for this reason that I was so dissatisfied by the overall product. The film pulled me in as a viewer, forming tangible tension and intrigue. I wondered what really was going on at this mysterious Armitage residence. The servants in the film delivered excellent suspense and an element of creepiness that characterizes quality horror. Listen to me, I was flat-out interested in what this movie was about and curious to see the climax and conclusion. Alas, this excitement was thwarted by an uneventful twist. I guess I am a bit miffed that Jordon Peele borrowed the twist from Skeleton Key. I just really liked Skeleton Key, and for this movie to garner so much success and praise, and for Skeleton Key to be just another horror is a slap in the face. There are comma splices somewhere around here, I apologize. With horror movies especially the ending is key. Oftentimes, an unhappy ending is a great ending for a horror film, as with Sinister and Skeleton Key. The fact that Get Out ended with the protagonist surviving and even escaping the authorities is disappointing. Imagine a perfect end to this so-called satire: After all that bloodshed and trauma, Chris is foiled by the police and arrested for the murder of the Armitage family. Now that is a conclusion to the social commentary this film claims to be. Tragic, yes, but a striking image of reality as appalling as it is.

UPDATE: After some lazy research, I discovered that a version of this ending was Jordon Peele's original intention. Here's a soundbite: “The idea here is… the house and all the evidence has burned down, and this is a system that values the rich white people and takes their side,” he says. “So my feeling is what would happen in this movie is Chris would end up in jail, just because of how it looks. [But] by the time I was shooting this, it was clear the world had shifted.” Are you kidding me? Horror movies generally have not-so-cheerful, depressing endings. For Peele to censor his initial creative vision due to the political climate is outrageous. In fact, that better ending would have contributed to the "conversation" even more, proving how law enforcement is biased against Black people. Down right aggravating. Back to the show.

Some kudos I will give this movie is for Alison Williams, who is by far the most interesting character in a film that is otherwise lackluster. She was the creepiest character in the movie and we barely got any insight into her psychotic side, as we were exposed to the innocent girlfriend throughout the film. I believe Cinemasins expressed interest in a spin-off prequel that shows Rose's origins. Now that sounds like a genuine horror. Here is a snippet of a review published in Variety: "Blending race-savvy satire with horror to especially potent effect, this bombshell social critique from first-time director Jordan Peele proves positively fearless — which is not at all the same thing as scareless." I haven't felt such cringe from pretentious, lofty writing since I read the praise for Birdman. Get Out was definitely a better film though that isn't saying much. Have you heard just how much I hate Birdman lately? What is frustrating about Get Out is the universal praise that goes beyond admiration and into labeling the thing as a modern-day classic. No, Baby Driver is the modern-day classic of 2017, goddamn it. I really liked Baby Driver.

Regarding the position of Get Out in this year's awards season, I'm sure you can discern my irritation. Aside from the fact that Get Out is a mediocre horror-drama-social commentary-whatever, it has no place at the Academy Awards. Horror films just are not recognized, and if you dare defy me fine. How about nominating IT, a film that surpasses Get Out in quality, cinematography, and general horror elements? I have already seen IT three times and intend to watch it again when I feel for watching a superb horror future-classic. And talk about sheer cinematic excellence! Get Out is just such a bland, massively overhyped nominee. Feel free to disagree, nearly everyone does. Though maybe worthy of a rewatch sometime in the future, maybe 2020 who knows...

A Series of Unfortunate Snubs - When I say "a series," I really only mean one major focus and a few other mentions. (Try zero other mentions.) I just rallied around that play on words. It's like the book series, get it? Get out. Perhaps the most shocking snub, certainly the most upsetting for me, was James Franco for his fantastic turn as Tommy Wiseau in The Disaster Artist. Now, I have to be solemn for a second and make a sincere confession: I absolutely love The Room. It is Tommy Wiseau's masterpiece of bad movie-making ingenuity. I have seen The Room three times at this point with intentions to watch it as often as I can without becoming Tommy Wiseau incarnate. I've already breached the point of obsession, I can admit that. I went to a limited screening of The Room where I gathered with fellow fanatics who brought spoons and footballs to the showing. It was by far the greatest movie-going experience I've ever had. I absolutely love The Room, and I do not hesitate in telling anyone who cares how much I love this movie. I am strongly considering writing a thesis on this movie, and, who knows, I might actually do that. Back to James Franco. First off, he gave a brilliant performance as Tommy Wiseau himself, capturing his eccentric persona down to that infectious laugh. Franco was so good, in fact, that he won a Golden Globe for his magical performance, beating Daniel Kaluuya for Get Out. I know, right?! Franco's win at the Golden Globes was definitely the highlight of the evening, and not just because he pulled off a surprise victory against Get Out. What made this moment supremely great was when James Franco called Tommy Wiseau up to the stage with him. I do not exaggerate when I say I screamed, chanting "YES TOMMY!" over and over again while squeezing my dad's equally giddy hand. His hand was giddy, you heard me. What I love just as much as Tommy, Franco, and both their movies is their genuine friendship. Franco actually likes Tommy--because who wouldn't?--without treating him like a freak à la Dinner with Schmucks. I absolutely love the reprised adoration The Room is getting, thanks to Greg "Oh Hai Mark" Sestero's novel and Franco's amazing film adaptation. Unfortunately, it looks like a 15th Anniversary homage to The Room is not in the cards for this year's Oscar ceremony because James Franco failed to receive a well-deserved nomination. Bastards.

Again, I find this very frustrating because Franco's performance was sincerely good and it's always a shame when the Academy snubs excellence in any category, especially acting in my opinion. For the Academy to snub solely based on the actor's personal life and politics du jour is all the more infuriating. Art should absolutely be separated from the artist. I mean, Roman Polanski has been lauded plenty of times after he evaded American authorities for drugging and raping a twelve year old girl. Oh yeah, I brought that up because Hollywood has seemingly forgotten the incident altogether. How can people like Louis C.K., who merely masturbated in front of consenting female friends, be ostracized and have his career effectively destroyed? Meanwhile, Polanski, who has been denounced guilty in a court of law, receives a Best Directing Oscar after the fact? I say Louis C.K. merely masturbated because (1) I truly do not see how this classifies as assault or traumatic for the women, he refers to his depraved sexual behavior in stand-up constantly and he asked the women for god's sake, (1a) for these women to say Louis jerking off in front of them served as an obstacle to their careers is ludicrous, I'm sorry but if your male friend starts masturbating in front of you it's an awkward yet hilarious incident, I mean come on, (1b) I took that point from Dave Chappelle's recent stand-up routine that is streaming on Netflix, highly recommend, (2) most importantly, for Louis C.K. to see his career in shambles while Polanski gets Oscars and excuses from his esteemed colleagues is the most hypocritical spit in the face to connoisseurs of Hollywood culture. Yes, I referred to myself as that word. I hate to go off on this tangent because this Hollywood witch hunt is simply ridiculous and rage-inducing.

To bring it back to the topic of unfortunate snubs, let me talk a little about a movie called I Love You Daddy, directed by the now-exiled Louis C.K. I would dedicate an entire post to this film because it is one of the greatest movies of the year without question. Alas, the controversy is a wet blanket in discussing the issue; it's just too sensitive a topic and I fear I may come off victim-blaming solely because I believe in viewing all evidence objectively. In any case, the controversy and theme behind the film is remarkably relevant to the conversation festering in Hollywood. The film covers topics such as disturbing age differences and how they are perceived in society, the power dynamic present in relationships particularly sexual ones, and Hollywood hierarchy in general. There is one profound argument proposed by John Malkovich's character, who is meant to be a stand-in for Woody Allen or Roman Polanski. Talking to Chloe's character about feminism--some would call this mansplaining, I would call them morons--and he explains the motives of traditional feminists and their desire to overthrow the patriarchy. Chloe asks if this would mean women rising to power would be better, to which Malkovich replies, "Who knows?" Because nobody can really know, yet feminists and alt-liberals alike are under the impression that matriarchy is the be-all-end-all answer to life as we know it. I love the impartial tone of this film, how there is no virtue-signalling and no definitive declarations of opinion as fact. This film is open to interpretation, as it has already been dissected by the few who watched it. From what I can gather, many critics agree that this film is a significant part of the conversation, whether they liked the movie or not. Personally, I thought this movie was borderline extraordinary relative to the pseudo-intellectual slop I've seen in recent years. From the beautiful homage to Woody Allen films (believe it or not I still consider him to be a fine director because his personal life is meaningless to me) to the impressive dramatic performances of actors like Louis C.K., Rose Byrne, and Charlie Day to the crisp, interesting dialogue that stirs up real conversation--this film was a triumph.

I Love You Daddy could really present an alternate voice to this topic of sexual harassment and gender dynamics in Hollywood. Instead, the film's release is delayed indefinitely, which basically means banned, because of the allegations against Louis C.K. and his subsequent attesting to and apology for said allegations. Does atonement mean nothing anymore in this business? Did it ever mean anything? In C.K.'s case, no amount of regret or sincere apologies could rectify the situation. Even the people in the movie like Charlie Day and Chloe Grace-Moretz (no shock there, I'm actually surprised she agreed to this film to begin with) condemn Louis C.K. and express regret for doing this movie. See, this massive paranoia and puritanical blacklisting is tainting the quality of Hollywood cinema as well as corrupting the minds of talented individuals to the point of brain-washing. Sexual assault and harassment is absolutely reprehensible and those accused of it deserve a fair trial, allowing victims to receive some form of vindication and prosecuting the vagrants appropriately. In Hollywood, however, sexual harassment isn't as black and white as it should be, and allegations and hearsay are all that's needed to ruin an actor's career in the entertainment industry. I talked about this plenty enough for how delicate the topic is. Some final thoughts are, once again, indignation at Franco's Oscar snub due to hearsay lacking legal proceedings, and sincere mourning for the impressive career in filmmaking Louis C.K. could have had.

That is all I really had to say about the Oscar nominations, for the time being anyway. I intend on watching as many nominees as I can before the ceremony so I can watch the Academy Awards with as little angry subjectivity as I can. Then again, watching these potentially pretentious and/or horrible films may worsen my bitter perspective. Movies I absolutely plan on watching include Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri; Lady Bird; I, Tonya; and The Florida Project. Maybes include The Shape of Water, The Post, Call Me By Your Name, Darkest Hour. I'm just listing off the nominees, it seems like. Anywho, I thank you for getting through this incredibly hostile and hateful post. You know how anger and a sense of wrongful doing are more powerful motivators than, say, happiness. I never write when I'm happy, to tell the truth, which sounds awfully depressing. On the bright side, I rarely ever write on this blog so I must be positively giddy all the time. Enter sarcasm because I have been writing quite a bit lately, just on my more personal channels (i.e. Tumblr, yes I've gone to the dark side). Acrimony aside, let's have a riotous, jolly good time with the remainder of awards season. My money's on Get Out for the win because fuck the Oscars. Cheers everybody.

P.S. Here's a clip from The Room that I absolutely had to include in this post.