81 Years of Oscar: Best Picture Winners

Hello all. So, the 82nd Academy Awards are less than a month away. This means that I'm probably thinking about Oscar more often than not. In an attempt to spread my love of these dubious awards of quality, as well as provide a crash-course in film history, I'll be spending the next month doing something of an Oscar Retrospective. Today, for your viewing pleasure, I'll be profiling the ten best and five worst picture winners (in my opinion, of course). Following, because I can, is a list of the Best Picture winners to refresh your memory. In bold are the films that I've seen.
(And I know you didn't ask, but this list is from memory. Because I'm that good.)
Slumdog Millionaire
No Country For Old Men
The Departed
Crash
Million Dollar Baby
The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Chicago
A Beautiful Mind
Gladiator
American Beauty
Shakespeare in Love
Titanic
The English Patient
Braveheart
Forrest Gump
Schindler's List
Unforgiven
The Silence of the Lambs
Dances With Wolves
Driving Miss Daisy
Rain Man
The Last Emperor
Platoon
Out of Africa
Amadeus
Terms of Endearment
Gandhi
Chariots of Fire
Ordinary People
Kramer Vs. Kramer
The Deer Hunter
Annie Hall
Rocky
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
The Godfather Part 2
The Sting
The Godfather
The French Connection
Patton
Midnight Cowboy
Oliver!
In the Heat of the Night
A Man For All Seasons
The Sound of Music
My Fair Lady
Tom Jones
Lawrence of Arabia
West Side Story
The Apartment
Ben-hur
Gigi
The Bridge on the River Kwai
Marty
On the Waterfront
From Here to Eternity
The Greatest Show on Earth
An American in Paris
All About Eve
All the King's Men
Hamlet
Gentlemen's Agreement
The Best Years of Our Lives
The Lost Weekend
Going My Way
Casablanca
Mrs. Miniver
How Green Was My Valley
Rebecca
Gone With the Wind
You Can't Take it With You
The Life of Emile Zola
The Great Zeigfeld
Mutiny on the Bounty
It Happened One Night
Cavalcade
Grand Hotel
Cimmaron
All Quiet on the Western Front
The Broadway Melody
Wings

As you've surely deciphered by now, these lists will be highly subjective, as I've only seen about half of these. They will also obviously skew toward more modern fare, as the half I've seen errs toward the present (my viewing is particularly shabby in the 40s, which begins with All the King's Men and ends with Rebecca; I've only seen one). Also bear in mind that this is more my list of favorites than anything else: I'm not going with the boldest decisions, or the most atypical; I'm going with the ones I like the best. We can debate greatness another time.

The Best
10. Titanic (1997. Other nominees: As Good as it Gets, The Full Monty, Good Will Hunting, LA Confidential)
I'll start with the most controversial choice right now so we can get it out of our hair. No, Titanic is not a great film. No, James Cameron is not an inspired auteur. What Titanic accomplishes, however, is pure cinema. Cameron lays his hand on the same lightning rod that Selznick, Cooper, and Fields all found to create old-fashioned, decidedly epic film. This is the one bone that escapism gets on my list: Titanic isn't concerned with being overly thought-provoking, or introducing new ideas. No, the film is slavishly devoted to delivering an experience, and it doesn't fail on those terms.

9. Shakespeare in Love (1998. Other Nominees: Elizabeth, Life is Beautiful, Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line)
It might not be the best of the nominees, and it sure as hell caught crap for defeating Steven Spielberg's WW2 epic, but something about this little romance grips me in a way, I suspect, it gripped Academy voters. John Madden's only film of interest, Shakespeare in Love is a pitch-perfect combo of humor, intrigue, and emotional honesty. The film's effect is no doubt increased through the charismatic turns of Gwyneth Platrow, Joseph Fiennes, Judi Dench, and Geoffrey Rush, and the score remains one of the most by-turns whimsical and melancholy pieces of music written for film in recent years. Shakespeare in Love may feel like a light-weight, but it's got one hell of a punch.

8. No Country For Old Men (2007. Other nominees: Atonement, Juno, Michael Clayton, There Will Be Blood)
I'm honestly still confused about how this film walked away with the big prize. Sure, it was unanimously acclaimed, and is a staggering piece of work, but it's so...dark. Nihilistic. Graphic. The Academy normally loves something safe, warm, and mildly inspiring. No Country For Old Men is none of these things. I'm glad the Academy decided to head way out on a limb and reward a film outside their comfort zone. No Country For Old Men is easily one of the best films of the new millennium. As this is a favorite, not greatest, list, however, it's relegated to the 8th spot.

7. The Departed (2006. Other nominees: Babel, Letters from Iwo Jima, Little Miss Sunshine, The Queen)
Here's another atypical work. I can understand how The Departed won, however: though gritty and profane, it plays safely within an Oscar-loved genre (the gangster picture), and was helmed by modern directing legend Martin Scorcese. To try and understand the politics, however, is to undersell Scorcese's best film since GoodFellas. The Departed is vibrant, tense, and altogether thrilling, anchored by stellar performances from its youthful leads: Leonardo Dicaprio, Matt Damon, and Vera Farmiga. Add an outstanding ensemble (Jack Nicholson, Ray Winstone, Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg, so on and so forth), and the editing genius of Thelma Schoonmaker, and you have a completely unique, fantastic film.

6. It Happened One Night (1934. Other nominees: Cleopatra, Flirtation Walk, Here Comes the Navy, Imitation of Life, One Night of Love, The Barretts of Wimpole Street, The Gay Divorcee, The House of Rothchild, The Thin Man, The White Parade, Viva Villa)
Admittedly, I've hardly even heard of any of the other nominees, much less seen them, so I can't intelligently comment on the worthiness of It Happened One Night as compared to its fellow nominees. What I can do is attempt to share the 100 CCs of joy that were injected straight into my veins whilst watching this film. The original cliche, It Happened One Night is arguably the first romantic comedy. It is also, arguably, the best. Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable practically invented the concept of screen chemistry while filming, and the script, despite being 76 years old, never fails to feel timelessly modern.

5. The Godfather (1972. Other nominees: Cabaret, Deliverance, Sounder, Utvandrarna)
If we were listing the greatest Picture winners, The Godfather would be even higher on the list. Francis Ford Coppola's signature piece is still the crowning achievement of cinema in the 70s; the world of Don Corleone is incredibly complicated, vividly realized, and endlessly engrossing. Containing one of the most indelible screen performances (Marlon Brando, of course), some of the most shocking screen violence seen in its time, and one of the most memorable endings in film history, The Godfather is richly deserving of all the accolades it receives.

4. Amadeus (1984. Other nominees: The Killing Fields, A Passage to India, Places in the Heart, A Soldier's Story)
I might be a little biased here. I love Mozart. Needless to say, a film concerned entirely with the life and death of the famous composer is bound to play my heartstrings (pun intended) quite a bit. That doesn't change the fact that the film is amazing. Milos Forman breathes joyous life into the dull, dusty public image of Mozart, warping him into a foppish, ridiculous young man for whom genius isn't a burden so much as an amusing inconvenience. F. Murray Abraham, as his rival Salieri, provides the perfect ballast to Mozart's raucous vivacity: Salieri acts as if every moment is an exercise in tragic dignity. The performances, as well as the film itself, pulse with an unrestrained joy of a kind seldom seen in theaters.

3. The Silence of the Lambs (1991. Other nominees: Beauty and the Beast, Bugsy, JFK, The Prince of Tides)
The Silence of the Lambs is not the Academy's cup of tea: it remains the only horror film to win the big award (indeed, one of only two nominees for the genre). The Academy found the film impossible to ignore, however, and with good reason. Containing what might be the most electric leading couple to grace the silver screen (Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins), as well as one of the most intelligent, surgically horrific screenplay in recent memory, Lambs proves a difficult film to shake. After rewarding this film, the Academy, in its infinite wisdom, would spend most of the 90s rewarding large, inspirational, contrived films.

2. All Quiet on the Western Front (1930. Other nominees: The Big House, Disraeli, The Divorcee, The Love Parade)
Needless to say, I haven't seen any of the other nominees. Doesn't matter. All Quiet on the Western Front is, arguably, the only true anti-war film ever made (at least to play within the war genre), and, as such, is also, arguably, the greatest war film ever made. The movie juxtaposes lengthy sections of waiting, wondering, and worrying with spans of almost sadistic battle scenes. All Quiet...allows us to become attached to a classroom full of impressionable young men, then forces us to watch as it horrifically maims and murders them. This film is one of the most pessimistic and cynical of any I've seen: completely fitting, given its subject matter.

1. American Beauty (1999. Other nominees: The Cider House Rules, The Green Mile, The Insider, The Sixth Sense)
I debated for a while about whether or not my longtime favorite should cede this spot to All Quiet on the Western Front, but, in the end, I had to vote with my heart. And, as stated before, this is a list of favorites. I honestly don't know what else to write about this movie that I haven't written recently. Suffice to say it's got a lot of heart, and hits a lot of people, including me, in all the right places. Thank God the Oscar didn't go to The Cider House Rules.


Now, a tougher list. The five worst. No, let me rephrase that: these aren't the five worst films. They're the five that disappointed me the most. The five that let me down. The five that should have become close friends, but ended up stabbing me in the back. I highly doubt these would find themselves in a Five Worst list had I seen all the winners. See, I tend to avoid films that I hear are terrible, and, as such, have avoided the worst best picture winners.

5. Crash (2005. Other nominees: Brokeback Mountain, Capote, Good Night and Good Luck, Munich)
Crash is a skillful manipulator, but little more. I'll admit that there good acting lurks around the edges (particularly Matt Dillon, Michael Pena, and Don Cheadle), and the film contains some truly affecting moments. When viewed with an objective eye, however, Crash can't escape the creakiness of its own screenplay, which relies on contrived coincidence.

4. Braveheart (1995. Other nominees: Apollo 13, Babe, The Postman, Sense and Sensibility)
Braveheart is very big, and very pretty, and somewhat inspirational. It's also incredibly sophomoric, filled with toilet humor and homophobia, and is helmed by a painfully ham-handed director. Braveheart is enjoyable enough. But a good film? Please. Like I said: pretty, exciting, big. Also crude, intolerant, and stupid. And not inventive enough to be forgiven for any of its sins.

3. Terms of Endearment (1983. Other nominees: The Big Chill, The Dresser, The Right Stuff, Tender Mercies)
This movie plays like a daytime soap opera. We have star-crossed lovers, worrying mothers, terminal illness, cute kids, and every other Movie-of-the-Week cliche worth its salt. None of elements every congeal into anything compelling, however, despite the noble efforts of Debra Winger and Shirley Maclaine. Jack Nicholson does nothing to help, either: his normal 'Crazy Jack' schtick feels grotesquely out of place.

2. Forrest Gump (1994. Other nominees: Four Weddings and A Funeral, Pulp Fiction, Quiz Show, The Shawshank Redemption)
I know I'm going to catch some heat for this, as most if not all of my regular reader love this movie, but I'm going there anyway. Forrest Gump is the Academy at its most conservative. The film itself is safe, conservative, almost condescending. I know I'm a pretentious film dick, but I tend to prefer new, or original, or daring in some way. Forrest Gump is as safe as it gets. I'm not saying it's a terrible film. It's just the kind of movie I'll never enjoy.

1. A Beautiful Mind (2001. Other nominees: Gosford Park, In the Bedroom, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Moulin Rouge!)
I will say that this one is a terrible film, though. Director Ron Howard is the master of faux-inspirational, historical garbage, and this is the creative nadir of his not-so-illustrious career. The fact that this film won is downright offensive. A Beautiful Mind's success is the best proof that sometimes, the Academy just doesn't care about quality.


Well, there you have it. Sorry, long post. I know. I got carried away. If anyone's still reading, what do you think? Am I being too hard on some films, and too easy on others? Willing to show me how wrong I am about Forrest Gump? I'll never learn if someone doesn't try to teach me.

The Best (favorite?) of the 90s, Part 1

I set out to compile a list of the "greatest" films of the 90s, but quickly came to a realization: I can't do it. I'm far, far too biased. So, instead I offer you a list of my favorite films of the 90s. Are they "the greatest?" Some of them, maybe. There are some glaring omissions, however, most notably Hoop Dreams and GoodFellas. But that's what makes list-making so much fun--20 different people can be asked this question, and you'll get 20 different answers. The following list is by no means definitive, and will almost definitely change from day to day. Today, however, these are what I feel to be the best (aka my favorite) movies of the 1990s. The first 10 are today. I'll wrap the list up tomorrow.



20. Heat (Michael Mann, 1995)

Most of you are probably more familiar with Mann's 2004 crime hit Collateral. Before Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx ever taxied the streets of LA, however, Al Pacino and Robert De Niro played cat and mouse through the streets of the City of Angels. And what a game it is. Mann's masterstroke is the balance he displays: We, as an audience, can root for the cop, Al Pacino, in his quest to for justice, just as easily as we can root for Robert De Niro's criminal as he attempts to pull off one last heist in an attempt to disappear. While Heat is a fantastic action film, it also serves as a dark meditation on personalities lost in their job, and the actions people are willing to take, the things they're willing to sacrifice in order to satisfy their obsessions. This film also marks the last time Al Pacino and Robert De Niro were in anything worth watching.



19. Boys Don't Cry (Kimberly Pierce, 1999)

This searing little film seemed to get lost in the rush of other 1999 greats, but I've never forgotten Kimberly Pierce's treatise on identity and acceptance. Boys Don't Cry chronicles the true story of Brandon Teena, a Nebraska youth who falls into a dangerous lifestyle, all while concealing the fact that Brandon Teena is actually Teena Brandon, a man living as a woman. Most who see this film remember it best for its horrific, painful ending, but to do so is to ignore all the tender, sweet moments that proceed it. Yes, Pierce's film is angry at the crimes it depicts, but it also takes the time to tell a quiet coming-of-age story in the face of the worst kinds of adversity. Hilary Swank rightfully won an Oscar for her depiction of Brandon. Chloe Sevigny provides a strong performance for Swank to anchor herself on.

18. Before Sunrise (Richard Linklater, 1995)

Admittedly, without its companion piece, Before Sunset, Before Sunrise loses a bit of its power. It remains, however, a singularly intelligent film that attempts to, in the course of one night, dissect love, fate, chance, and free will. Before Sunrise follows two strangers who decide to spend one night in Vienna together on a whim. The film consists of the two characters talking. And that's it. Rarely does a film have the courage to take characters, drop them in a location, and force them to be honest. Even more rarely does one find a film this entertaining that relies 100% on the power of its dialogue. Yet Before Sunrise is both of these things, and is incredibly effective. Its screenplay is one of the most witty, literate, insightful pieces you will hear (especially when viewed with Before Sunset).

17. Schindler's List (Steven Spielberg, 1993)

I can hear you already: "How is this only #17 on the list?" The answer is simple--this is a list of favorites, not a list of bests. Yes, Steven Spielberg's Holocaust film is a technical marvel, stunningly well-acted, and achingly powerful. Is it, however a movie to grow old with? A movie to love, a movie that loves you back? A movie that becomes a friend over the years? No. I have nothing but respect for this film, but that's just it. I have nothing but respect for this film, which is why it only makes it to #17. Respect without love can only climb so high. That being said, the film is a staggering piece of work: Spielberg takes a subject that should be completely unfilmable, and turns it into a piece of art that has the ability to affect almost every demographic. This is quite commendable. In particular, I appreciate the expressive cinematography, the mournful John Williams score, and Ralph Fiennes: his Nazi commander is, in my opinion, perhaps the most chilling, effective villain ever committed to screen (...with the exception of Hopkins' Hannibal Lecter, whom no one can top).

16. Shakespeare in Love (John Madden, 1995)

This is one of those rare films that bestows me with an inordinate amount of warm-fuzzies. Madden's film is a gigantic ball of joy, with the perfect balance of comedic elements, romance, and occasional drama. It succeeds in one of the most endangered genres in cinema: the "sophisticated comedy." While all this is well and good, the film's ending provides the masterstroke that makes this film the cinematic gem that it is: Madden chooses realism over poetry. What was before an involving romance becomes a bittersweet meditation on the transience and impermanence of happiness. It's a gorgeous piece of work.

15. American History X (Tony Kaye, 1998)

I'll be the first to admit that American History X is a little uneven. To focus on this, however, is to deny the raw, visceral power that so much of the film demonstrates. Tony Kaye's examination of the consequences of unbridled hate remains, for all its admitted faults, one of the most unflinching, searing experiences in recent cinema. Of special note is Edward Norton: this film rides almost entirely on his shoulders, and he more than rises to the challenge. Norton's Derek Vinyard is a revelation; one of the more memorably characters of the 90s. Not to undersell Edward Furlong's performance, of course: Furlong provides the perfect foil for Norton, and the two are never better than when they're acting together. The whole may be greater than the sum of its parts, but its whole is unforgettable.

14. Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1997)

I'm legitimately confused. This movie should not, by any stretch of the imagination, be this good. Boogie Nights is a three-hour epic about the porn industry in the 70s and 80s. That's not exactly a film premise one hears everyday. Yet somehow, inexplicably, Boogie Nights is one of the most memorably cinematic experiences of the 90s. Perhaps its the acting: Julianne Moore turns in what might be the most spectacular supporting turn I've ever seen, and she is joined in greatness by Heather Graham, Burt Reynolds, Don Cheadle, John C. Reilly, and Mark Wahlberg, all turning in the performance of their careers. Maybe it's the screenplay: Anderson's film pops with tension, insight, and startling originality. Whatever the cause, the end result is undeniably powerful. The film captures the full scope of its twenty year timeline, all while retaining the smallest moments of human drama in between. It's quite the balancing act.

13. Seven (David Fincher, 1999)

Director David Fincher is best known for Fight Club, but Seven demonstrates what Fincher can do when he really works at it. This film is one of the best thrillers in recent memory. Seven is dark, quiet, and, in places, almost unbearably gruesome, but manages to stay afloat. More than that; the film becomes an analysis of good men trying to live in a world designed to destroy good men. What I admire this film for most is its restraint: at any time, Fincher could have thrown in blaring music, quick editing, car chases, gratuitous sex and violence, like every other director who falls into the conventions of the thriller genre, but he doesn't. He approaches the film much like the senior detective in the film approaches a case--quiet, methodical, and unwavering. His dedication to this ideal elevates Seven from the pack of stereotypical thrillers and turns it into a piece of art.

12. Dead Man Walking (Tim Robbins, 1995)

Dead Man Walking is an angry film. It has an ax to grind; an anti-capital punishment agenda. This, in and of itself, is no revelation. Many films have some sort of ideal to further, and do nothing for their cause. Dead Man Walking, however, sets out to do the impossible and succeeds with flying colors. The film presents us with a monster, a rapist and murderer, a bigoted, racist, white-trash scumbag, and dares us to see the humanity in him. The film challenges its audience to find empathy for a despicable individual, and, thanks to the immense power of the film, the challenge is answered. The execution scene remains, as far as I'm concerned, one of the most powerful scenes committed to celluloid in recent memory. And all this about a murderer. Robbins' film is the very definition of fair and balanced: it sees that everyone, regardless of their actions, is still a human being.

11. The Piano (Jane Campion, 1993)

God, what a odd, quiet, unique, beautiful movie. The Piano is unlike any other film you'll see. It is best described at visual poetry: the film is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and tells its story primarily through images, not words. And Lord, what memorable images they are. On the surface, The Piano is a romance about a by-choice mute woman who enters into an arranged marriage with a man in New Zealand that she's never met, and the uneducated neighbor who is attracted by her beauty, her mystery, and, above all, the skill with which she plays the piano. While images are the most important part of the film, the music takes a close second: the soundtrack is provided by the main character, whose only means of communication is through her piano. Michael Nyman's compositions for her are as haunting as they are eloquent. A completely unique cinema experience not to be missed.

There's the first half. You'll have to wait until tomorrow to tell me what movies I missed, but for now, any predictions? What movies are you hoping to see pop up in the top 10?

Filming Impotence: Hollywood's attempts to dramatize writer's block

As I sit in my room, staring blankly at walls, scratching my head, and occasionally making use of my chair's swivel function, attempting to distill marketable content from the swill of ideas in my mind, I have arrived at one irrefutable conclusion. It is impossible to honestly film the "creative process" of writing without boring an audience to tears.

This isn't to say that successful methods have not been found: Film, like life, will find a way to market everything. The key point here is realism. Take a moment to reflect on your movie-going career. Most films about writers spend little to no time focusing on the writing process. The reason is simple: audiences might enjoy watching Will Shakespeare woo the well-to-do society girl masquerading as a player, but they are not interested in watching him try ten different variations of "A rose, by any other name...", pause to eat the Shakespearean equivalent of a microwavable burrito, and then try ten more.

Pictured: Shakespeare decides between red and green chili.

To eradicate this problem, film has adopted the Truffaut method. Francois Truffaut, a famous french filmmaker, once said that he demanded that movies "express the joy of making cinema or the agony of making cinema. I am not at all interested in anything in between." Movies about writing express either the joy or the agony of writing. Here to help us today are two case studies: Adaptation and Shakespeare in Love.

Poor Charlie Kaufman. If anything in Adaptation is to be taken literally, it must be the battle royale between Kaufman's ideas and The Orchid Thief. Here is a fantastic example of the creative process at its worst. Kaufman sits in his room for hours, trapped in a mental breakdown, writing the same sentence over and over, and, in what must have been the highlight of his day, masturbating to the dust jacket of the book he tries to adapt. As a sometime writer, I can say with sometime confidence that Adaptation represents the nadir of the creative experience. Rarely is one moved to tears by a case of writer's block; almost as rarely as achieving sexual gratification from the idea of finishing a paragraph. The extremes, however, are what makes the scene work. Kaufman's frustration and anger are so palpable they leak off the screen.

Joy, it would seem, is more difficult to convey. To do so, most filmmakers revert to Hollywood's oldest, favorite trick: the inspirational montage. If Sylvester Stallone can become a proficient athlete in the time it takes to play "Eye of the Tiger," then Shakespeare can surely crank out a few acts of Romeo and Juliet, if provided with upbeat string music. Shakespeare in Love does exactly that. And somehow, inexplicably, it works. The montage as a dramatic tool has become so ingrained into our collective consciousness that it's nigh-impossible to do anything but smile and hum along. It worked for Shakespeare.

As for the "in between?" When a writer lacks 80s rock anthems to speed their process, but isn't crying quietly in the corner? I have no use for it.

Even if it's where I find myself.

Frequently.

Do you have any use for the in-between? Is it possible to convey apathy, or is it necessary to stick to the extremes? Educate me.