Best Actress Bar Crawl

If Twitter is good for nothing else, it's a fantastic place to share silly ideas with people and watch them blossom into something completely different and unexpected. After watching her on a talk show being her fabulous, charismatic, over-the-top self, I innocently commented on Twitter that my dream in life was to go out drinking with Gabourey Sidibe. My birthday twin Will jokingly responded that we were free to meet him and Jennifer Lawrence for happy hour. This spawned its own conversation as we imagined this outing which somehow grew to include a party bus and Zayn and Harry from One Direction stopping by at some point. During this fun, however, a wonderful hypothetical question came to my mind: which recent Best Actress nominees would I like to go with on a one night bar crawl? In its own way, this is a great way to get to know people, whether they are your oldest friends or a complete stranger. You can certainly tell a lot about a person who would pick Meryl Streep and Kate Winslet over Catalina Sandino Moreno and Samantha Morton (anyone who picks Renée Zellweger is certainly not to be trusted). So, in the spirit of getting to know me better--as if my life isn't already an open book--here are the five Best Actress nominees since 2000 I'd love to have a drink with:

Gabourey Sidibe

If you've ever seen Gabby on a talk show, particularly the fast and loose Chelsea Lately, you will understand where I'm coming from on this one. This girl knows how to have a good time. Plus, she's admitted that she loves to drink and she's an endless fountain of 90s trivia. What can possibly happen with her except the best damn night of drinking ever?

Jennifer Lawrence

Yes, I'm stealing this answer from Will, but once he mentioned her, I knew she had to come along as well. Jennifer may seem like an odd choice as she usually appears to be Ms. Serious Actress after Winter Bone and The Hunger Games. As with Gabby, though, if you have seen her on a talk show, you will know that this girl knows how to have fun. Besides, how can you say no to a woman who will photo bomb her own boyfriend:

I rest my case.

Anne Hathaway

As one of the only three women I would switch teams for (Penelope Cruz and Christina Hendricks being the other two), it's only fitting that I invite Anne along so that maybe we can drunkenly make out a little bit. And, unlike Penelope, there won't be any language barrier, so she'll get to be her fun, witty self all night long (Although I like to imagine that Penelope speaks better English when she's drunk).

Helen Mirren

This bitch may be 67 years old, but you know she would be able to drink everyone in the bar under the table and still be classy/sexy enough to make out with someone a third her age without looking like a desperate, pathetic cougar. God bless this Dame.

Sandy Bullock

Who else besides Sandy, with her trademarked deadpan sense of humor, is going to make fun of the losers all around us at the bar with me? If we go to the gay bar in my town, we will definitely more than enough targets to launch our barbs on.

Now, more importantly, which lovely ladies would you pick?

Short Rants on The Artist

"It was cute." This was the only thing I could come up with after my filmgoing companion asked what I thought of The Artist last week. Believe me, I tried to come up with other adjectives, as "cute" is not something I'm normally comfortable with in the movies I watch, but words absolutely failed me this go-around. And I'm not exactly sure why because it's not as if I hated anything about The Artist. The whole thing is so lovingly created with such a keen eye for the mechanics of silent movies. From the obvious things to the cinematography to the subtle things like the title cards and the casting, Michel Hazanavicius understands how silent movies, particularly ones of the commercial nature that The Artist is paying tribute to, move and feel. It may not sound like much, but it's an incredibly hard feat to pull off. I'm particularly impressed with the casting of Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo as the two leads. It would have been easy for Hazanavicius to cast two French stars, say Louis Garrel and Eva Green, with international name recognition. Instead, he chose two actors who may not be as popular but would be far easier to see in a silent film circa 1927. The leading men of the silent screen were, more or less, not the pretty boys we see today. Pattinson, Lautner and Efron never would have been as big as they are today. The rugged, dashing, masculine, slightly older Dujardin, however, is the perfect fit for the Male Star archetype in 1927 Hollywood cinema. Bejo, so utterly charming, spunky and full of life, particularly in her early scenes, is the It Girl of silent cinema (Much in the same way many people will tell you that Michelle Williams is Marilyn Monroe in My Week With Marilyn. But I digress). 

At some point, however, all the technical proficiency and attention to detail in the world cannot hide the content of a film. I don't have a problem with the lightness of The Artist. In a way, it's actually refreshing that a lighthearted romp such as this is earning critical accolades and deafening Oscar buzz. It gives me faith that people still understand that good films aren't necessarily the ones that are either the most serious or feel the most "important." But The Artist does not offer much beyond its nostalgic feelings. Not to diminish the technical accomplishments of the film, but what does The Artist bring to the table that many fun, frivolous, high quality commercial silent films from MGM in their heyday didn't already? The Artist is fantastic if you have never seen a silent movie before, or if you thought that all silent films were as deadly serious as The Birth of a Nation or "highfalutin" as Potemkin, Greed or Metropolis. But to those of us who have already taken an interest in the silent era, it is more of an homage than a revelation. In the grand scheme of things, The Artist, although there's nothing explicitly bad about it, is more of a paint by numbers than an original painting. B

OMGMichelleWilliamsISMarilynMonroe, or: When Will Everyone Realize That Mimicry Does Not Always Equal "Best"

My Week With Marilyn is a piece of shit. With its BBC-level production values, a banal script full of clichés and dialogue that ranges from generic as all hell to "Holy fuck, people got paid to write turds like Marilyn telling Colin at the end of the movie, 'Don't forget me,' as if spending a week with one of the biggest celebrities in history is somehow going to slip his mind one day," and, perhaps most glaringly, an utter lack of any interesting new idea or thought, serving only as a cash-in on the infamy and legend of Marilyn Monroe, this film makes The King's Speech and its Wall look positively ripe with feeling and cinematic flourish. But you didn't need me to tell you any of this. I mean, you all have functioning eyeballs and eardrums, right? No, what I really want to talk about is this idea that an actor mimicking a real life person, preferably one who we are all familiar with and has identifiable quirks, somehow has more skill than an actor who conceptualizes a character from the page to the camera. Obviously, I'm not speaking in absolutes here, as there are "mimicry" performances that work and others that no one is particularly fond of, but it's a general trend in "important" movies that, after witnessing My Week With Marilyn, I have realized is getting completely out of hand.

Michelle Williams is an actress I respect and admire far more than I actually love. Her work with director Kelly Reichart, which consists of Wendy and Lucy and Meek's Cutoff, is good for what it is (cerebral and naturalist actressing pushed to the extreme), but it is rarely the kind of work that elicits any sense of excitement from me. Last year's Blue Valentine, which gave Williams' much more narrative to hang her introverted, low key acting style on, was the first time I truly loved a performance of hers, unbiased by the "Genius!" cries that usually surround her. With that said, how sad will it be that after that revelatory performance Williams will probably win the Oscar for her Marilyn Monroe in My Week With Marilyn? She's not bad by any means, but, my God, could people get any more worked up about such an inconsequential, run-of-the-mill performance? Williams does not nor will she ever possess the movie star mojo necessary to carry off the Marilyn Monroe needed for this film. If she was playing "The Actress" in a remake of the Nicolas Roeg's Insignificance, which relies on the Marilyn essence but asks for far more from its leading lady than My Week With Marilyn does, then I can easily see why Williams would be an appropriate choice. But My Week With Marilyn is such a flimsy, superficial film, it never asks for Williams' Marilyn to be anything other than Effervescent Star or Overwhelmed, Depressed, Close-to-the-Edge Star. You can tell Williams is straining for something, practically anything to really sink her teeth into, even if this something challenges the straining-to-be-sophisticated narrative. During one "crucial" scene, Marilyn and her confidante Colin run into a group of fans wanting to meet her. "Let me give them Marilyn," she remarks to Colin, before going into a parody of the Marilyn as sexual bimbo routine. The problem is that she's not giving us a different take on Marilyn, merely recreating the one she has played for the previous 80 minutes or the one we know from history or a quick Wikipedia search. We already know everything about this Marilyn.

The same thing could be said about Kenneth Branagh's much ballyhooed take on Sir Laurence Olivier. He gets the accent right, and even looks like Larry at certain angles, but what does he add to the role that we don't already know about him? He's vaguely funny at times, and he's a bit of a douche. That's all we've got. We learn nothing new about his character that we didn't already know from minute one. And he's hardly interesting enough to be a vivid sidekick, like Melissa McCarthy in Bridesmaids. "But, but, he practically becomes Olivier!" you'll hear supporters cry. So? The SNL cast members "become" various celebrities every week, yet you don't see people rushing around giving them Emmy's for every convincing De Niro or Denzel. Don't get me wrong, mimicry is extremely difficult and, given the chance, I don't even think I could do a proper imitation of myself, but it's only one component of a performance. If we don't connect to a performance on any other level, whether intellectually, emotionally or according to any other criteria, then what in the hell does it matter if they sound like Olivier? It's not a complete performance. And, in Williams' case, she doesn't even get the mimicry right, for she sounds and acts like how you would imagine Michelle Williams straining to be upbeat and perky at a party after her mother tells her to stop being such a Gloomy Gus all the time. In a blonde wig, of course.

Listen, I'm all for biopics with a point of view and stars playing stars, and I understand the appeal. But we can't continue to place "playing a real person" on a pedestal while ignoring acting that is either less showy, more difficult or funny. Especially when said acting fails to elucidate anything new about the person they are playing or about some grander theme. Mimicry can help an actor find their character, but let's not continue to mistake it for an actual character. My Week With Marilyn: D-, Williams *, Branagh *

My Lovely, Oscar-Winning, Cameo-Filled Dream

As a movie-lover for the better part of the past decade, I have had many a daydream about someday winning an Oscar. Despite the fact that my best shot at winning one would be in the writing categories, I often dream big and imagine snagging an acting trophy. We can try and pretend that the other awards are just as glamorous and important as the acting awards but there's a reason the Best Sound Editing winner gets cut off after 30 seconds while Natalie Portman gets to ramble for four minutes. My dream for the past year has been to be discovered by a director, become his lover/muse, let him mold me into a proper actor and snag an Oscar for my troubles. This is all despite the fact that I have no control over my facial expressions or my voice. Hey, no one said it was going to be easy.

The reason I bring this all up is because last night I had an amazing dream where I won an acting Oscar. Best Supporting Actor, to be more specific. But, curiously enough, I don't remember the moment where I was awarded the prize specifically happening; the dream only covered before and after the big moment. If we're being honest, the dream actually started in Britain on the eve of the outbreak of World War II. I was a student and one of my classmates was Zac Efron. I'm pretty sure we were dating and other classmates knew and accepted it, which is surprising since pre-War Britain was not exactly the friendliest towards homosexuals (not that any society really was, to be fair). Anyways, the only part I really remember from this part was a moment where Zac was being chastised by someone in the middle of class and he was about ready to start sobbing. I was also in the class, sitting with a couple of my friends. They were asking why I didn't rush over and comfort him. I launched into this beautiful monologue about how I had no idea how to comfort someone, how I would feel awkward putting an arm on his shoulder and telling him that everything would be okay. Basically, I loved him but I had no idea how to express it. It was a tender moment that I wasn't sure how it fit in with the rest of the dream but I finally figured it out: this must have been my Oscar clip! You know, the scene they play right before they announce the winner. It sounds like the perfect moment if I was going for the supportive girlfriend nomination that happens nearly every year (not usually in Supporting Actor, but you catch my drift).

Apparently the clip worked because the next morning I was at my house with my little gold man in tow. What really surprised me was the fact that I wasn't taking my Oscar everywhere I went. I always figured that after I won, that little statue would be coming into the bathroom with me. I would not let anyone forget for a second that I was a fucking Academy Award-winner. If someone disagreed with me, I'd shove that Oscar in their face and say, "Do you have an Oscar? What's that? You don't? Then your opinion means nothing!" In other words, I'd be even more obnoxious than I already am. In the dream, however, I was surprisingly chill. I walked outside and started talking to my neighbor Emmy-winner Jane Lynch. She was filming a new sitcom, a "celebreality" parody show, in her own house. We had a wooden fence between our yards, much like the one between the Taylors and Wilson on Home Improvement, and bantered for quite a bit. At some point previously, I had guest starred on her show and I made a particularly amusing quip about how she had to write her lines on my car mirror because she couldn't remember them when I was on her show. Okay, so it's not quite so good in retrospect but it worked in the dream. Maybe Jane was just in awe of my Oscar?

After that delicious snark session, a previous Oscar-winner stopped by to congratulate me: Christian Bale, of all people! I'm pretty sure he still had that horrible beard nonsense going on, which is a shame, but I still appreciated the gesture. What slayed me about his visit, though, was the fact that he called my acceptance speech "sassy." Ha! Can you imagine Christian Bale calling anything sassy, let alone an acceptance speech by little ole me?



When Bale left, I went back to my BFF Jane Lynch for some girl talk. She was taking a break from shooting with a new guest star: Candice Bergen. Yes, Murphy Brown herself was also in my dream. I told you this was an all-star ensemble! Candice was everything you'd expect her to be with that voice and that disapproving sarcasm. The way Jane and Candice were talking, it kinda reminded me of the episode of Will and Grace where Candice Bergen makes a cameo as Karen's best friend/arch nemesis.

As I was leaving Jane and Candice and heading back into my house, I half-jokingly mentioned that I was disappointed I hadn't heard from Oprah yet about doing an interview since I was a hot shot Oscar winner. I know I said I was half-joking but, come on, this is me we're talking about. You know that I would win an Oscar just so I could sit down and have a conversation with Oprah. Well, after I had been home for a bit, I heard a knock at my back door. I went to answer and there were two people standing there, one holding a camera and another holding up some kind of monitor. They turned the monitor on and who do you think appeared, ready to speak with me about my Oscar win?


Up until this point, I had been really cool about winning the damn Oscar. When I saw that face, though, I completely lost it. I screamed, "OPRAHHHHHHH!" in the highest-pitched voice you can imagine. It would be totally embarrassing if it wasn't me we were talking about. Just imagine what I would have done if she had actually been there?

This is where my dream ended, unfortunately, as I had to get up and go to work. How dare they interrupt Our Lord and Savior trying to interview an Oscar winner?! Sorry if this was completely long-winded and dumb but I thought it was just so ridiculous and specific that I had to share it. Now I need to plot how I'm going to win my own Oscar.

Katy's Voice Makes 'Em Go "Uh, Uh, Ew"

For a lot of people, the PS 22 choir that closed this year's Oscar ceremony with a "rousing" and "inspirational" performance of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' was one of the show's highlights. I'm immune to this sort of corny, cheeseball fluff so I thought it was a grand waste of time, but that's just me. Anyways, Oprah did her annual after Oscar special live from the Kodak Theatre and to close her own show, she brought back the PS 22 choir to sing another inspirational song. I was watching the show with my mother and both of us were only vaguely paying attention until I heard the now infamous opening lyric "Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?" Yes, the PS 22 choir was singing Katy Perry's 'Firework' and I was about ready to bust out laughing. What an incredibly odd choice, especially for Oprah's extra special Oscar episode, but it's kinda fun, too.

Anyways, the choir is doing a fine job, singing their precious little hearts out. All of a sudden, this loud, completely off pitch shriek comes out of nowhere. My mom and I look at each other and we both say, "Who on Earth decided to mike the one choir member who can't sing for shit?" We were completely puzzled by this bad sonic decision when the curtain suddenly rises just in time for the first chorus and who should appear but...

Katy Perry

Listen, I've grown to appreciate Katy Perry in the past year--mainly because of this incident--and absolutely LOVE some of the tracks on her Teenage Dream album but girlfriend cannot sing live, especially a song like 'Firework' which calls for big high notes. She tries really hard but Katy absolutely needs an army of backup singers to drown out the horrible shrieking that her live voice produces. Katy is great in the studio and has a great pop persona but she seriously needs to take the Britney route and start lip syncing.

Here's the full video so you can witness the hilarity:

The King's Speech Had a Director?

It's one of life's cruel ironies that, moments after Tom Hooper won the Best Director Oscar for The King's Speech, the telecast then decided to show highlights from the Governor's Awards where French iconoclast Jean-Luc Godard, who "regretfully" couldn't make it, received an honorary Oscar for his 50 years of continually redefining cinema and pushing its boundaries. Whether or not he would have appreciated the honor, here is a man who gave us Anna Karina silently crying to The Passion of Joan of Arc and Jean-Paul Belmondo & Jean Seberg seductively and slyly bantering back and forth in her bedroom, who created a nearly 10 minute long take of a congested traffic jam as a metaphor for capitalism run amok and who gave a voice to leftward politics without trivializing it or making them the enemy, and how many Oscar nominations does he have to show for it? Zero. Meanwhile, Tom Hooper, with a whole bunch of respected-if-not-quite-beloved TV movies and one feature film on his resumé, waltzes up to the podium on his first try for The King's Speech. Now, I'm not one to believe that a director must "pay his dues" before he can be called a great director or even win an Oscar; there are plenty of guys who have proved they had exactly what it takes to be a great director within their first few tries. But who in their right mind thought while watching The King's Speech, "This guy, Tom Hooper, he's got something! What a bright future he has!"? You may notice the respectable acting, The Wall, the off-centered cinematography or the "quirkiness" of the interactions between Firth and Rush, but absolutely no one leaves the theatre thinking that Tom Hooper had any real point of view or the balls to take this film in any slightly uncomfortable direction. He's a fine organizer and may even be good at eliciting performances from his actors, but that's not all that is required of a director, especially one with a Best Director Oscar. They have to offer something more and I'm afraid Tom Hooper simply hasn't shown he's even remotely capable of doing that.

And just because I'm super bitter about the whole thing--I was literally in the fetal position when he won last night--here's a Best Director Oscar statistic for you:

Tom Hooper: 1. Hitchcock, Bergman, Fellini, Truffaut, Godard: 0.

The Dame Wears Black for Andy

In case you don't follow the multitude of film people I do on Twitter or have an actual life that doesn't revolve around something so arbitrary as film awards, today was Oscar nomination day. I used to be really into predicting and following the Oscar race, but as the years have gone on, I have become more and more disillusioned with the whole spectacle. Sure, I still live for the actual show itself and I do follow the race with a passing interest, but it doesn't hold the same magic for me it once did. I have realized over the years that I'm much more fascinated by the non-consensus personal ballots I see from online bloggers I admire. I don't care if we disagree, I just love seeing people pick movies and performances they truly love rather than pick stuff that falls into the category of good taste. Oscar, for the most part, doesn't do that and that is why I've become disengaged.

This year, however, I did have one Oscar wish: that my beloved Andy Garfield would get a nomination for his work in The Social Network. Unlike my no-chance-in-hell campaign/wish for La Tisdale to get a nomination for High School Musical 3, Andy was a legitimate contender. He had the Golden Globe nom, the BAFTA nom and a considerable amount of support behind him leading into today. The recent SAG omission stung but you never know with that group and the way they pick their nominees. So, I went in this morning confident, believing in the power of The Secret, that Andy would get his well-deserved nomination and I'd do this happy dance:


I was at work this morning when the nominations were announced, so I was horrified to discover these two tweets on my phone during my morning break:

Cut to my (and probably Andy's) reaction:


HOW CAN YOU MAKE ANDY CRY, YOU HORRIBLE BASTARDS?! What did he ever do to you to hurt him like this? You all saw The Social Network. You all know how amazing he was. So why did you ignore him in favor of Geoffrey Rush being old and Australian? Ugh, so many questions, so little answers.

In honor of my new mood, I quickly posted this on my Twitter:

It is, officially, a day of mourning. Instead of ending nearly every tweet with "Oh Andy" (sexual connotation implied), we must now end them with "Poor Andy" to honor the memory of this now dead dream. The mourning period will last for an indefinite amount of time but, do not worry, fellow Andy lovers. He will rise from the ashes once again and eventually he'll go from this...

to this...


(I don't even know what that is, but I love it! Adorable Andy strikes again)

The Father of My Children, Sandy Bullock Style

Last night, I caught the French film import du jour, Mia Hansen-Love's The Father of My Children, and I was far from impressed. The film is one of those movies where if it was made in English, no one would give a shit about it, but since it's spoken in a foreign tongue everyone immediately respects it. The story concerns a film producer whose production company is in massive debt with no way out. He tries to hide his concerns from his wife and three daughters, but, eventually, he can't anymore and spills everything to his wife. She tries to comfort him to no avail. The next morning, in an act of madness, he shoots himself in the head. The last hour of the film chronicles the rest of the family's attempts to overcome this tragedy. Tears are shed, shouting matches are had and dark family secrets are uncovered. If all of this sounds familiar, it all is and that's precisely where the problem lies. Everything about The Father of My Children is nicely done but there is a complete lack of ambition to push outside the boundaries of what you would expect from a film of this nature. The family is all lovey-dovey in the way families only in the movies are. And, even when their world is crumbling, there is no backlash, no sense that even for a second this might cripple them even for a brief period of time. You know the family is going to recover and that's that. Critics, like the one who wrote the blurb featured at the top of this poster on the left, praised The Father of My Children for its lack of sentimentality, as if being sentimental is the death knell for the movies. Sure, the film didn't need to be as sentimental as something like The Blind Side (few movies do), but a tad more dramatic tension, which could manifest itself as "sentimental," between the characters and their situation would have made for a better film. Instead, especially during that last hour, The Father of My Children flits around between various plot points, including the daughter finding out about her father's love child from before he married his mother, without ever coming to any sort of catharsis or reason of interest. When the daughter eventually meets the mother of her father's son and they talk for a bit where the mother reveals that her son and his father never really got along. As soon as that tidbit is thrown out there, this subplot is thrown out as quickly as it was brought up. Wouldn't the daughter be curious why the son doesn't get along with the father she loved so well? Is she at all curious about seeing another side to him? Apparently not, even though I assumed that was the whole point of bringing this whole illegitimate child up in the first place. I guess Hansen-Love wasn't interested in exploring that and that's her prerogative; what she was going for, however, totally escapes me. C+

All throughout the movie, I kept thinking about what a Hollywood remake of this film would look like. Sure, I mentioned that The Father of My Children is, essentially, a Hollywood film already, but there are moments that are far too subtle and un-histrionic for a major Hollywood tearjerker that would need to be amplified so us dumb Americans would get it. Actually, with just a couple of changes, I could see this as an Oscar contender for one of Hollywood's A-list actresses. Sure, the original French film is more about the father, but men aren't allowed to be emotional in Hollywood films so the actress will have to do all the heavy lifting. I ran through a score of capable actresses for my imaginary remake, but the one who made the most sense was good ole Sandy Bullock. With this film we'd get a Best of Both Worlds from her. In the first half we would get the fun, lovable, eternally charming Sandy that makes her so appealing in her romantic comedies. Then, in the second half, after her husband dies, Sandy the Strong Mama will come out and blow us all away. When she's upset, she's really going to be upset. When she has to put on a brave face for her girls, she make it the best damn brave face you've ever seen. When she faces the prospect of losing her husband's company, she's going to save that company even if it takes every last bit of her already waning strength left. When her daughter finds out about her husband's son, Sandy is going to bring everyone together and convince her daughter (and, therefore, the son, too) what a great man her dad was and the scene will end with a big emotional group hug that will bond them permanently. Okay, so maybe I'm being a little glib here, but the point still remains: if Sandy Bullock wants Oscar #2, she needs to get on an English-language remake of this movie and change a couple of minor details to suit both her persona and Oscar's taste. I think it can happen so let's make it work, people!

Andy Garfield is a Potential Oscar Nominee...I Think

There are some new pictures from the upcoming film The Social Network, undoubtedly my most anticipated film for the rest of the year, over at /Film. Star Jesse Eisenberg and Disney starlet Brenda Song (who plays Andy's girlfriend, the lucky bitch) appear in a few of them, but I have to share the shots of my boo Andy Garfield, looking good as always. Between this film and Never Let Me Go, these next couple of months are shaping up to be the Autumn of Andy. And because these films are looking like major hits, whether with critics, audiences or both, I'm going out on a limb and making a bold prediction:

Andrew Garfield will be an Oscar nominee come next January.

Why, you ask? I have no real evidence to support this hypothesis; it's just a complete and utter hunch on my part. Here is my reasoning. First of all, he has major roles in both Never Let Me Go and The Social Network. The success of both of these films will hinge, in part, on Andy's performance in each of them. If he's good, he'll definitely be remembered. Oscar definitely responds to actors who have multiple acclaimed performances in the same year (just as long as there isn't category confusion or general confusion as to which performance to back). Secondly, the news that Andy has been cast as the new Spider Man in Marc Webb's upcoming series reboot proves that he's poised to be the Next Big Thing. Don't you think Oscar would want to cash in on that so they can say, "Na na na na boo boo! We discovered him before you!"? Sure, the fact that Andy is a young, attractive male will be a negative in his favor as the conservative group likes their actresses young and perky and their men past middle age and rapidly approaching death. This is why actors like Ben Foster, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Gael Garcia Bernal are nomination-less while Morgan Freeman, Jack Nicholson and Philip Seymour Hoffman have nominations up the wazoo. But, as films like Brokeback Mountain and Half Nelson proved, when a film hits Oscar's sweet spot, they have been known to loosen their "No Hotties Under 30" rule.

I think Andy will have a better chance in the Best Supporting Actor category, as it seems more open to new blood than the Lead category. The question is now which film will get him there? Both roles are borderline lead roles and, depending on the adaptation, a case could be made for either category placement. In Never Let Me Go, he's the male romantic lead, but there's an argument to be made that the story belongs solely to the character Carey Mulligan plays in the film. I just started the book The Social Network is based on (I'm literally 19 pages in) and the story is told through Garfield's character's viewpoint. But, based on what we've heard about Mark Zuckerberg and the film's trailer, it looks like Jesse Eisenberg is the star of the film. My guess is that they'll campaign Andy in both categories, but which film will go where? Never Let Me Go appears to have the best shot at a nomination (based on renowned book, world famous author, "prestige" factor, shot in trailer of Andy screaming his lungs out in anger) but it's also the film that is the hardest to make a case for to downgrade him to supporting. And who knows if director Mark Romanek will be Oscar's cup of tea? David Fincher has already proven capable of rubbing Oscar the right way, but will The Social Network be another Benjamin Button-esque attempt at prestige filmmaking? Lord I hope not, but, if it isn't, Oscar may not bite either. Geez, this is fucking complicated! You can easily talk yourself into thinking one way and then just as easily come up with examples that disprove your theory. That's what you get when you try to figure out Oscar: a headache. But, no matter how convoluted it sounds, I still stand by my hunch that Andy Garfield will get his first Oscar nomination this year.

Academy Award-Winner Jean-Luc Godard

Up until a couple of days ago, I never thought I'd see the day when that phrase which litters so many prestige movies' trailers would be attached to notorious French director Jean-Luc Godard. Someone actually asked me if I ever thought he would get an honorary Oscar on my Formspring some months ago and I responded that there was no fucking way the same group who gave Slumdog Millionaire and Titanic their Best Picture award was going to honor the director whose idea of a "mainstream" film is Contempt and Detective. Not only is Godard not mainstream, he doesn't give a shit what the establishment thinks of him. Sounds like the perfect combination to never come within an inch of one. Granted, my guess for this honor is that it has something to do with his Breathless, quite possibly the most important film ever made after Citizen Kane, turning 50 this year (and you know they're cursing themselves that Truffaut isn't still alive because if they were going to honor the anniversary of the French New Wave, he'd be the safer director to go for). Either way, you have to hand it to the Academy for this bold, uncharacteristic move.

Now that The Master has been given this honor, a bigger question remains: will he even bother to show up and accept the award? Given the fact they can't even find the sneaky bastard to tell him the good news, my initial reaction is a big ole Whitney "Hell to the no!" But, then again, you never know. He could make an appearance just to say, "Fuck you" to all the Hollywood bigwigs in attendance. Who knows? If the people who ran this special ceremony where the honorary winners are honored were smart, they'd turn the whole thing into a "Will He or Won't He Show Up?" sort of affair. People can go around collecting bets and they'll be cameras around the building on constant "Godard Watch," hoping to catch a glimpse of him. And when whoever they get to present the award to him (my guess is someone like Martin Scorsese, but I LOVE my friend Joel's suggestion that Reese Witherspoon should present and give a speech about how Tout Va Bien changed her life), they should kill the lights for a minute to heighten the drama. When they come back on, either the stage will be empty or Jean-Luc will be standing there giving the finger to Clint Eastwood and whatever other Hollywood people are there. Sigh. Just when the regular Oscar telecast could have made something fun and fresh with the honorary Oscar, they had to go and make it its own non-televised ceremony.

All kidding aside, I'm fucking stoked that the greatest living director* is finally getting his due, even if its from a conservative, pedestrian awards group. From Nana's dance in Vivre sa vie to the agonizing traffic jam scene in Week End to Michel and Patricia spending an afternoon together in bed in Breathless, Godard has provided some of the most iconic moments of young moviewatching life. Thank you, Academy, whatever your reasons, for rewarding this true iconoclast.

*Not based on his current output, of which I've only seen Notre Musique and didn't understand a minute of it, but because of his pre-Tout Va Bien work.

Best Actress Playlist

A couple of weeks ago, I randomly noticed that in my iTunes I had three songs whose titles corresponded to the titles of three of Bette Davis' Oscar nominations. I thought this was a funny coincidence so I tried to see if I could come up with any others. I didn't--you try finding a song called Mr. Skeffington!--but it got me thinking about what other Best Actress-titled songs I could find in my iTunes. Here's what I came up with, in order of the Oscar nomination:

Ann Harding, Holiday

'Holiday' by Green Day
'Holiday' by Madonna

Bette Davis, Dangerous

'Dangerous' by Monrose

Norma Shearer, Romeo & Juliet

'Romeo and Juliet' by The Killers

Bette Davis, Jezebel

'Jezebel' by Chely Wright

Irene Dunne, Love Affair

'Was it Just Another Love Affair?' by The Eurythmics

Bette Davis, The Letter

'The Letter' by Michael Johns and Carly Smithson

Susan Hayward, My Foolish Heart

'My Foolish Heart' by Paula Abdul

Katharine Hepburn, Summertime

'Summertime' by Fantasia Barrino

Faye Dunaway, Bonnie and Clyde

'03 Bonnie & Clyde' by Jay-Z and Beyoncé

Ali MacGraw, Love Story

'Love Story' by Taylor Swift

Liza Minnelli, Cabaret

'Cabaret' by Liza Minnelli

Barbra Streisand, The Way We Were

'The Way We Were' by Barbra Streisand

Bette Midler, The Rose

'The Rose' by Bette Midler

Gena Rowlands, Gloria

'Gloria' by Laura Branigan

Sissy Spacek, Missing

'Missing' by Everything But the Girl

Jessica Lange, Sweet Dreams

'Sweet Dreams' by Beyoncé
'Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)' by The Eurythmics

Jessica Lange, The Music Box

'Music Box Dancer' by Frank Mills

Kathy Bates, Misery

'Misery' by P!nk and Steven Tyler

Angela Bassett, What's Love Got to Do With It?

'What's Love Got to Do With It' by Tina Turner

Elisabeth Shue, Leaving Las Vegas

'Leaving Las Vegas' by Sheryl Crow

Juliette Binoche, Chocolat

'Chocolate' by Kylie Minogue

Judi Dench, Iris

'Iris' by The Goo Goo Dolls

Diane Lane, Unfaithful

'Unfaithful' by Rihanna

Charlize Theron, Monster

'Monster' by Lady GaGa

Reese Witherspoon, Walk the Line

'I Walk the Line' by Johnny Cash

And, in case you're missing any and want to complete this amazing playlist, click on this link and you can download them.

I know this playlist is hardly exhaustive, so does anyone have any suggestions? There's a song from the 80's called 'Suddenly, Last Summer' but I wasn't able to find it online. And there has to be songs called 'Queen,' 'Blue Sky' and 'A Man and a Woman,' but I haven't come across them. I'm hoping some of my more music savvy peeps can help out in that regard. Bonus points to anyone who can find a song called 'The Story of Adèle H.'