Tag Archives: entertainment

On the Oscars, and Giving Awards for Art

We all know that it’s technically impossible to judge art. Art is subjective, meaning it’s an opinion, and opinions will vary from person to person. And we all know that we aren’t allowed to tell people that their opinion is stupid (even when it clearly is – believe me, I’ve tried). So if no one is wrong, then how can anything be right? Is an awards ceremony like the Oscars meaningless?

In a word, yes. The winners are established not by general consensus, but by secret-ballot voting of a select few who are not even a representative sample of the public. The Academy is made up of industry people – people who work in the business. People whose livelihoods depend on the business. People who are financially invested in the outcomes. They all pledge allegiance to certain movie studios and voting is not decided on ‘merit’ but on the political glad-handing that runs rampant behind the scenes. People campaign for votes. Literally campaign. Studios host lunches and come up with special advertising. The Academy is influenced by marketing first, and we can only hope that quality is at least second. The studios negotiate between themselves – if I can have your vote for Best Supporting Actor, you can have mine for Best Original Screenplay. Richard Linklater was an ardent campaigner this year while Birdman’s Inarritu was too busy working on another movie. But does someone deserve to win based on how many hands he shook, how many martinis he comped, or how unembarrassed he was to beg for the votes?

It all starts to feel a bit dirty.

As you know by now, the Best Picture award, which was a hot race between Boyhood and Birdman, went to Birdman. Inarritu’s peers, the people who make movies and would like to continue making them, decided his movie was the best. Or at least the one that should be rewarded, ostensibly so movies like that can continue to be made and the voters can continue to be employed. But movie critics, people who judge movies professionally, who are educated in what makes a movie ‘good’ gave it to Boyhood. The Assholes were split; Matt really loved Boyhood and I threw my weight behind Birdman. I enjoyed the concept of Boyhood immensely and gave it a lot of props and admiration but at the end of the day, I much preferred the experience of watching Birdman. Boyhood felt a little dull to me. And isn’t that the point, at the end of the day? To want to watch these things? Because the truth is, if you ask the viewing public, they’d pick neither. We audiences may not have a fancy red carpet or a gold statuette to offer, but we vote every day with our dollars. The top-grossing movie of 2014 in North America was The Hunger Games: Mockingjay-Part1; internationally, it was Transformers: Age of Extinction.

Movies are made to be seen. That’s their purpose, it’s why they exist and why they are made. Being popular does make a movie good, but shouldn’t it count for something? Transformers grossed over a billion dollars last year – that’s more than most countries’ GDP. Any good art should transcend any critical reasoning. I think good art is something that lasts. The Academy fails to get even that much right reliably – nobody watches Shakespeare in Love anymore, but Saving Private Ryan seems to have proved itself over time. And Chicago winning over Gangs of New York? Don’t get me started. William Freidkin, himself an Oscar-winning director describes the Awards as “the greatest promotion scheme that any industry ever devised for itself”.

Artists typically roll their eyes at the concept of rewarding one piece of art over another, but movie stars are just too vain to turn them down. They all give lip service to “not doing it for the accolades” but they all start salivating during awards season, and who among them has not been reciting their acceptance speech into a bathroom mirror since tweendom? Oscar in hand, suddenly they’re singing a different tune. Only three people, two of them actors, have turned down their Oscars. Marlon Brando famously used his win for The Godfather to protest the portrayal of Native Americans in film but only George C. Scott turned his down for Patton because he didn’t feel acting should be competitive. Competitive is a great choice of words – clearly it has become a competition since studios will gleefully turn out scripts stinking of “Oscar bait” but it’s not one that can be accurately measured. If someone runs competitively, you can declare a winner based on who was fastest. But when people start acting competitively, what criteria do you use for establishing the winner? Who was the best fake person – or who was the least offensive mimicker of a real person? Who got paid the most? Who got the greater screen time? Whose name got first billing in the credits? Who did the more ingratiating appearance on Conan? And lately it seems that acting awards aren’t necessarily based on merit at all, but rather on sentimentality, personal popularity, atonement for a past mistake. And then there’s the ever-popular just deciding it’s time – time to reward someone with a distinguished career but no wins, time to give it to a black woman, time for a comedian to have his turn.

Elizabeth Taylor lost an Oscar due to controversy over her unpopular 4th marriage. The Academy made it up to her for her work in “Butterfield Eight,” a role which even she hated, but she’d nearly died of pneumonia, with only a tracheotomy saving her life. Shirley MacLaine, her competition that year, nominated for her role in “The Apartment” said, “When Elizabeth Taylor got a hole in her throat I canceled my plane.”

Sandra Bullock somehow got her hands on an Oscar for playing a fairly convincing condescending white lady. To make matters worse, she won over Meryl Streep, Carey Mulligan, Gabourey Sidibe and Helen Mirren, because Sandy Bullock is a likeable and well-liked Hollywood staple with an awful lot of powerful friends in the business.

It seems like the Oscars are just another black-tie opportunity for millionaires to congregate and pat each other on the back. Because the caviar and private jets just aren’t quite enough

Midnight in Paris

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Establishing shots at the beginning of the film are divine, and if I wasn’t in Paris already, I’d be booking my flight! Funny how the toast of Manhattan, consummate New Yorker Woody Allen, now seems to be smitten with Paris. Is the City of Light his new inspiration?

Owen Wilson is quite taken with Paris in the 1920s. He’s a writer who’s spent years grinding out scripts in Hollywood (successfully, it seems) but wishes he’d had the guts to write novels in Paris instead. He’s visiting the city with his fiancée (Rachel McAdams), who’s had enough (“If I never see another charming boulevard or bistro -) but he’s still bubbling with anecdotes of Monet and Hemingway and their fruitful time lost in their art. While he’s out chasing the ghost of Joyce down cobbled streets, the clock strikes midnight and an old Peugeot drives up, full of merry-makers. Turns out – spoiler alert – that it’s Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.

We never know whether this is magic or mental health, but he now possesses the ability to slip back to his favourite time period, 20s era Paris, and he gets invited into Gertrude Stein’s (Kathy Bates) famous salon. Bates is lovely but I have to say, Wilson’s earnestness is what really sells this piece. He’s wide-eyed and worshipful of his heroes. It’s major wish-fulfillment and it’s fun to see all these giants come to life.

Rachel McAdams starts to get annoyed that he disappears every night, but how can he resist? Hemingway himself has offered to edit his work! Woody Allen’s script sings with treasures for book-lovers, and in this film, I can combine with my love of literature AND film (AND Paris, incidentally). Owen Wilson is just as bowled over – particularly when he comes across a beautiful muse (and mistress) to many famous artists (Marion Cotillard), but what a conflict between his actual fiancée in the present tense, and the people who get him but may just be figments of his fertile imagination.

This movie is not for everyone and that’s okay. And it’s not just about being well-read. You just either feel the charm or you don’t. Allen sprinkles the scrip liberally with treats that add up to a veritable feast (a moveable feast?) – you get the sense that he must have had fun writing this, which is perhaps why he won the Oscar for Best Orignal Screenplay (though he never attends to pick up his statuettes). If any of the above has sounded interesting, or if you just need another excuse to fall in love with the City of Possibility, then put this on your list.

Muscle Shoals

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This documentary isn’t terribly structured but it does offer some brilliant insight into the making of some of the best records of all time: Percy Sledge, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, The Rolling Stones…and what do they all have in common? They were all produced and recorded in small town Muscle Shoals, Alabama. You may not know the studio, but you definitely know the music.

Everyone gives lively, reminiscent interviews, including Bono, who just loves to hear his own voice because in actual fact he never recorded there. But everyone who’s anyone has, and most showed up to praise the sound coming out of the south.

What struck me the most was that, without any effort, just born out of one musician’s respect for another, more was done for race relations on vinyl in those studios than anywhere else. Black and white musicians worked together to make a cohesive sound that both describe as “funky.” This was rural Alabama in the 1960s but what was happening out there couldn’t mess with what was happening in the studio. It was magic.

The Book of Life

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Matt really disliked this movie but I couldn’t disagree more. The Book of Life is dazzling and vibrant and steeped in beautiful Mexican culture, even if it does fudge the facts a bit. Yes the accents are a bit wonky and the movie embraces stereotype – but that’s just it. They own it. There’s a real sense of pride but it’s never alienating. It may occasionally poke fun at itself but I thought it was sensitive and illuminative.

And finally an animated feature that, when most people would rather show another talking dog or a cuddly dragon rather than a person of colour, brings us a whole host of Mexican heroes that teach a lesson in love and diversity to a group of white schoolchildren. I thought it was refreshing. I thought it was electrifying to look at, Day of the Dead has inspired so much art and this movie is a real testament to all that came before it, and sorry Matt, but I even loved the mariachi-inspired covers of Radiohead’s Creep and Mumford & Sons I Will Wait. I thought it was a brilliant way to incorporate Mexico’s modernity into a film mostly set in the 19th century.

The story had lofty ambitions but didn’t quite live up to its own goals. The female character balks at her hand in marriage being given away for her. She seems an independent sort, strong, dare I say a feminist, but is sadly animated in the disgusting tradition of cartoons – her eyes are bigger than her hands, her ponytail is wider than her waist, and she’s about half the size of her male counterparts (who are glamorously styled after traditional marionettes). A real disappointment, not to mention the fact that the plot relies on a wager placed between gods as to which of two childhood friends will marry her, because offering a girl as a prize to be won is apparently necessary even when we’ve already established that this girl can think for herself.

The pacing is quick, maybe too quick. Adults, at least, will want to soak in the artistry and the legends but the momentum is unrelenting. The voice work is pretty great, although some of the casting did give me pause. Why are Channing Tatum and Ice Cube voicing Mexican characters? Did they get lost on their way to a 23 Jump Street rehearsal? I mean, I’m relieved that Channing Tatum at the very least isn’t affecting a disingenuous Mexican accent, but I feel that with so much Latino talent, they could have easily found someone better and I can’t think of any reason why they chose to go with a whiteboy. I realize we’re already stretching our imaginations to include a Mexico where the people speak English (some accented, some not). And I also realize that I probably don’t even have the right to comment on this. And while this movie isn’t a perfect representation of Mexican tradition, it’s a friendly start. It’s familiar enough that American audiences, even American kids, won’t be put off, while bridging a cultural gap that I hope will lead to more family movies doing the same.

Exciting New Development at Kanata Landmark Cinemas

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Sean and I were recently out at Landmark Cinemas in Kanata to see Big Hero 6. It was a super sweet movie, surprisingly action-packed, with some awesome animation and a bunch of slick characters, including inventors\scientists (always a refreshing change from the ubiquitous princesses) who have endearingly quirky superhero alter-egos, and a snuggly inflatable robot named Baymax who steals the show and your heart.

We had a lot of fun at this movie and if you want to find out why, you can read Sean’s review here. Me? I’m not here to talk about the movie. I’m here to talk about the soda fountain.

There’s been a change at the Kanata theater since we were there last month to see Gone Girl, a big one. Now for the low, low price of twelve-freakin-bucks-and-change you can pour your own drinks! But not just any drinks! You can choose to vanilla Coke, or maybe you’re more in the mood for grape Sprite, or even (Jesus!) cherry Mr. Pibb!

Coca-Cola Freestyle is a touch-screen drink fountain that means you can have the option to over one hundred drinks and none of them are my beloved Diet Pepsi. It also means that there are long, long lines of thirsty people because though they’re fairly easy to operate, they’ll never be easy enough for old people, and there’s also an annoying browsing opportunity that newbies will take advantage of, people behind them late for their movies be damned.

Embracing the spirit of the big scary Coke robot, I opted for a cherry Sprite . Sean? Sean just had a coke.