Readers, what better a way to return to your inboxes after, let’s say, “a winter’s nap” than a review of this awards’ season’s “biggest” contenders. Yes, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has once again, despite all its flaws and misaligned incentives, chosen to elevate a slate of ten films into contention for its highest honor, the Academy Award for ‘Best Picture,’ arguably the greatest recognized prize in the film industry worldwide and at the very least a popular high watermark by which to judge an era and a mood in our common culture.
Now, before we dive in, I must say, I am not nor ever have I really been an unwavering fan of the Academy’s choices. (I’m sure you all are shocked by this confession.) With such intense suspicion of those choices that I maintain my own competitive database for recognizing excellence in film each year, I do so much doubt the Academy’s reliability in discerning true cinematic achievement from merely popular or commercial success, that I’ve counted less on their tastes for guidance than set my own for guiding others for the past 16 years.
That said, I do nevertheless recognize the broad-reaching power the Academy and its awards do still have over the opinions and the memories of the general public regarding film; and, honestly, so great do I consistently find this power to be, that it’s difficult (nigh impossible) each year to skirt paying a good deal of attention to them. So, well aware of this power and charged with the mission of this ‘Hot Tea’ series, I present to you (as perhaps a new annual tradition) a familiar digest of this year’s ten nominees for the Academy Award for ‘Best Picture.'
Cups up, readers!1 Oscar’s here for tea time. Let’s see which of his ambiguously qualified selections, if any, may heat our cups at home.
Films are presented in alphabetical order.
All Quiet on the Western Front
Netflix • Drama • Breach of Contract
Synopsis
A quartet of schoolboys rides high on the false promise of glory, into the grim disillusionment of early 20th-century trench warfare, on the German front of World War I.
My take
Erich Maria Remarque’s (1929) novel about society’s generational devastation by the avarice of the First World War is hardly an unripe substrate for enacting dynamic cinema. A story about the nearly rambunctious joys of youth; their unfortunate confrontation with the harsh realities of nationalism and expansionistic greed by systems beyond their awareness, no less control; and the consequent adulteration (in every possible meaning of that word) of their otherwise yet untrammeled lives is one powerful narrative, whose ripeness for cinema is well recognized not only by the multiple adaptations it has already enjoyed and the generations of related ‘war films’ it’s unwittingly helped sponsor, but also by the Motion Picture Academy itself, which awarded the first cinematic adaptation of the novel the ‘Outstanding Production’ Oscar (such as then the ‘Best Picture’ category was officially known) at its third annual ceremony in November 1930.
This year, German filmmaker Edward Berger, previously best known within Germany for his 2014 film Jack also about a precocious call to adulthood, impressed upon the nearly century-old tale a distinctly modern look: Blue shadows, distant lenses, thick grey mud, and pinked white faces channel a steely muted palette that one may otherwise find gracing the pages of Vogue or the halls of a pretentiously cold and only begrudgingly human financial office, all to distinguish this adaptation from its priors — and Berger finds all the greater success because of it. Not only do the images on the screen maintain a sort of hostilely beautiful appeal, one swooning from regret as much as distant memory, but also do they robe the story in the terrible but somehow still recognizable garb of a system all too familiar to us, albeit slightly forgone. As a viewer, I couldn’t help but feel simultaneously pulled in and pushed back by this imagery, and for that feeling praise the visual techniques at work here (i.e., the cinematography, costuming, production design, and make-up) as the film’s strongest characters.
That said, there is little new that really reïnvents or reïnvestigates the didactic import of the original story in the actual text of the film, nor at least updates it for our modern era. The screenplay is a cut-and-dry presentation of the novel, with its greatest achievement being knowing where and how to edit itself into a distinctly cinematic two-and-a-half hour runtime. Perhaps this knowledge is all Berger wanted from the screenplay though, a stable foundation upon which to build a visual opus..? Either way, it keeps the film textually…straightforward, the kind of straightforward you’d recommend to a group of high schoolers reading the novel for the first time and looking for a bit of multimedia-based engagement to really bring the words printed on the pages ‘to life.’
Think of it that way then, I’d say, readers: a worthwhile nominee in the 10-long ‘Best Picture’ category for being a beautiful straightforward adaptation of a classic novel, to enrich one’s student understanding of the novel’s content and themes, but hardly a landmark work on its own overall.
Temperature check
Tepid
Avatar: The Way of Water
In Theaters (Disney+ on 8 July 2023) • Action • Swim, Swam, Swum
Synopsis
The vendetta of a vitriolic commander incites intertribal hostilities on the coasts of a remote planet.
My take
The first long-awaited sequel to James Cameron’s technical masterpiece, Avatar (2009), struggles to take off from its watery beginnings. Essentially a recurrence of the events of the original film — itself a nearly point-for-point (albeit uncredited) adaptation of prior works like Fern Gully (Kroyer [dir.] & Cox [wri.], 1992) and Pocahontas (Gabriel et al., 1995) — the new film fails to achieve the delicate and complex choreographic heights that helped make its predecessor an enduring milestone in the canon of cinema, instead of just an impressive computer-generated imagery (CGI) demo with the veneer of a plot. In all but one sequence, Avatar: The Way of Water feels more like a drip than a gush. I mean, sure, for anyone seeing the film who has not yet come across Subnautica (Unknown Worlds, 2018) or its sequel Subnautica: Below Zero (2021) in their cultural diet, two video games renowned in part for their inventive and enchanting underwater artistry and scenic designs, the ‘aqua-scaping’ of The Way of Water likely appears quite impressive, if not altogether groundbreaking — and I’ll allow the film a weighted credit to its name, since I’m sure that bringing those designs to the greater public’s awareness is a kind of achievement on its own. However, one “kind of achievement” (beyond the obviously impressive motion-capture imaging techniques painting nearly the entire film) does not a new masterpiece make.
Unless you’re a visual effects glutton, reader, you can safely set this nominee aside.
Temperature check
Cold
The Banshees of Inisherin
HBOMax • Drama • Compromise
Synopsis
The sudden and unilateral decision of a musician to terminate his life-long friendship with a farmer unsettles an otherwise quiet seaside community.
My take
Fourteen years after their successful collaboration on the charming In Bruges (2008), writer and director Martin McDonagh (coincidentally also a 2022 Tony nominee for ‘Best Play’ for his darkly comic Hangmen) and actors Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson (whom, I’m guessing, many millennials will best remember for his turn as Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody in Yates and Goldenberg’s [2007] Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix) reünite on the dim shores of Ireland for the deeply introspective The Banshees of Inisherin. Almost a chamber piece, set in a small and otherwise quiet seaside village in 1923, the film is a sonnet on the weight and meaning of people and work, or rather people vs. work, in life. At times heartbreaking and at others delightful, the story is one of the most sophisticated printed on film this year and, unlike the prior two films in this list, is strikingly unique in the history of narrative films I know.
Mostly closely related visually and thematically to other pastoral dramas about interpersonal intimacies like Ang Lee and McMurtry and Ossana’s (2005) Brokeback Mountain, Francis Lee’s (2017) God’s Own Country, and Ang Lee and Thompson’s (1995) Sense & Sensibility and yet somehow still nothing like those other films at all in its actual text, Banshees is interested less in the cautious culmination of a bond than in the aftermath of its (here abrupt) dissolution, a subject usually reserved for films about untimely death (e.g., Meet Joe Black; Brest et al., 1998), if truly for any film at all. I mean, I really cannot think of any other example of a film in which a break-up catalyzes the plot and does not — spoiler alert — result in new bond-making for the central characters — and how refreshing it is to see someone for once carefully consider the end of a relationship’s lifecycle not bereft by death without the rose-colored glasses to tell the audience to buck up à la “It’s all going to be OK in the end.” Truly, for such a natural and obvious part of the human experience to go essentially untreated on the screen for so long, it’s almost a miracle we haven’t yet seen such a film already and it is a startling success for McDonagh to have put his finger so squarely on that gap.
Despite this uniqueness in story and the palpable excellence in that story’s execution (featuring texturally rich visuals, a haunting score, and career-best performances from Farrell and supporting actors Keoghan and Condon, who both by the way just won the British Academy’s awards for the year’s best in their respective categories on Sunday), Banshees is likely to end up resembling some of its visual relatives in more than just setting and tone: It’ll likely finish, like Brokeback Mountain and Sense & Sensibility, first runner-up in the ‘Best Picture’ race, each in a loss to a more popular competitor. While, true, it’s fate is yet to be sealed by the official votes of the Academy on that front, the film nevertheless remains one of the year’s strongest as a highly worthwhile addition to our common culture and should thus not be overlooked.
Temperature check
Hot
Elvis (2022)
HBOMax • Biopic • Fools in Love
Synopsis
A young singer in a unique position to capitalize on selling rhythm and blues to white audiences shears under his greedy manager’s heavy hand.
My take
A tale told by an unreliable narrator is an excellent vehicle for exploring the life and story of a famously reclusive American pop star and rock-and-roll legend. It’s also an excellent vehicle for Baz Luhrmann to drive; a director whose best work happens at the dynamic perhaps frenetic fringe between reality and fiction, Luhrmann, like Presley, was in a unique position: Presley, to entertain; Luhrmann to narrate that entertainment. With recurrent swirling montages, anachronistic songs, and periodic climaxes that remind us of and showcase the beloved artist’s popular hits, Elvis finds itself right at home in the set of the director’s other work, including Moulin Rouge! (2001), Romeo + Juliet (1996), and The Great Gatsby (2012); and what in the hands of other visual storytellers would feel like the dizzying addle of an unstable mind comes across, with Baz’s finesse, like the filtered stream of consciousness of a creative (if somewhat attention-deficient) pioneer.
For all these achievements in synthetic storytelling and editing, as well as aesthetic appeal, I wholeheartedly applaud Elvis; and I can even find admiration for its star, Austin Butler, whose performance clearly went beyond a good impression of the King and into a psychological depth we, as his legacy audience, can only assume he actually had. (Butler, as it happens, is currently the front-runner in the race to take home the Best Actor Oscar this year, after taking home the Best Actor prize from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, arbiters of the Golden Globe Awards, earlier this season and from the British Film Academy just this weekend.)
For overall quality, however, I cannot stand firmly behind the film. The unreliable narrator at its center isn’t multidimensional enough to support being the central anti-hero and narrator of the entire journey — not even when he is played by such an actor of caliber as Tom Hanks. Mr. Hanks’ performance here is sadly a rare miss for the man in his catalogue; as a figure in the story, he neither produces empathy nor grows any interest in himself or his surrounding world. Now, while I understand that his character in real life was a formidable and important figure to Mr. Presley, the relentless and unchanging attitude we see him embracing on screen dulls the drama down to a blunt edge. It’s not simply that the characterization is displeasing to observe, for plenty of other displeasing observations are magnetizing on screen (e.g., Javier Bardem’s Anton Chigurh in the Coen brothers’ landmark [2004] No Country for Old Men); no, it’s the grating monotone of that characterization, especially over so long a runtime, that really cripples what otherwise was and is a captivating story.
Temperature check
Tepid
Everything Everywhere All at Once
Showtime / Paramount+ • Action • “Moms, It Hurts”
Synopsis
The coincidence of divorce proceedings, an IRS audit, an aging father, a drifting daughter, and a precarious laundry business catalyzes a multiversal “A-ha!” moment for a sixty-something Chinese-American woman.
My take
Directors Daniel Lee and Daniel Scheinert’s Everything Everywhere All at Once is a multi-spectacled pastiche of an action-comedy, whipped into a frenzy both more and less magnetically than Julia Child ever frothed a bowl of egg cream. Michelle Yeoh stars (in a role that, frankly, only she could play), helming a supporting cast including The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s Stephanie Hsu as Yeoh’s character’s daughter, id, and antagonist and Halloween (1978) and Activia’s Jamie Lee Curtis as Yeoh’s character’s partner (of sorts) and superego.
The contention these three characters enact is a simple Greek trope: Lest agony drown the pleasure of a Hellenic life (i.e.; one connected with the self, the family, and the polis), the ego must learn to control the writhing id threatening to pierce out one’s eyes and cut off one’s hands and waylay one forever away from home, NOT by appealing atavisticallty to perfunctory demands, or as James Cameron had Kate Winslet put it “the inertia of life” (Titanic, 1997), but rather by recognizing how to release that tension properly by behaving decisively according to one’s true internal character, which by the purity of nature is divine, faithful, and good. It’s a “finger trap” problem: You won’t get loose by pulling.
We’ve seen this triumvirate structure dramatized before: not just in ancient plays like Oedipus Rex (Sophocles, ca. 429 B.C.E.) but also in more recent and familiar works, like Payne’s (2004) Sideways, Reitman’s (2009) Up in the Air, Fleming and Filardi’s (1996) The Craft, and even Shi and Cho’s (2022) Turning Red. Like any reüsed framework, it is reüsed because it works; in this case, it identifies an honorable and valuable truth for our day-to-day lives: Not every challenge we face is one that force — physical, mental, willpower… — can shatter; some challenges we must best by disengaging, centering, and really connecting with the source of difficulty. True love means you’re able to let someone go, and all that...
O, reader, I won’t bore you with a litany of phrases any one of which could in its own way communicate the message of this film (probably, most focally a playful response to nihilism, that intent in action, especially in interpersonal connection, settles the bleakness of an otherwise boundless existence). No, the question I’m trying to answer for you is, was the way this film tackled communicating this point a milestone in cinematic history or just a colorful dance through the neighborhood?
For many, I think, the answer is the former. Everything Everywhere All at Once certainly learns from, employs, and strives to transcend film-making and storytelling techniques from multiple genres, referencing directly:
The Cell (Singh [dir.] & Protosevich [wri.], 2000),
The Matrix (Wachowski & Wachowski, 1999),
Wonder Woman (Jenkins [dir.] & Heinberg [wri.], 2017),
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Lee [dir.], Wang, Schamus, & Tsai [wri.], 2000),
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Gondry [dir.] & Kaufman [wri.], 2004),
Kill Bill (Tarantino, 2003-2004),
Deadpool (Miller [dir.], Reese, & Wernick [wri.], 2016), and
Office Space (Judge, 1999)
(among many others) in its imagery, cuts, and splicings. This orgiastic blend of perspectives is new, technically, but only because no one except perhaps Baz Luhrman has been so committed to remixing heavy blends of extant stories to make a product like this one, that we could call it by evidence “old." The surprise and consequent delight at this “new” I heard in the theater were therefore no surprise to me: People love a trifle, cakes that look nothing like cakes, Rube-Goldberg scale contraptions to flip a simple switch…
And, readers, to me at least that kind of contraption is exactly what this new film is: a Rube-Goldberg-level story to putt a standard round ball over a short flat green into a standard round cup. Ta-daaaa! Can you hear my jazz hands? It’s not that I’m not impressed by the fact that the putt requires the equivalents of a controlled detonation to slice a length of twine and a marble looping a ferocious track to ultimately tip a domino that cascades a mosaic spelling “Hi, Mom!” all to ultimately pop a slice of toast out of the toaster. Those feats are impressive, and I applaud them for their skill.
My simultaneous difficulty, however, is that complicated and impressive aren’t pretenses on good. I’d rather have had the screenplay spend less time on wowing us in the audience with the divergent kaleidoscope of realities expanding infinitely from the primary storyline we’re asked to follow and more time on developing out the character of the daughter, whose faint motivations aren’t as strong as I genuinely thought they could be. While it’s not like the available story there feels outright neglectful, the emotional connection I wanted to have with the characters over their (to me) highly relatable underlying issues (i.e., control and autonomy) constantly felt undermined by the dazzle of costumes, effects, and sci-for the film chose to foreground instead. In the end, not only were the plot points for me predictable (of course the buttplugs, of course the daughter, of course the hugs), but the weakest points connecting them together actively made me groan. Yeoh’s character at one point remarks, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re acting crazy — and it just might work.”, and I couldn’t but roll my eyes: Really? The maverick treatment of this “the chosen one” narrative?
At least the movie is saved by its stellar technicals. Editing, costuming, and visual effects are all fantastic at creating the lawful chaotic narrative the audience adored. I’d just be surprised if we, in the long run, found much more to really praise about this punk “indie that could” (and admitted ‘Best Picture’ Oscar front-runner) than those technicals and its spirit.
Temperature check
Tepid
The Fabelmans
Rentable • Drama • “Mom, You Hurt”
Synopsis
The wife of an engineer nurtures the artist in her son, who uses his lens to decode the world around him.
My take
Steven Spielberg writes a love letter of compassion to his mother and his younger self, but the ‘pocket’ beauty of this letter is a trinket appropriate for technical mavens and Spielberg junkies only. Other movie-goers may find less enjoyment than ambivalence in the at least outwardly nostalgic film, when they discover that it actually shatters as much as glorifies its own illusions; and, while yet another Oscar nomination for two-time ‘Rich Pick’ Michelle Williams may seem like reason enough for many to still opt into the film, this nomination is honestly more a cross-product of habit and Spielberg-mania than a genuine achievement in the performing arts.
I’d err on the side of caution here, reader, unless revelling in a midcentury American suburban disquietude, primarily expressed through production design and cinematography, feels exactly like your jam.
Temperature check
Cold
Tár
Peacock • Drama • “Mom Is Hurt”
Synopsis
A living legend in the world of classical music remorselessly wields terrific power.
My take
Todd Field is a master of character and storytelling, and Cate Blanchett is our greatest living actress. (There, I said it. Do you hear me, Meryl? “Our greatest living actress.” Yep.)
Delivering the performance of the year — ranking for me easily in the top five of the past decade — Blanchett tears up the screen as fictional virtuoso composer and conductor Lydia Tár, a woman as much her own invention as the genius idea of writer-director Field.
I simply cannot say enough about this film; it is a masterpiece of cinema, reaching a caliber of film I’d happily wait another 16 years to have the chance to see again from the mind of Todd Field. An Oscar nominee now for every film he’s made, Field is at the top of his craft, with a track record set to canonize him as one of this era’s leading creators.
In a just world, this film would be handily winning the ‘Best Picture’ Oscar and is must-see material here at Rich Reviews.
Temperature check
Steaming
Top Gun: Maverick
Paramount+ • Action • “Mom Was Hurt, So Fly Better This Time”
Synopsis
A seasoned fighter pilot with a certain disregard for authority must shepherd a batch of hot-shot colts through a technical time trial of international importance.
My take
The sun-soaked nostalgia of this year’s revisit to the Top Gun universe (Scott [dir.], Cash, & Epps [wri.], 1986) is undoubtedly just what the naval doctor ordered, for at least the summer mood of the country. Watching some of the most attractive men of days present and past frolic shirtless on a beach during golden hour is the fingerprint of Top Gun: Maverick, as much as the rest of the hand is steering Mach-10 jets through ravines in a ceaseless ramp-up toward ‘blow up the Death Star’-level piloting. I’ll therefore not begrudge any reader the entertainment of seeing the full film, however predictable its plot points from the very first frames to the very last may indeed be, precisely because when ever will the traces of summertime bonding and the paces of high-speed aerialism not sound like a fun way to spend two hours? Denying those pleasures would mean denying the entire premise of Ruben Östlund’s brilliant (2022) Triangle of Sadness (coincidentally, the next film on our list). I’d just implore anyone going in for the full Maverick journey, to remember that reality still exists when it’s over.
Temperature check
Tepid
Triangle of Sadness
Rentable • Comedy • Primal Screams
Synopsis
Two models find themselves in primal distress after a luxury cruise goes awry.
My take
After Todd Field’s gobsmacking Tár (see above), Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness may very well be the film that tickled me the most this year, when I sat down to watch it over the December holiday break. Having at that point won the Palme d’Or at Cannes and been nominated for a few early prizes, the film stuck out as a potential, if unlikely, contender in this year’s mainstream awards season. Despite my own instant affection for it, however, I thought I knew better than to hold high hopes for it come Oscar nominations’ morning, because this film is by no means conventional Oscar nominee material. So, you can imagine my pleasant surprise when it was announced to be in contention for not one, not two, but three top awards there this year: Original Screenplay, Directing, and the all important Best Picture.
Yes, I’ll say it again, Triangle is an unusual pick for the Academy: a provocative ‘art house’ film that eschews all standard protocol in narrative film-making in favor of its own zany (though structurally immaculate) three-act journey, ranging from the crowded backstage of a Fashion Week show to the nearly deserted beach of a tropical isle. O, sure, the film does have appeal: real-life models Harris Dickinson (memorable star of prior ‘Rich Pick’ nominee Beach Rats; Hittman, 2017) and (the late) Charlbi Dean lead an international cast, which collectively and cleverly pokes fun at the image-obsessed nature of our global society and which includes, by the way, a rather salty Woody Harrelson. So, perhaps it was the visual appeal of those two leads; perhaps, the name recognizability of Mr. Harrelson to Academy voters; perhaps, the growing possibility that the Academy is entering a new era, more welcoming of international and experimental cinema (e.g., Bong Joon Ho’s 2019 ‘Best Picture’ winning Parasite, Alfonso Cuaron’s 2018 nearly ‘Best Picture’ winning Roma) than it ever was before; perhaps, simply, the memory that Östlund’s two prior films were delightful and peculiar romps; or perhaps, a mixture of all those (and other) factors. Whatever the true reason(s), the attention the Academy ultimately gave to the film seems to have been sufficient for it to leave its delightfully acid signature as a lasting impression.
Now, despite my obvious affection, I can’t say that I wholeheartedly recommend the film to all of you, readers, because, frankly, I’m not sure that all of you undeniably have the stomaches for some of its…less than appetizing scenes; but I do wholeheartedly believe that, if you are looking for what’s legitimately new in cinema, perhaps even what’s cutting through the landscape to delight (and disgust) even so mainstream an audience as the Academy, look no further: This comedy this year is your consort king.
Temperature check
Hot (ouch!)
Women Talking
Available for purchase • Drama • As Labelled
Synopsis
Mennonite women meet privately, to decide how to respond to unchecked sexual abuse affecting their community.
My take
Sarah Polley îs a storyteller with a purpose. Her first feature-length film, Julie Christie’s late-stage Oscar vehicle — or so she’d hoped — Away from Her (2006), introduced her as a film-maker with a focal interest in the inner lives of women and the outer ways they commune those lives with those around them, often and perhaps most importantly with the men around, by, and for whom their social milieux were inevitably and often unfortunately constructed. Her latest venture, a forthrightly feministic drama whose title is as plain yet under-serving a description as I’ve ever seen of a narrative work since Mrs. Dalloway (Woolf, 1925) or its kin The Hours (Cunningham, 1999; Daldry, 2002) — from which Polley notably derives a certain wandering or restless spirit — marks Polley’s signature with clear red ink: the ink of passion, the ink of betrayal, and most of all the ink of blood. It is a firm film, softened like cream into butter by the honest and dedicated work of its central women, and it tastes of that work in the viewing of it. Quiet, regulated, with spare moments of fancy, Women Talking speaks loudest through its context; Judith Ivey, pictured above embracing Claire Foy on screen, gives the film its best and subtlest performance, a wise anchor, still capable of self-reflection and still active in its thorough pursuit, grounding the discussion with tenderness, practicality, and experience, almost entirely from the sidelines while Frances McDormand, staunch and pursed as ever, counterpoints, underscoring the grave misgivings the community may need to choose to disregard, if only to survive.
The conversation the women share isn’t always the most well reasoned; absent investigations of two serious and explicit considerations in the plot line glared out at me like headlights, startling the pursuit of the rest of the plot without their more careful discussion as much as a sudden bit of traffic on an otherwise isolated road toward home.
However, the logic that the conversation appeals to is nevertheless sound and resolute. Readers, listen to as much as watch this story (based on true events) as this year’s clearest bell for the individual to act even in the toughest or most isolated circumstances, not just for survival but moreover for reform.
Temperature check
Tepid
For more of my opinions on the Oscar nominees in all categories this year, check out my picks for the year at Rich Picks and join me Oscar Sunday (March 12th) for a livestream review on my Twitch channel.
Until next time!
Wow, it feels good to say this again!