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 s
evidenced by this year’s voluminous hoo-ha over Martin Scorsese finally
getting his due, it’s become as much fun to pick on the Oscars as it is to
pick ’em—a trend made possible by the fact that, year in and year out, the
Academy tends to award the same kinds of films, directors, acting roles, and
even technical achievements. What is sound mixer Kevin O’Connell, now
nominated 19 times without consummation, doing wrong? If you thought
Borat had a gypsy's chance in Kazakhstan of getting his mitts on a
statuette, think again—and that goes for the screenplay award, too, Mr.
Cohen. Hell, we can’t even seem to decide who should host the damn thing.
Closer examination of the evidence, however, reveals that Uncle Oscar
isn’t usually such a bad guy. Let’s take Marty himself (the director, not
1959’s Best Picture) as an example: he may not have won for the
classics he directed during the first 20 years of his career, but they were
dealing with stiff competition indeed, and that goes for 1980’s Raging
Bull (up against The Elephant Man) as well as 1990’s
Goodfellas (up against Reversal of Fortune). You can pick nits,
sure, but often the Oscars are a case of very juicy apples vs. some very
tangy oranges.
And the reverse can also be true. The most reviled modern award, Marisa
Tomei’s 1992 Best Supporting Actress win for My Cousin Vinny, found
her up against a slew of very accomplished actresses doing nothing very
extraordinary (Judy Davis in Husbands and Wives, Joan Plowright in
Enchanted April, Vanessa Redgrave in Howards End and Miranda
Richardson in Damage). Oscar’s biggest sins seem to be those of
omission; Marty himself wasn’t even nominated for Mean Streets or
Casino. Yet since a list of ignored
films would take up a few gigabytes of cyberspace, let’s just take a
chronological look back on some of the most egregious sins committed by the
Academy… when it comes down to the final five, that is.
1939
 his
is often argued as having been the best year
Hollywood
ever had, at least from a creative standpoint, so perhaps it’s unfair to
judge the Best Picture category too harshly. And winner Gone with the
Wind, racist old overblown soap opera that it is, does represent the
Golden Age quite well. But then, so do the films it stepped on to get here:
Dark Victory, Goodbye, Mr. Chips, Love Affair, Mr.
Smith Goes to Washington, Ninotchka, Of Mice and Men,
Stagecoach, The Wizard of Oz, and Wuthering Heights. Could
all these achievements possibly be seen as inferior?
1941
 kay,
so Citizen Kane stepped on a lot of very powerful toes, perhaps too
many to ensure a Best Picture nod. But was How Green Was My Valley
really a more satisfying experience than The Maltese Falcon or even
Here Comes Mr. Jordan?
1942
 atriotism
always trumps professionalism, or at least it used to, which may explain how
James Cagney’s flag-waving, star-spangled, and now anachronistic turn as
George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy managed to make Gary Cooper
feel like the unluckiest man in the world for his iconic role as Lou Gehrig
in The Pride of the Yankees.
1943
 ho
can forget Paul Lukas’ Oscar-winning turn as Kurt Muller in Watch on the
Rhine? We all can. Especially when compared to Humphrey Bogart, who
didn’t amount to a hill of beans in the voter’s minds for
Casablanca.
1946
nother
example of the American public getting what it needs at the expense of what
it deserves: Fredric March was fine in The Best Years of Our Lives,
but only that film’s postwar glow can account for his win over Olivier’s
Henry V or Jimmy “James” Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life.
1950
ossibly
the most unfairly snubbed nominee in history, William Wyler’s film school
rite of passage Sunset Boulevard was apparently not ready for its
closeup, snubbed by the gold guy in all six main categories—Actor, Actress,
both Supportings, Picture, and Director. (Although it did face most of its
competition from All About Eve.)
1952
roving
that Hollywood can’t live without its epics, DeMille’s The Greatest Show
on Earth—which is exactly what you think it’s about—wins out over
High Noon and The Quiet
Man.
This one caused no little confusion when we video clerks were asked to place
it in our storied Oscar section.
1956
 peaking
of epics. Giant and The King and I couldn’t topple the
accomplished yet hardly stunning Around the World in 80 Days for Best
Picture. Then again, neither could DeMille’s The Ten Commandments!
Where’s your God now, audiences?
1963
 ou
think Marty had it bad: Tony Richardson, winning Best Director for his
likable but lightweight Tom Jones, beat out Otto Preminger and Elia
Kazan this year, not to mention Fellini for 8½. British new wave or
not, that’s a bold statement.
1964
 ichard
Burton, Peter O’Toole, Anthony Quinn, and winner Rex Harrison were tough
acts to follow, to be sure, but there was really only one excuse for the
comedy-hating Academy to not hand this one to Peter Sellers for Dr.
Strangelove, a film which saw him essaying three completely different
types of characters flawlessly, encompassing cartoonish caricature, everyman
frustration, and deadpan political satire. And with three different
international accents, yet. Try that, Streep!
1968
 inema
was changing rapidly, but during this year’s awards—Hollywood’s most
famously out-of-touch ceremony -- Carol Reed won Best Director for
Oliver! over Zeffirelli’s bold reworking of Romeo and Juliet as
well as Kubrick’s 2001.
1972
he
Godfather got its props as Best
Picture this year, but Oscar showed its real colors by awarding a
life-affirming musical performance, Joel Grey for Cabaret, over not
one but three Coppola-led triumphs in James Caan, Robert Duvall, and Al
Pacino. Oscar, like Tattaglia, was clearly a pimp.
1973
he
Sting is a fun buddy movie, sure.
But even the combined mancrush power of Redford
and Newman combined shouldn’t have pushed this one past American Graffiti,
The Exorcist, and (gulp) Cries and Whispers. And the Academy
likes its children only slightly rude, which is why Tatum O’Neal (Paper
Moon) won Best Supporting Actress over Linda Blair’s literally
head-turning (and stunningly accomplished, given her age) turn in The
Exorcist.
1976
ocky
may or may not be up to the standards of Network or All The
President’s Men, but it was Stallone’s movie, which leaves history
scratching its head over the decision to reward director John G. Avildsen as
opposed to Network’s Sidney Lumet or Ingmar Bergman for Face to
Face.
1979
oor
old Francis Ford Coppola only had to endure a heart (of darkness) attack
obsessing over Apocalypse Now, yet he still managed to lose Best
Director to Kramer vs. Kramer’s Robert Benton.
1980
classic blunder. It helps to remember that Ordinary People was, to
many, the culmination of a decade of films in which real people came to
grips with their real feelings in what were often real boring movies.
Wouldn’t you rather watch that year’s noms Coal Miner's Daughter,
The Elephant Man, Tess, or Raging Bull? (Marty! You scamp!
Get outta here!)
1990
 efore
Marisa Tomei, there was Whoopi Goldberg, inexplicably winning for just being
herself in a film best remembered for its soundtrack (Ghost). This
over Lorraine Bracco in Goodfellas—there’s that Marty again!—Diane
Ladd in Wild at Heart, and Annette Bening in The Grifters.
1992
ou
could find reasons, if you look very hard, to push past Robert Downey, Jr.
as Chaplin, Denzel as Malcolm X, Clint as Will Munny, and even Stephen Rea
in The Crying Game for Best Actor. Maybe. But in favor of Al Pacino’s
Col. Frank Slade from Scent of a Woman, a role that felt so hammy it
should have had Hormel stamped on it, even back then?
1994
he
feel good hit of the year, quite literally, was Forrest Gump, which
is either light-as-a-feather or featherbrained, depending on how you feel
about the mentally disabled being badly digitally inserted into old JFK
footage. But just a little over a decade later, it’s already clear that
Pulp Fiction, The Shawshank Redemption, and even Quiz Show
hold more emotional water—and have had much more cultural impact—than that
idiot with the chocolates. And what, you may ask, did Scorsese offer for
their consideration that year? The Last Temptation of Christ. Oops.
1996
uba
Gooding, Jr. may have made “show me the money” a catch phrase in Jerry
Maguire, but who are directors still showing money to these days—Cuba or
Fargo’s William H. Macy? Oh, ya. |
