I didn’t watch much of the Oscars telecast last night. To be honest, I only caught about the last 20 minutes or so, with a gap in between as I drove home from The Girlfriend’s house — it’s hard to muster a lot of enthusiasm for a four-hour awards show when you haven’t seen most of the nominees. (In the Best Picture category, I’ve seen only The Departed; in Best Animated Film, only Cars; none of the foreign films or documentaries; and pretty much none of the flicks from which the various acting nominees were drawn.) Also, it was obvious two weeks ago that this would likely be one of those suspense-free years when there’s an overwhelming sense of inertia leading toward the coronation of particular nominees. Honestly, did anyone not believe that Scorsese was finally going to get his statuette? Especially when the presenters for the Best Director award were revealed to be his three most pre-eminent contemporaries and friends (Coppola, Spielberg, and Lucas)?

Don’t get me wrong — my reaction to Scorsese’s win was a resounding, “About damn time!” He’s a brilliant filmmaker with one of the strongest, most easily identifiable styles in modern Hollywood; he lives and breathes movies like a true fanboy, from his knowledge of film history to his support for film preservation; and he seems to be a genuinely nice guy. (I was touched when he teared up on behalf of his editor, Thelma Schoonmaker, who also won last night.) He’s been nominated what, six other times, losing mostly because he was unlucky enough to be up against immensely popular epics. He deserved that award last night. But I can’t help but thinking that his victory must’ve been a little less sweet than it may have been because there was such a sense that it was a consolation prize, the whole “well, we’ve dissed him six other times, we really need to give this one to Marty” thing. The “you really deserved this three years ago, so we’ll make up for it tonight” phenomenon. Not that this is so unusual for the Oscars; it seems to happen pretty regularly, actually. But perhaps I don’t know what I’m talking about; maybe it makes no difference for the recipient, or maybe it’s even better to finally receive the damn thing after so many almost-ran experiences. Whatever, I’m happy for him, and I was amused by his quipped request that somebody double-check the name on the envelope.

Incidentally, was it just me, or did Uncle George seem a little uncomfortable joking with Francis and Steve about how he’s never been nominated for a Best Director Oscar? He probably should’ve been for American Graffiti or the original Star Wars, back before he got lazy, er, preoccupied with other matters.

Moving on, I’m probably one of the few people on the planet who actually enjoys the “death montage,” the other major segment of last night’s show that I actually saw. I like to be reminded of who we’ve lost during the past year and remember why I liked them. This year’s montage was pretty good, although I was surprised that a clip from Superman wasn’t included with Glenn Ford’s moment; certainly that’s his most recognizable role to thirtysomething movie fans. However, the editor’s choice to include dialogue over James Doohan’s segment, and the specific dialogue that was chosen (“Thank you, Mr. Scott.” “Aye, sir.”), made up for that slight. I was pleased and touched by that little moment, which means, yes, I did tear up a little. As I’ve written before, it was tough for me to say goodbye to that particular childhood hero (God help me when Shatner and Nimoy go!), and that little moment last night on the Oscars, which so perfectly encapsulated this larger-than-life man’s signature role, was a pitch-perfect tribute given the time constraints of an already-long montage. And it got some pretty good applause, too.

And finally, Nicholson looks really weird with the shaved head. I understand it’s for a film in which he plays a terminally ill man, but it was so… un-Jack-like. It just didn’t look like him.

And on that totally superficial note, I’ll consign another year’s Oscar show to the warehouse of my memory…

[Update: Jaime J. Weinman has some typically on-target remarks about the sorts of films that get nominated of Oscars vs. the sorts of films that people actually see:

…collectively, the awards over the years present a picture of Hollywood that is much worse, artistically, than Hollywood actually is.

 

…the Academy Awards usually go to worthy, middlebrow, thought-provoking dramas. And my biggest problem with that is that that’s never been what Hollywood does best. For various reasons ranging from fewer censorship restrictions to fewer commercial pressures, other countries have always beat Hollywood when it comes to message dramas, serious historical drama (as opposed to swashbuckling pseudo-historical stories, which Hollywood is great at) and social problem pictures. Plenty of filmmakers around the world could make a better version of Crash than Crash was.

 

But there are genres that Hollywood does better, or used to do better, than anybody else, and yet those are the genres that get shafted as not being “serious.” You’re probably aware that comedies, films noir, Westerns, musicals (particularly musicals that aren’t bloated stage adaptations), swashbucklers and much else — in other words, the best that Hollywood has to offer — have never gotten much respect from the Academy. Today, the nominations reflect the obvious fact that Academy members are embarrassed about what Hollywood is currently producing: the comic-book blockbusters, the frat-guy comedies. And I’ll admit that this is not a great time for Hollywood movies. But it seems to me that the best stuff Hollywood does is still to be found in the genres has always been best at — adventure stories, comedies, and so on — and the solution to that is not to turn up one’s nose at those genres, but to try and identify and honor the best Hollywood-style movies.

As a genre fan, it’s always annoyed me deeply that science-fiction and fantasy is so under-represented at the Oscars, especially considering how much money Hollywood has made from starships and superheroes over the years. Why shouldn’t a movie like Spider-Man be considered Oscar-worthy? For those who don’t turn up their noses at the whole concept of a mutated teenager in a skin-tight suit, it’s an exhilirating, emotionally affecting movie with a message that isn’t nearly as superficial as some detractors will admit… and isn’t that exactly what a “Hollywood movie” ought to be? I’m not saying that Hollywood shouldn’t do the thought-provoking dramas, but I do wish, like Jaime, that the industry would respect its own strengths a little more. The fact is, Star Wars was the best film of 1977, and Sigourney Weaver deserved an Oscar for her maternal/ass-kicking turn in Aliens in ’86. The big wins for Return of the King a couple years ago was a step in the right direction, but the Academy has quickly backpedalled away from that progress.

Maybe some day…]