On Ridley Scott’s Gladiator

I’ve been building up to a rewatch of this one for awhile now, taking in a series of historical epics in anticipation of a second look at one of my least favorite Best Picture winners of the century so far. I do think there’s much to be made about the 2000 Best Picture race: here was a chance for The Academy to move in a new and progressive direction, honoring truly innovative and important work from outside America (though directed and written by Hollywood veterans and co-funded with American cash). It could have set the tone for a more globally open and innovative 21st century, not just for awards, but for US film distribution and viewing patterns. But instead the Academy opted for Ridley Scott’s CGI-fueled historical epic over Ang Lee’s CGI-fueled historical epic. And once the Weinsteins put a stranglehold on everything they could from Hong Kong, the chances of American audiences getting wide exposure to the most exciting and interesting cinema in the world quickly diminished. But this is a long digression, this is supposed to be about Gladiator itself.
The action, at least, is better than I remembered, it’s really only the opening battle that degenerates into an incoherent blur, the gladiator fights are instead simply middling examples of Hollywood obfuscation-as-excitement (the opening battle is also topped by a similar one in Oliver Stone’s Alexander which as well hinges on a daring cavalry maneuver, but manages to both ratchet up the excitement and violence while at the same time remaining historically accurate), although I quite liked the one with the tigers.
As history it’s abominable in just about every particular. It’s not so much that it is historically inaccurate, or even that it just doesn’t give a fuck about history, it’s that it is actively anti-historical, manipulating the facts of the past in service of the narrative it wants to tell, which is a story about two versions of manhood: one virile and stoic; one impotent and emotional. Commodus is transformed into a simpering weakling, a coward and an incestuous pervert. His villainy is sourced in his weakness. Opposite to him in every way is Maximus, the very ideal of honor, loyalty, fidelity, fatherhood and filial piety. Maximus is the guy Chris Kyle thought he was, and this is a Bush-era film to its core: it imagines a world in which peace and freedom can be instilled through violence, war and the sacrifices of noble men. That Marcus Aurelius never did much in the way of seeking eternal peace, his wars against the Marcomanni and Quadi, on-going at his death, was only concluded when Commodus decided he simply wasn’t interested in continuing the fight, is an inconvenient fact of history to be ignored, as is the indisputable fact that Marcus very much wanted Commodus to succeed him (and in fact Commodus had been in place as his Caesar for 14 years prior to Marcus’s death – co-Emperors were a fairly common practice in Rome, the senior being titled “Augustus” the junior “Caesar”). The idea that Marcus couldn’t possibly have made such a terrible decision is an enduring one, however, and it’d be hard to blame Scott for propagating the legend.
Indeed, Anthony Mann utilizes much the same premise in his Fall of the Roman Empire, though that film at least accepts the political realities of late Second Century Rome. There’s no question of the Senate, or the Roman populace (repeatedly identified as “the mob”) having any real power at all, which they hadn’t for at least a century, if not longer. The reason for this can only be contemporary: it’s the neoconservative vision of using force to establish freedom, transplanted to the Roman Empire. Marcus appoints Maximus as the Emperor needed to maintain order while the government transitions from autocracy to democracy, the military dictatorship preceding the withering away of the state. Then the film has the audacity to suggest that Marcus and Maximus’s “dream of Rome” a dream of freedom guaranteed by the Roman Senate (never mind that the Senate was never anything like what we’d recognize as democratic or even populist, rather a hereditary oligarchy built on a slave economy), actually will come true. When, in fact, after Commodus’s assassination (strangled in his bath by his wrestling partner: Commodus was in fact an energetic lover of games, often partaking in rigged gladiatorial combats, something which engendered popular dislike of him by the deeply class-conscious masses), the Senate quickly put the role of Emperor up for sale to the highest bidder (something Mann’s film does well to dramatize). The year following Commodus’s death is called the Year of the Five Emperors, you can guess from that how it went down. The ultimate victor in that civil war, Septimus Severus, established a tradition of military dictatorship, infighting and political assassination that came to be the norm for the next century (it’s collectively known as “The Crisis of the Third Century”), until Diocletion and then Constantine radically remade the Empire in the late 200s and early 300s. At no point did the Roman Empire ever become more democratic that it was when Commodus was alive: that’s why Gibbon started his book with his reign.
It’s interesting then to rewatch this now, 15 years after its release and after just having seen Scott’s Robin Hood, which similarly twists historical fact in the service of a political narrative, albeit one as informed by the Bush years as Gladiator is in anticipation of them. Crowe’s Robin is a mythical figure, a mask adopted by a foot soldier (well, archer, technically), one that, as Maximus does, embodies certain masculine ideals. But the implication is that all of these roles are merely poses, that the actual man is nothing more than a construct, an ephemerality. Just so is that film’s dream of freedom – it’s one that pointedly is not accomplished by film’s end, and indeed it’s strongly implied that it cannot ever be – rather the aim of the true hero is the struggle toward universal political freedom, not the justification of certain means of achieving it. The utopia Robin and Marion create can exist only in the magic of Sherwood Forest, and then not by force, but only by withdrawing from the world into a small-scale community, disconnected from the strife of the larger world.
Even still, given all that, I probably would have given it a positive rating if only Oliver Reed had thrown his hat and charged into combat at the end.

On the 2014 Academy Awards (Or the Vice of Intended Ignorance)

I do love the Oscars. As long as I can remember, I’ve watched them. The first ceremony I have any memory of was the one held in 1982, just days shy of my sixth birthday. I had only seen one of the films in contention, Raiders of the Lost Ark, of course, but all I really remember is the theme song from Chariots of Fire. We watched the show every year, whether we’d seen any of the movies or not (my mom would race home from work to catch the beginning (back when the show used to be on a Monday so that it wouldn’t compete with weekend theatrical movie business, remember when that was a thing that mattered?) and I’d have to fill her in on any awards she’d just missed (Supporting Actor or Actress, always). I remember ET inexplicably losing to Gandhi (though mom raved about Ben Kingsley’s performance). I remember The Right Stuff (a very popular film among the grown-ups I knew; though I’d seen it, it was too slow and boring for me at that point) being upset by Terms of Endearment and mom’s love of Out of Africa (big Redford fan) and Amadeus. I remember someone on television claiming that Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man was one of the best performances ever. I remember rooting for Dead Poets Society or Field of Dreams and being as baffled as anyone by Driving Miss Daisy‘s win.

1990, when I was 14, was the first time I saw all of the nominees for Best Picture. I can’t say if I saw them all before the ceremony, but I made the effort to see them as soon as possible (Goodfellas had to wait until HBO, for sure). I loved Dances with Wolves that year, and Silence of the Lambs the next (HBO again, I read the book too), though I was rooting for JFK. Unforgiven was my favorite in 1992, a movie I saw multiple times, once in a drive-in even, on a double bill with Terminator 2. Schindler’s List I saw three times in the theatre, I was convinced that, as I kept hearing, it was indeed the greatest movie ever made. The Oscars, as long as I could remember, were for big movies, important movies, great movies. And then, in 1994, the year I started college, Forrest Gump beat Pulp Fiction and the Academy Awards, or at least, my relation to them, have never been the same.

I’ve often referred to 1994 as Year Zero for cinephiles of my generation. Growing up in the hinterlands, a world of chain video stores and zero repertory film, our exposure to the films of the past, especially foreign and art films, was severely limited. Every video store had a foreign film section, of course, but those usually consisted of a few Kurosawa epics and a handful of Gerard Depardieu spectacles. The classic film sections were better stocked, but without a reliable guide, no one knew where to begin. The film sections of the local bookstores mostly consisted of Leonard Maltin and his imitators, and when I was in college my friends and I would spend hours pouring through his guides along with the Video Hound Golden Movie Retriever (which rated everything on a scale of “Woof” to “Four Bones”). So we had a passing familiarity with Hitchcock, Welles, Scorsese, and the Best Picture Oscar winners, but not much else. But then Quentin Tarantino came along, bursting with big city video store knowledge, urging, demanding that the kids like us who loved his movies seek out in turn the films he loved. (An example, in June 1995 Tarantino presented Jackie Chan with the Lifetime Achievement MTV Movie Award, which was accompanied by a greatest hits reel of Chan stunts. I had never seen a Hong Kong movie, I’d never heard of Jackie Chan. But that award led to a wide US release for Rumble in the Bronx, so wide it even played Spokane. I saw that and the few other Chans I could find on video (dubbed, badly, of course), and when I moved to Seattle, I dived headfirst into Hong Kong cinema, an obsession that has yet to subside.)  Reservoir Dogs, True Romance and Pulp Fiction (the first two I watched back to back one weekend afternoon, after my friends learned I’d never seen a Tarantino film; I had heard he’d won the Palme d’Or, but didn’t know he’d made any other movies) demanded we familiarize ourselves with their influences: film noir, Howard Hawks, Jean-Luc Godard (one of our favorite pass-times was driving around to all the video stores in town looking for a copy of Breathless. After years of searching, when finally found it for a $10 rental at a short-lived Jazz record store downtown). Movies with Christopher Walken and John Travolta and Harvey Keitel. We sought them all out, and each new discovery led to three more must-see films. Around the same time, Turner Classic Movies launched, opening a whole new front in the war on limited distribution. I’d always been a movie fan, going to the theatre was the one thing my mom, my sister and I ever did as a family, but 1994 was the year I became a cinephile, and Pulp Fiction was the spark.

And then it lost Best Picture to Forrest Gump. A fine movie, sure, one we’d all liked when it came out that summer. But it looked positively ⃞  next to Pulp Fiction. The divide was cultural, political, generational. That was their movie and this was ours, and we’d been robbed. The pattern continued, year after year: our favorites always just losing to something bigger, blander, more mainstream. I don’t know if that was new, I suspect it wasn’t, but it seemed like a new development. Like there really was a generational war at play in Hollywood, between the old guard of respectable spectacle and a new wave of independent, Alternative to use the word of the times, cinema. The consensus of the 1980s, where every couple of years it seemed everyone agreed that the Best Picture really was The Best, and would therefore reward it with a multi-Oscar sweep, were gone. But it would take a few years for this split to play itself out, the big sweeps would continue for the rest of the 90s, though the rhetoric around the Oscars and their wrongness would grow with each middlebrow choice.

Here are the Best Picture winners from 1980-1993, along with their total number of Oscars won:

1980: Ordinary People – 4
1981: Chariots of Fire – 4
1982: Ghandi – 8
1983: Terms of Endearment – 5
1984: Amadeus – 8
1985: Out of Africa – 7
1986: Platoon – 4
1987: The Last Emperor – 9
1988: Rain Man – 4
1989: Driving Miss Daisy – 4
1990: Dances with Wolves – 7
1991: Silence of the Lambs – 5
1992: Unforgiven – 4
1993: Schindler’s List – 7

That’s an average of 5.7 Oscars per winner, with 6 films out of 14 winning 7 or more awards. The average would actually go up over the next 10 years, with 4 big sweeps leading to 6.9 Oscars per winner:

1994: Forrest Gump – 6
1995: Braveheart – 5
1996: The English Patient – 9
1997: Titanic – 11
1998: Shakespeare in Love – 7
1999: American Beauty – 5
2000: Gladiator – 5
2001: A Beautiful Mind – 4
2002: Chicago – 6
2003: Return of the King – 11

But that was the last time there was any real consensus, and one could argue the Return of the King number is a fluke, driven by three years of wonder at Peter Jackson’s epic trilogy. The next 11 years show a striking break with tradition, with an average of only 4.3 Oscars per Best Picture winner:

2004: Million Dollar Baby – 4
2005: Crash – 3
2006: The Departed – 4
2007: No Country for Old Men – 4
2008: Slumdog Millionaire – 8
2009: The Hurt Locker – 6
2010: The King’s Speech – 4
2011: The Artist – 5
2012: Argo – 3
2013: 12 Years a Slave – 3
2014: Birdman – 4

There are any number of possible explanations for this trend, most probable simply being the increasing split between blockbuster “entertainment” films that dominate the technical categories while low-budget (in)dependent films, driven by strong acting, directing and writing, dominate the more prestigious awards, making a 7 Oscar win relatively rare (in order to reach that number, a film has to do well in either the effects or design categories, areas which favor big-budget spectacle). But is there in fact some more ideological, something like my (perceived) generational split at work?

Oscar season has increasingly come to be defined as a race, with the contenders and dark horses defined long before any of the films in question have been seen, and then adjusted up and down the odds tables throughout the fall festival season and into the end-of-the-year awards deluge, with critics’ groups routinely seen as mere precursors to the main events, and therefore their relevance defined by their relation to the established narrative (thus the cries of anguish from the awards bloggers when the National Society of Film Critics awarded Adieu au langage their Best Picture this past year: the Godard film wasn’t part of the defined race, and therefore the group was marginalizing themselves by choosing to acknowledge its existence, a decision that could only be made by obstinate refusal to play the game by the rules, or, in other words, snobbery). The Race is good for business: people like gossip and they like competition, awards commentary provides both in spades. Driven in no small part from the ad revenue from studio’s Oscar campaigns (the ubiquitous FYC ads you see on every major film site during voting season), there’s a vested interest in heightening the controversy, in making a compelling story out of a bunch of people getting together and voting on their favorite movies of the year.

The awards season is now a narrative-driven event, and the simplest narratives put two things in opposition to each other, thus most years, the Oscar race seems to come down to two films, and everyone is encouraged to align themselves with one camp or another. These are the years 1994-2003 of the Best Picture race, the years of heavy consensus, with the winner and the runner-up listed. Note that some years there wasn’t a clear runner-up, in which case I’ve picked the film that seemed like the #2 to me at the time. I could have been wrong. We’ll never know for sure as the Academy doesn’t release voting results.

Year Oscar Winner Runner-Up
1994 Forrest Gump Pulp Fiction
1995 Braveheart Sense & Sensibility
1996 The English Patient Fargo
1997 Titanic LA Confidential
1998 Shakespeare in Love Saving Private Ryan
1999 American Beauty The Insider
2000 Gladiator Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
2001 A Beautiful Mind The Fellowship of the Ring
2002 Chicago The Pianist
2003 Return of the King Master and Commander
It looks to me like in most of these years, the race has been defined by a choice between one traditional Hollywood film and one “edgy” independent. Love stories are pitted against violent dramas, serious melodramas against genre fare, big-budget spectacle against intimate character stories. One could debate the details, but it looks to me like in every year but (possibly) one from 1994 until 2003, the Academy chose the more traditionally appealing film at the expense of the artier, hipper movie. The outlier is 1995, but I’d argue that Ang Lee’s Jane Austen film is much more modern than Mel Gibson’s war epic, though obviously far less violent. Anyway, a reasonable case could be made that the runner-up that year was actually Apollo 13, which is the most traditional of the three, but I think it and Braveheart appealed to the same core audience and was thus unlikely to have been the second-place finisher. Regardless, even with that one outlier, the trend is fairly clear. (A personal note that not every one of the winners this year was my least favorite, I would have made the same choice in three of these years (96, 97 and 98) and am fairly ambivalent about a fourth (2003)).
Now let’s look at the same chart for 2004-2014:

Year Oscar Winner Runner-Up
2004 Million Dollar Baby The Aviator
2005 Crash Brokeback Mountain
2006 The Departed Little Miss Sunshine
2007 No Country for Old Men There Will Be Blood
2008 Slumdog Millionaire The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
2009 The Hurt Locker Avatar
2010 The King’s Speech The Social Network
2011 The Artist The Tree of Life
2012 Argo Lincoln
2013 12 Years a Slave Gravity
2014 Birdman Boyhood
Here we have chaos. The “edgy” film wins in 2004, 2006-09 and 2013-14, while the more traditionally appealing film wins in 2005 and 2010-12. Though the distinctions between camps are harder than ever to define. Take this past year for example. Boyhood was the consensus critics choice, which would lead one to assume it was the “artier” movie. But its style, aside from the unique method of production, is resolutely traditional, a coming of age story/family drama of the type that has broad mainstream appeal. Birdman, on the other hand, declares itself Edgy with an ostentatious pseudeo-single-take visual style, jarring tonal swings and a deeply cynical screenplay. It is most certainly a film descended from Pulp Fiction (though, I’d argue, one that learned all the wrong lessons from its forebears, but that’s not relevant here). If there is a generational war at play within the Academy, this is what one would expect the Oscar results to look like: pendulum swings back and forth, with neither side gaining enough momentum to push the consensus in one unified direction. Thus we have the significantly lower average totals of wins by Best Picture winners. Whether that represents an actual conflict or one manufactured by journalists pushing a story, I can’t say: the two feed off themselves in such a way that one can only expect further polarization and less consensus as time goes on, absent structural change of some kind.
Looking at these lists, I can’t help but compare them to my own personal award winners. Here’s the full chart for 1994-2014, with the Best Picture Endys added into the mix:

Year Oscar Winner Runner-Up Endy Winner
1994 Forrest Gump Pulp Fiction Chungking Express
1995 Braveheart Sense & Sensibility Dead Man
1996 The English Patient Fargo Comrades, Almost a Love Story
1997 Titanic LA Confidential Boogie Nights
1998 Shakespeare in Love Saving Private Ryan The Big Lebowski
1999 American Beauty The Insider Beau travail
2000 Gladiator Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon La Commune (Paris 1871)
2001 A Beautiful Mind The Fellowship of the Ring Millennium Mambo
2002 Chicago The Pianist Punch-Drunk Love
2003 Return of the King Master and Commander Running on Karma
2004 Million Dollar Baby The Aviator Tropical Malady
2005 Crash Brokeback Mountain The New World
2006 The Departed Little Miss Sunshine The Wind that Shakes the Barley
2007 No Country for Old Men There Will Be Blood Flight of the Red Balloon
2008 Slumdog Millionaire The Curious Case of Benjamin Button Sparrow
2009 The Hurt Locker Avatar Oxhide II
2010 The King’s Speech The Social Network Oki’s Movie
2011 The Artist The Tree of Life The Tree of Life
2012 Argo Lincoln Moonrise Kingdom
2013 12 Years a Slave Gravity La última película
2014 Birdman Boyhood The Midnight After

A few obvious things jump out. Only in one case does my winner match one of the top two Oscar films (though Pulp Fiction is my #2 film of 1994). As they should in comparing a consensus vote to an individual one, my choices are personal and idiosyncratic. This will happen when you compare anyone’s picks to that of a large body: the larger the voting pool, the less unique the winner. My particular idiosyncrasy appears in two forms on this list. Most obvious is the large number of Asian films, 9 out of 21, from China, Hong Kong, South Korea, Thailand and Taiwan (and a 10th that’s a French film made by a Taiwanese director). But also apparent, and more important, are the large number of films that never received wide distribution in the United States (that Asian films are less likely to receive US distribution than comparable European films is a (debatable) issue for another time). Only 10 of my 21 winners had even a reasonably-sized art house run in American theatres, a few have never even qualified for major critics awards, almost all of which tie their eligibility rules to week-long theatrical runs in New York City. Instead I’ve had to seek these films out at festivals or on imported video, bypassing the establishment distribution channels entirely. Critics groups can’t and won’t do this because they are inextricably tied into the distribution system: they depend on studios for screeners and local theatrical audiences for readership.

This raises the question of the purpose of awards. Is it to raise awareness of excellence in motion pictures, to record for posterity the movies we think are great, the ones we recommend viewers of the future to seek out? Or is it a matter of marketing? Do awards matter because, as we hear every year as a justification for the countless words printed on the subject, an Oscar win significantly increases a film’s total gross, in theatrical revenue and on video, for years and decades to come? One may as well ask what is the function of film criticism: to guide the prospective viewer into places they might not go on their own, or to confirm for them what they already believe? If a critic is a guide, then it doesn’t matter whether a film they recommend is immediately available or not: it’s their job to instill the desire to seek in the audience. I think most critics would aspire to that ideal, see for example the flabbergasted responses to this week’s New York Times column lambasting the Oscars for failing to be relevant because they didn’t give awards to the highest-grossing films. Of course, the idea is absurd on its face, but the critical response is telling: to them, the Oscars, in choosing Birdman are not only not elitist, but are resolutely middle of the road. To the critical community, Birdman‘s win is a sign of the Academy’s bowing to the mainstream, of a failure to be sufficiently elite. (I’m speaking in general terms here: there is no “critical community”, there is instead a collection of individuals who disagree with each other as a matter of principle, that is part of their charm. This is, however, the reaction as I understand it in a broad sense).

Why then should critics, critics who travel the festival circuit year-round, who make yearly pilgrimages to Sundance, Locarno, Cannes, Toronto, New York, Vancouver, Berlin, Austin, Venice, Vienna and more, tie themselves to an awards model that narrowly defines what counts as a film in any given year. If awards are a snapshot, preserving the consensus thoughts about cinema at a given time for the sake of posterity, a report from a group of passionate lovers of film about what they believe is great in the present moment, then why should they define that snapshot by the parameters of an industry that views their efforts only in the crudest terms? Should critics not be in opposition to the forces that drive the awards industry, that attempt to limit what we can see? Strong reviews at film festivals can and have led to otherwise invisible films being picked up for US release by adventurous distributors, why does that noble mission stop when awards season begins? The awards bloggers want to limit our conversation to a simple narrative, they want a few, clearly defined poles: good and bad, liberal and conservative, traditional and arty, edgy and populist. The major distributors want to limit our conversation to the films they own and make available to the public: criticism is advertising, no more, no less. We shouldn’t let them. We can’t let every year come down to Forrest Gump vs. Pulp Fiction, that’s not how cinema works and it’s not how history will remember it. It has to be about Forrest Gump and Pulp Fiction and Chungking Express (a film many of us only saw because Quentin Tarantino forced Harvey Weinstein to release it uncut and in its original language, something Weinstein is loathe to do with his Hong Kong properties to this day), not to mention Sátántangó and Ed Wood and Pom Poko and Exotica and The Shawshank Redemption and He’s a Woman, She’s a Man and Three Colors: Red and Drunken Master II and I Can’t Sleep and Hoop Dreams and Clerks and Speed and In the Mouth of Madness and and and.

On Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood

Ridley Scott’s 2010 adaptation of the Robin Hood story is much better than I’d expected given both the critical reaction at the time and my usual responses to Scott’s historical epics. Expecting a repeat of Gladiator‘s obstinately counter-factual approach to Roman history, I was pleasantly surprised to find a much strong sense of the actuality of life in medieval England here (I watched the Director’s Cut version on the Blu-Ray). Sure, the film makes no mention of the cultural divide between the Normans and the Anglo-Saxons that is at the heart of a lot of the conflict between the ruling Plantagenets and the local nobility that was still in the process of working itself out in the late 12th Century (it would be another hundred years or so before a King of England spoke English as his first language, IIRC), but still, locating the Robin Hood story a bit later in time than is traditional, to the reign of John proper as opposed to the middle of Richard’s, is a strike of genius, tying the legend together with the complex mass of politics surrounding the Magna Carta. There are hints of ethnic or at least cultural difference between rulers and ruled, as Will Scarlet is identified as Welsh (and therefore Celtic) and Cate Blanchett’s Marion is a paragon of the strong Anglo-Saxon woman, of a type uniquely prevalent in the Kingdom of Mercia, of which Nottinghamshire was a part, as near as my geographic skills can tell. The haunting images of the orphaned children of Sherwood forest even recall stories of black magic practiced by the Celts encountered by the first Roman invaders on the island.

The other major twist to the legend is that our hero is no longer a petty nobleman, but an orphan who has forgotten his past who takes on the role of a Baron for various complicated but not really important reasons. Thus is Robin Hood doubly turned into a mirage: he’s a mask that Russell Crowe’s Robin Longstride adopts twice over: first a model of the chivalrous knight and beneficent lord, then as the paragon of democratic values and the communitarian ideal. Both images are false, but nonetheless necessary to the political causes they represent. Crowe’s character is a chameleon, adopting the ideal form of whatever world he finds himself in: warrior archer, petty nobility, political revolutionary. This conception of the character requires some plausibility stretching at times throughout the film, but all in service of a good cause (the quick turn of Léa Seydoux’s Isabella for example, or the ease with which the English troops turn to Robin as savior, both before and after the final battle, in direct insult to John).

Unfortunately, much of what is of interest in the film dissolves in the final act, replaced by Scott’s worst instincts as a director of action. The reasonably-coherent and sensible action scenes interspersed throughout the film are replaced by a full-scale battle, a swirl of mud-brown and grey with the kind of shoddy camerawork and random editing we’ve come to take as normal from 21st century Hollywood. The logistics of the battle are increasingly absurd. First, the unified English army marches from Barnsdale to Dungeness in two days, in order to meet the invading French. That’s a journey of 173 miles, which, while it only would take a couple of hours today (Google Maps tells me its 3 hours and 10 minutes on the M11) is unlikely to have been traversed in less than a week, maybe four days at top speed for an entirely mounted small medieval army moving through their own terrain with no baggage train (50 miles per day). There’s no reason for the timeline to be given as two days, it’s a pointless throw-away bit of movie silliness. Similarly, the less said about Marion dressing in full armor to lead a group of children into battle against a professional army, and then taking on the biggest villain of the film in single combat, the better. It’s silly, but not in the fun way of Friar Tuck attacking the French with bees or Little John picking up chicks (“I’m proportionate!”), but in the depressing this-is-what-we-take-as-normal-in-Hollywood action-filmmaking sense. As Ridley Scott’s idea of realism gives, so it takes away.

2014 Endy Awards

These are the 2014 Endy Awards, wherein I pretend to give out maneki-neko statues to the best in that year in film. Awards for many other years can be found in the Endy Awards Index. Eligibility is determined by imdb date and by whether or not I’ve seen the movie in question. Nominations and winners are subject to change. And the Endy goes to. . .

Best Picture:

1. Don’t Go Breaking My Heart 2
2. Hill of Freedom
3. Horse Money
4. Inherent Vice
5. Jauja
6. Journey to the West
7. A Matter of Interpretation
8. The Midnight After
9. National Gallery
10. Phoenix

I wrote about Fruit Chan’s film a couple of times this past year, after the Seattle International Film Festival and again at the Vancouver Film Festival.

Best Director:

1. Jean-Luc Godard, Adieu au langage
2. Paul Thomas Amderson, Inherent Vice
3. Pedro Costa, Horse Money
4. Lisandro Alonso, Jauja
5. Fruit Chan, The Midnight After

I totally understand the logic of not splitting the winners or nominees of the Directing and Picture categories, especially for a practicing auteurist like me. But what can I say, the Endy voters like to spread the recognition around, hence the nominations for veterans Costa and Godard instead of Wiseman and Hong (both of whom have been nominated recently: Wiseman in 2009 and Hong in 2010, 2011 and 2013 (he won in 2010)). Of course, that didn’t stop me from nominating Johnnie To again, for the fourth straight year and the 12th time since 1999 (he won in 2003, 2006 and 2008). This is Godard’s first Endy nomination, but it won’t be the last as we move further into the past (the Endys run reverse-chronologically).

Best Actor:

1. Ralph Fiennes, The Grand Budapest Hotel
2. Joaquin Phoenix, Inherent Vice
3. Timothy Spall, Mr. Turner
4. David Oyelowo, Selma
5. Gerard Depardieu, Welcome to New York

A solid group of actors this year, with none really standing out. I could just as easily have nominated any of: Bradley Cooper (American Sniper), Haluk Bilgier (Winter Sleep), Ronald Zehrfeld (Phoenix), Miles Teller (Whiplash), Ryo Kase (Hill of Freedom), Louis Koo (Don’t Go Breaking My Heart 2), Viggo Mortensen (Jauja), Jake Guyllenhaal (Nightcrawler), Fabrizio Rongione (La Sapienza), Jason Schwartzman (Listen Up Philip), Michael Keaton (Birdman), or Randeep Hooda (Highway).

Best Actress:

1. Brandy Burre, Actress
2. Arielle Holmes, Heaven Knows What
3. Anna Kendrick, The Last Five Years
4. Jenny Slate, Obvious Child
5. Marion Cotillard, Two Days, One Night

I recently changed the Endy rules to only allow one film per person per nomination, as I felt the results were unfairly favoring directors like Johnnie To and Hong Sangsoo who make multiple films per year. Under the old system, Anna Kendrick would have been a lock for Best Actress this year, with three terrific lead performances in The Last Five YearsHappy Christmas and Into the Woods. Instead, she loses out to Marion Cotillard, who was a close-runner-up in 2013 for The Immigrant.

Honorable Mentions: Nina Hoss (Phoenix), Tang Wei (The Golden Era), Rosamund Pike (Gone Girl), Alia Bhatt (Highway), Gwei Lun-mei (Black Coal, Thin Ice), Tessa Thompson (Dear White People), Zhao Wei (Dearest), and Juliette Binoche (Clouds of Sils Maria).

Supporting Actor:

1. Ethan Hawke, Boyhood
2. Tyler Perry, Gone Girl
3. Jonathan Pryce, Listen Up Philip
4. Lam Suet, The Midnight After
5. JK Simmons, Whiplash

Simmons and Pryce are especially terrific, but the Endys love Lam Suet beyond all reason. This is his second nomination, having previously won Supporting Actor in 2003 for PTU. Of the ten nominees for Actor and Supporting Actor this year, only Lam has been nominated previously.

Supporting Actress:

1. Kristen Stewart, Clouds of Sils Maria
2. Miriam Yeung, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart 2
3. Katherine Waterston, Inherent Vice
4. Emily Blunt, Into the Woods
5. Elisabeth Moss, Listen Up Philip

Blunt is arguably the lead in Into the Woods, but I can’t see how anyone would be billed ahead of Anna Kendrick and so she has to be Supporting. The race comes down to Moss vs. Yeung. This is Moss’s first nomination, though she is one of our favorite television actresses. Yeung lost Best Actress to the Certified Copy Binoche juggernaut in 2010. In previous years, Yeung’s strong work in another supporting role in Aberdeen would have tipped the scale, but alas, no more.

Original Screenplay:

1. Xin Yukun & Feng Yuanliang, The Coffin in the Mountain
2. Wes Anderson & Hugo Guinness, The Grand Budapest Hotel
3. Hong Sangsoo, Hill of Freedom
4. Lee Kwang-kuk, A Matter of Interpretation
4. Heiward Mak, Uncertain Relationships Society

Adapted Screenplay:

1. Wai Ka-fai, Ryker Chan & Yu Xi, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart 2
2. Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl
3. Paul Thomas Anderson, Inherent Vice
4. Fruit Chan & Chan Fai-hung, The Midnight After
5. Gillian Robespierre, Obvious Child

This is Hong’s seventh Original Screenplay nomination and second win (2010 for Oki’s Movie). This is Wai Ka-fai’s twelfth Screenplay nomination (nine Original, three Adapted). It’s the fifth Screenplay nomination for both Wes Anderson and Paul Thomas Anderson.

Non-English Language Film:

1. Don’t Go Breaking My Heart 2 (Johnnie To)
2. Hill of Freedom (Hong Sangsoo)
3. Horse Money (Pedro Costa)
4. Jauja (Lisandro Alonso)
5. The Midnight After (Fruit Chan)

This is the tenth time the Best Picture and Best Non-English Language Film Endys have overlapped since 1999, but the first time since 2010 (Oki’s Movie).

Documentary Feature:

1. Actress (Robert Greene)
2. Ballet 422 (Jody Lee Lipes)
3. Beyond Zero: 1914-1918 (Bill Morrison)
4. Hit 2 Pass (Kurt Walker)
5. National Gallery (Frederick Wiseman)

This is Wiseman’s fifth Best Documentary nomination and third win (he previously won for Belfast, Maine in 1999 and La danse in 2009.

Animated Film:

1. Lava (James Ford Murphy)
2. Song of the Sea (Tomm Moore)
3. When Marnie Was There (Hiromasa Yonebayashi)

Short Film:

1. Camera falls from airplane and lands in pig pen–MUST WATCH END!! (Mia Munselle)
2. Inside Voices (Ryland Walker Knight)
3. The Rehearsal (Carl-Antonyn Dufault)
4. Blanket Statement #2: It’s All or Nothing (Jodie Mack)
5. White, Heat, Lights (Haruka Hakunetsuke)

Best title of the year too, obviously.

Unseen Film:

1. Haider (Vishal Bhardwaj)
2. Life of Riley (Alain Resnais)
3. A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (Roy Andersson)

Film Editing:

1. Adieu au langage
2. The Duke of Burgundy
3. The Midnight After
4. National Gallery
5. Whiplash

Most editing, sure, but Whiplash does it right. Love those retro dissolves in Duke of Burgundy to be sure, and Godard and Wiseman are of course among the best editors ever.


1. Adieu au langage
2. The Duke of Burgundy
3. Horse Money
4. Jauja
5. The Midnight After

Fabrice Aragno might have earned this award simply for the brain-splitting 3D shot that is the year’s most memorable image, but I’m also in love with the variety and texture of the digital colors of Adieu‘s landscape shots. Horse Money‘s brilliant compositions of earthy browns and impenetrable blacks finish a close second.

Honorable Mentions: Tokyo Tribe, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart 2, The Golden Era, Mr. Turner, Birdman, Nightcrawler, Aberdeen, Heaven Knows What and Inherent Vice.

Production Design:

1. Aberdeen
2. The Grand Budapest Hotel
3. Inherent Vice
4. La Sapienza
5. Tokyo Tribe

Sneaking away with the win is the last 2014 movie I saw before awards night, Sion Sono’s hip-hip musical prowl through a post-apocalyptic Tokyo gangland. Making furniture out of people counts as set decoration, right?

Costume Design:

1. The Grand Budapest Hotel
2. Inherent Vice
3. Into the Woods
4. The Midnight After
5. Tokyo Tribe

Similarly the Sono snakes this award at the last minute. Honestly, I’m not all that thrilled about any of these.


1. The Grand Budapest Hotel
2. Guardians of the Galaxy
3. The Midnight After
4. Noah
5. The Taking of Tiger Mountain

Only one of these movies has a guy walking around with a hatchet in his shoulder for half the film.

Original Score:

1. Gone Girl
2. The Grand Budapest Hotel
3. Highway
4. Inherent Vice
5. Tokyo Tribe

I mean, it’s wall-to-wall Japanese hip-hop, what’s not to love?

Adapted Score:

1. Eden
2. Into the Woods
3. Jersey Boys
4. The Last Five Years
5. Whiplash

This was an amazing year for film musicals, probably the best since 1984. The adaptation of Into the Woods drew a lot of ire for softening the harshness of the play’s second act, but I don’t know, I think it works just as well in this new version. The Midnight After, Heaven Knows What and Inherent Vice just missed the cut.


1. Adieu au langage
2. Heaven Knows What
3. Into the Woods
4. The Midnight After
5. Whiplash

Sound Editing:

1. American Sniper
2. John Wick
3. The Midnight After
4. Pompeii
5. Whiplash

Visual Effects:

1. Aberdeen
2. Lucy
3. The Monkey King
4. Noah
5. Pompeii

These last three categories are pretty self-explanatory: drums, guns and one big volcano. That’s 2014 in film.

Predictions for the 87th Annual Academy Awards

These are my predictions for the winners of this year’s Academy Awards. On Sunday night, I’ll be tweeting out the winners of the 2014 Endy Awards as the Oscar winners are announced. You can follow me there @theendofcinema. Here are the current Endy Award Nominees. We’ll also have a special Oscar edition of The George Sanders Show this weekend, picking our 2014 favorites and discussing two of the Best Picture nominees of 1965 that starred Julie Christie, Doctor Zhivago and Darling. And I have an Oscar Preview up as well at Seattle Screen Scene.

Best Picture:

American Sniper
The Grand Budapest Hotel
The Imitation Game
The Theory of Everything
Best Director:
Wes Anderson, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Alejandro González Iñárritu, Birdman
Richard Linklater, Boyhood
Bennett Miller, Foxcatcher
Morten Tyldum, The Imitation Game 
Steve Carell, Foxcatcher
Bradley Cooper, American Sniper
Benedict Cumberbatch, The Imitation Game
Michael Keaton, Birdman
Eddie Redmayne, The Theory of Everything 
Marion Cotillard, Two Days, One Night
Felicity Jones, The Theory of Everything
Julianne Moore, Still Alice
Rosamund Pike, Gone Girl
Reese Witherspoon, Wild
Supporting Actor:
Robert Duvall, The Judge
Ethan Hawke, Boyhood
Edward Norton, Birdman
Mark Ruffalo, Foxcatcher
JK Simmons, Whiplash 
Supporting Actress:
Patricia Arquette, Boyhood
Laura Dern, Wild
Keira Knightley, The Imitation Game
Emma Stone, Birdman
Meryl Streep, Into the Woods
Original Screenplay:
Alejandro G. Inarritu, Nicholas Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris, Jr. & Armando Bo, Birdman, Or (The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance)
Richard Linklater, Boyhood
E. Max Frye and Dan Futterman, Foxcatcher
Wes Anderson and Hugo Guinness, The Grand Budapest Hotel
Dan Gilroy, Nightcrawler
Adapted Screenplay:
Jason Hall, American Sniper
Graham Moore, The Imitation Game
Paul Thomas Anderson, Inherent Vice
Anthony McCarten, The Theory Of Everything
Damien Chazelle, Whiplash
Foreign Language Film:
Wild Tales

Documentary Feature:
Finding Vivian Maier
Last Days in Vietnam
The Salt of the Earth
Animated Feature:
Big Hero 6
The Boxtrolls
How to Train Your Dragon 2
Song of the Sea
The Tale of the Princess Kaguya 
Film Editing:
American Sniper
The Grand Budapest Hotel
The Imitation Game
The Grand Budapest Hotel
Mr. Turner
Production Design:
The Grand Budapest Hotel 
The Imitation Game
Into the Woods
Mr. Turner 
Costume Design:
The Grand Budapest Hotel
Inherent Vice
Into The Woods
Mr. Turner 
The Grand Budapest Hotel
Guardians of the Galaxy 
Sound Mixing:
American Sniper
Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Sound Editing:
American Sniper 
Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies
Visual Effects:
Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
Guardians of the Galaxy
X-Men: Days of Future Past 
Original Score:
The Grand Budapest Hotel
The Imitation Game
Mr. Turner
The Theory of Everything 
Original Song:
“Everything is Awesome,” The LEGO Movie
“Glory,” Selma
“Grateful,” Beyond the Lights
“I’m Not Gonna Miss You,” Glen Campbell… I’ll Be Me
“Lost Stars,” Begin Again 
Documentary Short:
Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1
 Our Curse
 The Reaper (La Parka)
 White Earth  
Animated Short:
The Bigger Picture
The Dam Keeper
Me and My Moulton
A Single Life
Live Action Short:
Boogaloo and Graham
Butter Lamp (La Lampe au Beurre de Yak)
The Phone Call 

This Week in Rankings

Since the last update I have, along with Mike from The George Sanders Show and Seema from They Shot Pictures, launched a new website, Seattle Screen Scene, dedicated to arthouse and repertory film in the Seattle-area. The site is inspired by New York’s wonderful Screen Slate, with listings of all the specialty showings in the city over a given week (also available as a weekly newsletter) but also featuring reviews, previews and other features (like Mike’s interview this week with Cinema Books owner Stephanie Ogle).

Other than a long review of Troy and various letterboxd short reviews, all my writing for the last month has been over there, with looks at Sleepless in Seattle, Two Days One Night, National Gallery, Adieu au langage, and a James Stewart double feature, along with revised and updated versions of reviews that originally ran here on The Taking of Tiger Mountain and Actress. Mike and I also did George Sanders episodes on Selma and Malcolm X and The Shopworn Angel and The Cheyenne Social Club.

I also announced the nominees for the 2014 Endy Awards. As with every award and ranking on this site, these are subject to revision, of course. In fact, I’m going to do a big update with all the new 2014 films I’ve seen since the initial post in the next couple of days. But I’ll be announcing the winners on Oscar night coming up in a couple of weeks (we’ll also have an Oscar preview episode of The George Sanders Show that weekend).

At letterboxd I updated my Best Movies of Every Year list and created some new lists for Clint Eastwood, William Goldman and James Stewart. I also made a big list of the Top (East) Asian Films of the Decade (So Far), to highlight cinemas that seem to constantly be underrepresented on such endeavors.

These are the movies I’ve watched and rewatched over the last few weeks, and where they place on my year-by-year rankings.

The Spring River Flows East (Cai Chusheng & Zheng Junli) – 10, 1947
The Sun Shines Bright (John Ford) – 5, 1953
The Fall of the Roman Empire (Anthony Mann) – 31, 1964
Alphaville (Jean-Luc Godard) – 10, 1965
Manhunter (Michael Mann) – 8, 1986

Heat (Dick Richards) – 41, 1986
Empire of the Sun (Steven Spielberg) – 11, 1987
Into the Woods (James Lapine) – 23, 1991
Malcolm X (Spike Lee) – 26, 1992
Sleepless in Seattle (Nora Ephron) – 55, 1993

You’ve Got Mail (Nora Ephron) – 50, 1998
The Fast and the Furious (Rob Cohen) – 39, 2001
The Century of the Self (Adam Curtis) – 16, 2002
2 Fast 2 Furious (John Singleton) – 24, 2003
Alexander (Oliver Stone) – 17, 2004

Troy (Wolfgang Petersen) – 42, 2004
The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (Justin Lin) – 31, 2006
Step Up (Anne Fletcher) – 54, 2006
Rocket Science (Jeffrey Blitz) – 44, 2007
Step Up 2 The Streets (Jon Chu) – 41, 2008

Fast & Furious (Justin Lin) – 59, 2009
A Separation (Asghar Farhadi) – 10, 2011
Fast Five (Justin Lin) – 42, 2011
Fast & Furious 6 (Justin Lin) – 64, 2013
Inherent Vice (Paul Thomas Anderson) – 9, 2014

Selma (Ava DuVernay) – 11, 2014
Whiplash (Damien Chazelle) – 12, 2014
The Taking of Tiger Mountain (Tsui Hark) – 14, 2014
Dear White People (Justin Simien) – 35, 2014
American Sniper (Clint Eastwood) – 38, 2014

Women Who Know How to Flirt are the Luckiest (Pang Ho-cheung) – 40, 2014
John Wick (Chad Stahleski & David Leitch) – 49, 2014
From Vegas to Macao (Wong Jing) – 52, 2014
Blackhat (Michael Mann) – 1, 2015
Jupiter Ascending (The Wachowskis) – 2, 2015