#oscarprognostication2022

[ryanjdonovan]

DONOVAN’S OSCAR PROGNOSTICATION 2022

Nobody cares about the Oscars, but who cares? The cultural cachet of the Academy Awards dwindles every year, but my fascination holds ever strong. When it eventually becomes a measly TikTok broadcast with 100 viewers, I will love it all the same. Are you annoyed that your favorite big-name blockbusters didn't get invited to the party this year? Good! Go watch the People's Choice Awards. I'll be here by myself, cheering for films you've never heard of, having a grand old time. (Whether the Oscars should be an entertaining show for the largest possible viewing audience, or recognition for true cinematic excellence is a debate for another time.)

This year is a sprint to the finish. More than any race I can remember, the frontrunners have been shuffling at an alarming rate down the stretch. Half the categories have had a lead change in the past week. By the time you finish reading my 23rd annual Oscar predictions, they will already be out of date.

BEST PICTURE:

SHOULD WIN: Nightmare Alley WILL WIN: CODA GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Spider-Man: No Way Home INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: A Hero

Confusingly, the Oscars are back to giving out 10 nominations for Best Picture (which was the case in 2009 and 2010) instead of a random floating number between 5-10 (which it has been in the years since). I'm not sure they anticipated the burden that would place on me personally, nor my fragile mental state. Who has the time (or patience) for 10 films? It certainly didn't make for a better crop of movies. There are no sharp, tight, start-to-finish home runs, like we had in recent years with Get Out, Hell Or High Water, or Her. (See my Snubbed pick below for one that should've made the cut.) While watching this year's nominees, I've spent more time wondering why characters make illogical choices than actually enjoying the stories themselves. With no masterpieces, it's not surprising that maybe the best way to win Best Picture these days is to be the second choice on the most ballots. If there's no consensus #1, then a lukewarm but popular #2 can prevail. (Think: Green Book, The Shape Of Water, Spotlight.)

Which brings us to this year's race. There's the passionate choice, The Power Of The Dog, which most people have assumed would win for months. But there's the popular secondary choice, CODA, which is quickly gaining in warm-fuzzy popularity, if not outright accolades. Adding intrigue is the fact that both are trying to be the first streaming movie to win Best Picture (The Power Of The Dog for Netflix, CODA for Apple). You can bet those companies are putting more money into the Oscar campaigns than they did into the movies themselves. (And you can bet Steven Spielberg is lobbying for a theatrical movie like, say, West Side Story -- coincidentally the one he directed.) Personally, between the two, I much prefer CODA; but not surprisingly, my personal pick is a different one altogether, which has no shot of winning. I'm officially picking CODA, but if we know anything about the movie gods, it's that they like to prove me wrong. So place your bets accordingly.

Is being a crowd-pleaser a good thing or a bad thing? The one thing everyone agrees on is that CODA is an unabashed crowd-pleaser. What they can't agree on is whether that will help or hurt it in the Best Picture race. Sometimes Oscar looks favorably on the sunny movies, but usually he rewards something more challenging. It tends to be cyclical: a few years of heavier "important" movies, then a light movie peppered in to relieve the pressure. So where are we right now? It's been two years of no-fun movies (Nomadland, Parasite), so I think the Academy is ready to embrace CODA, a coming-of-age story about a Child Of Deaf Adults dealing with the tribulations of high school, pressures of college aspirations, and weariness of working in the family fishing business as a deckhand and translator. There's a lot to like (performances, positive yet realistic portrayals, family bonding, overcoming obstacles, singing -- lots of singing one particular song)… but maybe to put it more pessimistically (and accurately), there's nothing to dislike. (Note that "I don't dislike it" is not the same as "I like it". And a lot of people are in the "don't dislike" camp.) Half the time it feels fresh, and the other half it feels like it's giving off Freeform movie-of-the-week vibes. Above all though, it's earnest, not cloying. And that's what people are sparking to. (I am firmly an "I like it".) Is it any voter's favorite movie? Probably not. But remember what I said before… I think it'll be the second-favorite movie for enough people that it will steal this award.

It's steadily lost ground, but The Power Of The Dog still has a chance to pull a victory. Jane Campion's subversive slow-burn takedown of stereotypical Western masculinity is big on theme but low on momentum. I hate to label something that's so exquisitely-made as boring, but for the first hour and 50 minutes, it's boring. It's plodding, and there's plotting, but not much plot. Passive aggression is simply not cinematically compelling. Even at three-quarters of the way in, after much psychological warfare (for reasons that are never completely clear), I had no idea where it was going. The end pays off in a brilliant way (which is what most supporters are responding to, I think), but it doesn't completely redeem it for me. Disliking the first 90% of a movie and then liking the last 10% doesn't mean I revise my opinion of the first 90%. The film is not intended to be easy; it achieves its goal of haunting your thoughts long after the credits roll. The key, however, is that it's meant to be challenging. Unfortunately I found it mostly manipulative.

The Letterboxd crowd will hang me by my thumbs for this, but Nightmare Alley is my personal pick for Best Picture. (Not my favorite movie of the year, mind you, but my favorite of the nominees.) Guillermo del Toro's playful portrait of moral descent has all the hallmarks of a master at work: lavish, tactile production design; 1930s noir aesthetics; meticulous cinematography; pulpy performances designed for a 50-foot screen. But that's not why I’m picking it. It has the most engaging, intriguing story, wire to wire, with an ending that completely delivers. It's not a realistic contender with the voters, for a few reasons: "It's too long." (It is long, but it doesn't feel like it. The lengthy first act is necessary to help the viewer believe what comes after it. And it feels shorter than the laborious The Power Of The Dog, if you ask me.) "It's a mess of different styles." (del Toro wanted to create a movie that could have been made 80 years ago, but with jarring modern characterizations -- like a black-and-white movie shot in saturated color.) "It's overly performative." (Yes, Cate Blanchett dials the noir factor up to 11. But watch the film a second time and you'll see a completely different performance. Her portrayal, true to the movie, is a carnival trick; it's much subtler than it appears.) "It has no monsters." (del Toro has said that in this film, the humans are the monsters. Take that, critics!) I generally don't endorse Bradley Cooper, and his earnest drifter shtick doesn't really work early in this movie, but when he becomes the oily, smarmy, silver-tongued swindler (that has no concept of a backup plan), I totally buy it. (Is there anyone in Hollywood better at playing sh-t heels? Cooper's got two whoppers this year, including his cameo as Jon Peters in Licorice Pizza.) The real question: Where does Cooper's character rank among the great cinematic psychics, like Oda Mae Brown, Tangina, and Madam Ruby? You'll find the answer in the basement of the Alamo.

As you may be able to guess from my first and last names, I am very familiar with the people descended from Ireland. And I'm here to tell you: We don't look like the glamorously made-up movie stars in Belfast. For a broke family living a hardscrabble life in the middle of a veritable warzone, the characters are incredibly gorgeous, stylish, and coiffed. Unlike the rest of us pasty, freckled commoners, they'll look great on the Oscar stage… or at least that's the hope. Belfast, Kenneth Branagh's autobiographical-ish account of growing up during the Troubles in Northern Ireland, has an outside chance to take the big prize. It's one of my favorites of the bunch; it's the one that feels the most effortlessly transporting and immersive. But to hear the critics talk, it doesn't stand a chance. Nobody is terribly unkind in their reviews, but their tone is generally aloof, dismissing the film as uncool or same-old-same-old. When pundits talk about Belfast as a top contender, it's almost apologetically or derisively. "Well, the Academy fell that old treacle again." People, this doesn't have to be so painful or angsty; a movie can simply be enjoyed. (Now, excuse me while I go crap on a bunch of other sentimental movies.)

Based on the title Licorice Pizza, I guess we should know we're in for something whimsical and childish that doesn't make much logical sense. (It may not surprise you to learn there is neither licorice nor pizza.) What I grapple with: How much of the scattershot movie is supposed to be "reality"? Is the whole thing a 1970s teenage fever-dream fantasy? (Curiously, writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson was born in 1970, so he's about 10 years too young for this to be a fun-house reflection of his own high school years.) Nobody seems to be able to answer the "Is it real?" question; instead they affectionately refer to it as a 'hangout movie' (which apparently means you should watch it stoned so you don't pay attention to things like common sense or structure). As such, the movie is not supposed to be a lot of work as a viewer, but it is for me. I suppose that largely depends on how creepy you feel the central relationship is, and your views on casual pedophilia. (If you're in the 'pro' camp, please don't leave me a comment.)

I've played plenty of Nintendo Game Boy Tennis in my day, so I consider myself an expert on King Richard's subject matter. And here's my definitive opinion: It's good. The film knows how to play to the audience of sports movies, with the right balance of struggle and triumph. Some filmgoers have even gone so far as weeping multiple times during the movie. Hmm, I'm not getting that carried away. But to be fair, 'unbelievable' doesn't begin to cover Venus and Serena Williams' careers. So it's fitting that their story would become a Hollywood movie, especially when you throw in the boisterous, driven personality that is their father, Richard. But the Williams' real story is a little too legendary to be a truly revelatory dramatic film. We already know where they're going, and we know they had an uphill climb; there are not many surprises, and the film gets a little repetitive. And it's a little hard to judge objectively when it’s essentially a publicity piece sanctioned by the family. Much like in Venus's loss in her first pro tournament, the film will be iced out of the Best Picture race. (By the way, who would have predicted Arantxa Sánchez Vicario would be the year's baddest movie villain?)

Drive My Car is about coming to terms with… something. And despite dealing with deep pain, it's about catharsis… maybe. It's a great movie to discuss with your philosophically-minded friends, according to the film snobs that rate this highest of all the nominees. It's also a great movie to nap to, according to the guy snoring loudly next to me in the theater. (I'll admit to getting drowsy around the one-hour mark -- which was only a third of the way through the movie. When the title isn't displayed until 40 minutes in, you know it's gonna be a long one.) Will this Japanese film become the second foreign language film to win Best Picture? Well, it doesn't have the passionate supporters that Parasite did two years ago. And thematically, many feel it's similar to (but less impressive than) last year's prizewinner Nomadland, with its quiet mediations on loneliness, regret, hurt, and healing. So in short, no. (Speaking of napping -- see if you can get through this entire article without nodding off at the one-hour mark.)

The worst possible thing for Dune's Oscar chances was to announce that there would be a Part Two. It torpedoed any realistic chance at Best Picture, and probably cost Denis Villeneuve a Best Director nomination. Like with The Lord Of The Rings trilogy, the Academy will wait for the final chapter to reward Dune in the major categories. (Though it's expected to crush the below-the-line awards with its masterful technical work.) Given that it's only part of the story, I'm not sure what to make of this Dune. (And is it officially titled "Dune" or "Dune: Part One"? In an inadvertent tip of the cap to George Lucas, theatrical and at-home viewers seem to disagree.) I only superficially understand what's going on in the plot, and I don't have an emotional connection to any characters. And with half a dozen Oscar and Emmy nominees in the cast, why of all people does Jason Momoa get a prestigious "With" credit? In a movie filled with confusing stuff, it's the most baffling of all.

The best thing about the new West Side Story is that "Somewhere" is sung by Rita Moreno and not Phil Collins. As for the rest of the film… it's just not for me. The original film and Broadway production were poignant takes on the Romeo And Juliet story. Steven Spielberg's don't-you-dare-call-it-a-remake is somewhat updated, but for me feels somewhere between indulgent and unnecessary. Other than a handful of fantastic performances (more on Ariana DeBose later), I didn't get much out of it. I'm more interested in the trivia: This is the first remake of a Best Picture winner to score a nomination in that same category. If it wins (groan), it would be only the second remake to win Best Picture, after The Departed. (Does the trippy 1978 The Lord Of The Rings cartoon count?) Some things in this Story haven't changed: Tony is still a dud. The dialogue is still silly. And Maria still has terrible taste in men. (Tony doesn't set off any red flags? Like when he reveals why he went to jail? How about when he murders her brother? 12 seconds is the requisite amount of time to be forgiven, because, ya know, star-crossed young love?) For the next remake, can it please be about Anita and Bernardo? Or about Chino getting his CPA and Maria making the sensible choice to marry him instead? Or better yet, how about Maria and Anita realizing they don't need any of these clowns at all?

If I told you Will Ferrell's (former) best friend wanted to make a ridiculous Hot Shots!-style spoof of planetary-annihilation flicks like Armageddon with a half-dozen Oscar winners and have it compete for the most prestigious film prize on earth, you would have said I was crazy. Or if you were Netflix's Ted Sarandos, you would have said, "Yes! Here's a billion dollars." And that's presumably how we got Don't Look Up, Adam McKay's latest foray into silly movies about serious things. It's a really enjoyable ride, probably because it leans much farther toward silly than serious, and if the allegories (which are intentional, like climate change, and unintentional, like Coronavirus) annoy you, they're pretty easy to ignore. And because I try to make everything about me, the biggest allegory seems to be for many jobs that I've had: When I tried to escalate a serious issue, nobody listened to me; but when others raised catastrophic concerns, I dismissed them as whiny lunatics. (Or, when I maniacally and fruitlessly try to convince the world that Nightmare Alley deserves to win Best Picture.) Unfortunately, the film's conceit wears a bit thin by the end. What's really surprising is that the rocket-launch special effects are actually less-realistic than Armageddon's, 20 years later -- I mean, you can't look worse than the thing you're lampooning. (And I actually think the math in Armageddon might be more sound, too.)

Not surprisingly, the movie that most deserves to win Best Picture is one that was not even nominated: A Hero. After all the melodrama and bombast and look-at-me performances of the nominees, A Hero doesn't even really feel like a movie. It doesn't necessarily feel like real life either, but it does feel true. It's a wise examination of the human moral experience -- of average people, not fantastical movie people -- in shades of grey. We're all somewhere in the middle, close together; the only things that make us appear so different are what others choose to focus on. Perspective forces a sharp relief. Iranian filmmaker Asghar Farhadi (no stranger to the Oscar stage, with A Separation and The Salesman) finds his story in the mundane, the honor and trials of everyday life, unadorned by sensationalism. Can you be earnest without being honest? Can you be dishonest in an effort to be honorable? Can you achieve both justice and fairness? This is not a fun time, or a thrill ride, or a slick story, or a sinister tale, or a feel-good flick; but it is rewarding, in its own way, with an appropriate amount of unanswered questions, heartbreak, and solace. It leaves you pondering the question: What is the burden of honor, and what are you willing to do to maintain it? See if you get that from Licorice Pizza.

(If you don't care about Spider-Man, do yourself a favor and skip ahead; this will bore you. If you do care about Spider-Man, do yourself a favor and skip ahead; this will irritate you.) Spider-Man: No Way Home failed to make the Best Picture field despite the re-expansion to 10 nominees (a.k.a. The Dark Knight Rule), which was implemented specifically to encourage voters to include big blockbuster movies in a concerted effort to boost interest, and in turn, viewership. The gambit backfired. Instead, as is often the case, the extra slots were used for good (lesser-known films that have a small but passionate fan base) and not-so-good (mediocre Oscar bait) -- neither of which will help TV ratings at all. (And if we're talking comic book movies, I'd vote for The Suicide Squad or Shang-Chi And The Legend of the Ten Rings over Spider-Man.) So, the exhaustingly unimportant question that everyone (online) is debating is: Does Spider-Man deserve to be nominated? I'm here to end the debate: No, it does not. (And, by the way, I really liked the movie -- it was a total blast, and I smiled the whole way through it.) Sure, I'd probably put it ahead of some of the nominated films (including the one that will probably win), but there are plenty of others that I would have nominated instead, like Passing or The French Dispatch. So what are the arguments to include it? It's fun! (Never underestimate that. But fun and Oscar don't exactly go hand-in-hand.) There are real stakes! (Psst, in every comic book movie, the fate of the world hangs in the balance; getting into an elite college is not "stakes" in this genre.) There are three Spider-Men! (Is it really that amazing, or are we just entertained by the meta-ness of it? And didn't they just do that in Into the Spider-Verse?) And what's the argument against it? Logic. I'm not bothered by the preposterousness of teenagers opening portals to parallel universes and good-hearted criminals transforming into deadly clouds of sand, I'm bothered by intelligent humans making completely illogical decisions in a shameless effort to engineer the plot. To wit: Despite having a long history with choices that have cataclysmic consequences, the characters make knee-jerk decisions to alter the very fabric of reality without thinking through it for 10 seconds. Peter Parker is an idiot, but the blame for all this falls squarely on Dr. Strange. Maybe I'm hoping for a lot, but I would think someone with a doctoral degree would be familiar with the concept of due dilligence. This is why teenagers aren't supposed to get their way. Be the adult, Strange! In my world of software design, where even our biggest catastrophes have exactly zero impact on people's survival, when we do releases for an innocuous change, like a font color, it gets way more scrutiny (critical thinking, reviews, testing, edge-case investigation, sign-off) than these characters give to re-engineering the entire universe. I won't even get into all the illogical, contradictory ramifications of the ending of the movie. (Does he still have a birth certificate?) But there are plenty of other absurd things I have a hard time looking past: How exactly does the "fabricator" work? It's basically a Dr. Doofenshmirtz invention ("Behold… the Fabricatorinator!"). Why aren't the Spider-Men (who presumably did not binge-watch Loki on Disney+) more confused about the multiverse? Doesn't curing mental illness with a magical doodad in 30 seconds feel reductive and perhaps a tad insulting? When the Spider-Men return to their respective places, after their realities have been irrevocably changed, won't they in fact return to alternate timelines and be forever alienated from the worlds they know and the people they love and the humans who depend on them to save the day? In short: No, this movie does not deserve a Best Picture nomination. And also, despite everything I said, the movie is great and everybody should see it.

BEST ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Denzel Washington (The Tragedy Of Macbeth) WILL WIN: Will Smith (King Richard) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Leonardo DiCaprio (Don't Look Up) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Idris Elba (The Suicide Squad)

It's Will Smith's kingdom, we're just living in it. No, it's not 1997, but Smith is on top of the world. (And he still looks like it's 1997. Damn.) After 15 years of decidedly non-Oscar fare, Smith is going to claim his first big prize, for playing the polarizing force pushing his daughters to become the greatest tennis players in the world, in King Richard. (Though I'm still puzzled about why a movie about Venus and Serena Williams is called "King Richard" and focuses on their father. Why didn't we get "Queens Venus and Serena"?) His performance is fantastic -- effortless and credible (especially in scenes with on-screen wife Aunjanue Ellis). And of course that irrepressible charm sneaks through the acting façade every now and then -- he just can't help it. It may not be the best acting in this category, but it is some of the best acting of Smith's career… and after his recent string of clunkers (Gemini Man, Bright, Collateral Beauty, After Earth… need I continue?), it's even more impressive. The bottom line is, everybody simply wants him to win. Decades removed from claiming the 4th of July as his own personal holiday, Smith's charisma is still off the charts. In a time when nothing is surprising anymore, I'm not sure what's harder to believe: that the Fresh Prince will have an Oscar, or that my wife had never heard his song "Parents Just Don't Understand".

But… if last year taught us anything, it's that a sure thing is never a sure thing. (Anthony Hopkins wasn't even awake when he won the Best Actor Oscar last year.) So don’t be shocked if there’s a Cumberswitch. The Power Of The Dog could start steamrolling, and the main beneficiary would be Benedict Cumberbatch. He dominates the screen as a repressed, menacing rancher who's not too keen on his brother's new wife. (Remember people, you don't just marry the person, you marry their whole family too. Do your research.) Cumberbatch also benefits from being in another movie with strong reviews (The Electrical Life of Louis Wain) and the biggest smash of the year (Spider-Man: No Way Home), both of which are often a boost in the Oscar race. But he's not overdue yet. And he doesn't have Will Smith's smile. So voters are willing to make him sit this one out. Personally, I don't buy his character motivations (or maybe I just don't understand them) for most of the movie, so I can't give him my endorsement. (Also, I still gotta hold him responsible for some of Dr. Strange's poor choices. Sorry Benny!)

Dammit, I forgot how hard the dialogue in Macbeth is to follow. Thank goodness for Denzel Washington, and his unique, authoritative take on the Bard's batty royal headcase, in Joel Coen's The Tragedy Of Macbeth. While I still struggle to parse many of the words and follow the finer details of the plot (which is true of most Coen movies, actually), with Denzel, I feel it and I understand. My favorite Actor performances of the year are not nominated, so out of this group, he's my personal pick -- it's pretty hard not to go with the stalwart. It's fascinating to watch him do his Denzel thing with Shakespearean dialogue, especially when he gets fired up. And with the film's incredible stylistic visual approach, his presence is absolutely commanding. (The stark, heavy, black-and-white surrealism is equal parts Ingmar Bergman, German Expressionism, and Sin City by way of the 11th century.) The film got surprisingly few nominations, so Washington is probably its best hope. "Is this an Oscar which I see before me?" Unfortunately no, methinks.

If god wanted to punish me, he would make me watch musicals based on musicals about musicals. But I've lived a clean life, so surely he would never… Oh, no -- he has brandished his wrath through the vessel of the Oscar race, and it has taken the unholy form of tick, tick… BOOM! Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating the dread I felt going into this movie about Rent creator Jonathan Larson; after all, it's the directorial feature debut of Lin-Manuel Miranda. (Not sure if you've ever heard of him, but he's pretty good at musicals.) Then comes the opening line of the film: "Everything you see is true, except for the parts Jonathan made up." Ugh, so it's that kind of movie. Fortunately, star Andrew Garfield is a pleasant surprise. He's actually lifelike and vivacious, a stark contrast to his red-suited cameo in a certain recent blockbuster. (These films, along with his role as Jim Bakker in The Eyes Of Tammy Faye, are not the future I envisioned when I discovered him in the film Boy A.) And I'll admit, tick, tick… BOOM! has a kinetic energy and begrudgingly catchy songs. Does Garfield get my vote? Nope. I reflexively resent anyone who chases their dreams, even if they're a character in a movie. And he ain't no 29 years old. (By the way, I can't wait for Miranda's next project, Click, Click, Boom!, the musical about revered Y2K nu-metal pioneers Saliva.)

Nobody involved with Being The Ricardos deserves an Oscar nomination -- especially Javier Bardem. (The only possible exception is Nina Arianda, excellent as Vivian Vance.) As far as looking like their counterparts, Nicole Kidman is a real stretch as Lucy; but as Desi, Bardem doesn't even try. Besides being previous Oscar winners, I have no idea why Bardem, Kidman, and J.K. Simmons were cast. The film -- which is not awful, but is not great -- almost plays like basic-cable sketch comedy: Aaron Sorkin does I Love Lucy! (I'm hopeful the trend continues… David Mamet does The Honeymooners! David Milch does The Partridge Family!) Unfortunately, of people alive today, more have probably seen Being The Ricardos than an actual episode of I Love Lucy. "Man, that’s some bad makeup on Lucy and Ricky -- they look nothing like Nicole and Javier."

For my snubbed pick, do I choose with my head or my gut? If I'm going with the cerebral dramatic pick, it's Amir Jadidi in A Hero. If I'm going with the role that I purely enjoyed the most, it's Idris Elba. (And since I picked A Hero for my Picture Snub, it's time to honor Elba's film, The Suicide Squad. It's like an R-rated movie for children. That seems like an insult, but it's high praise, I assure you.) We all know Elba is a capital-L Leading man. But also effortlessly combining hard-R humor, violence, and action, he proves he's got it all in his repertoire. Get this guy into a Marvel franchise, now. And to think, Elba almost didn't get this role, intended for a certain Oscar frontrunner reprising his character from the previous Suicide Squad. If Smith doesn't win the big trophy, he'll be kicking himself for passing on The Suicide Squad.

It's practically an annual tradition: Giving overrated Leonardo DiCaprio a coveted Gloriously Omitted slot. (Another perennial favorite, Adam Driver, narrowly missed, with several movies to choose from.) Leo brings an underwhelming performance and his best Christian Slater impression to Don't Look Up. The pop-culture film wags a finger at pop-culture consumers for paying more attention to pop culture than real issues. Ultimately, the movie is (ironically?) the same distracting pop-culture noise that it claims to rail against. (If you don't think Leo is a primary contributor to that noise, and you haven't been alive from 1996 until now, just Google 'Leo tabloid'.)

BEST ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN: Olivia Colman (The Lost Daughter) WILL WIN: Jessica Chastain (The Eyes Of Tammy Faye) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Angelina Jolie (Eternals) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Tessa Thompson (Passing)

The Best Actress category isn't really about who gave the best performance. We all know that's irrelevant, right? It's about whether someone deserves to win a second Oscar.

Jessica Chastain (as the titular eyes in The Eyes Of Tammy Faye) seems like the logical choice. She was the first strong contender to emerge in the fall, she's playing a transformative role in a white hot spotlight, she's a multi-nominee and one of the most revered actresses of her generation who "should" win an Oscar at some point, and she's up against three women who have already won, plus another (Kristen Stewart) who generally doesn't want to be there in the first place. But then… there's the movie itself. With a less batty performance, or a better-received movie, she'd be the unquestioned favorite. Guided by the hand of sketch veteran Michael Showalter, the movie is (very intentionally) ridiculous, and the role is (maybe intentionally) over-the-top. It's the latest in a weird trend -- Prestige Trash (a genre I just made up) -- aiming for highbrow camp, often about tabloid stars, elevated from what should be a Lifetime movie-of-the-week, nominated for awards, and usually starring Sabastian Stan. You know it when you see it: I, Tonya, The Disaster Artist, Bombshell, Richard Jewell, Pam & Tommy, and pretty much anything from Ryan Murphy. When Eyes is a sly comedy, it works. When it gets serious, it's hard to take seriously. Given that it's based on a real person, does Chastain give a good performance? Considering everything I know about Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker is from Saturday Night Live, I can't really say. (Man, I wish this movie starred Jan Hooks.) The bigger question is: Should Tammy Faye be Chastain's legacy forevermore? I don't think so, but the Academy will. The 'Eyes' have it. (I'm sorry, I immediately regret making that terrible pun. I deeply apologize for even thinking it. It does not reflect who I am as a person. I shall repent.)

So, the Academy will decree that nobody here is worthy of the rare second Oscar. That means that my personal pick of these nominees, Olivia Colman, is out of luck. Had she not won three years ago for The Favourite, she'd probably be a lock here, for her acerbic role in The Lost Daughter. And with her recent awards haul from The Crown, as well as accolades from The Father and Fleabag, is Colman fatigue setting in? Not if she keeps giving wonderfully daffy acceptance speeches. Playing a mother with grown children vacationing alone in Greece (and annoyed by / fascinated with / obsessed with the dubiously wealthy family from Queens that descends on her solitude), she's the best of what we love about her: cutting, hilarious, duplicitous, goofy, and totally believable. As difficult as the performance should be -- an emotional terrorist with a gleam in her eye and a penchant for petty theft -- she has no false notes. Bonus points for delivering the best line of the year, to an expectant mother: "You’ll see. Children are a crushing responsibility. Happy birthday."

Let's get this out of the way: Nicole Kidman is not a passable Lucille Ball. The well-intentioned filmmakers and artists behind Being The Ricardos try desperately to transport us to the 1950s, but the lead actors take us right back out. The digital de-aging and shaping shenanigans are a joke. Even on the small screen, the effect looks like a rubbery, motionless mask. Your average internet deepfake (or even a not-so-deepfake) would be better. The only times Kidman resembles Ball are in the heavily-photoshopped promo photos/posters, and in the recreations of famous black-and-white scenes from I Love Lucy. To her credit, Kidman does sound a helluva lot like Ball… except when she's stuffing Aaron Sorkin's overwrought dialogue into her mouth, betraying Ball's iconic rhythms and cadence. (For my money, I think Christine Ebersole is a more convincing Lucille Ball in Licorice Pizza.) Kidman does have some things working in her favor, other than the voice: The movie is generally fun, and Kidman benefits from the general appeal of Sorkin's trademark repartee. Kidman deftly imbues Ball with believable genius, giving us insight into how her mind may have worked. And most importantly, the guild members (various departments of voters that work in Hollywood) are eating it up, especially the insider-y jokes. And hey, the story -- about published accusations of Ball being a Communist in 1953 -- can (if you squint) be interpreted as a story of Hollywood conquering xenophobia, so what's for them not to love? Kidman was the frontrunner for a few months, but has fallen back in the home stretch.

Penélope Cruz's prior victory was in a different category (Supporting Actress), but she's a previous winner nonetheless. This year she's nominated for her work with frequent collaborator Pedro Almodóvar in Parallel Mothers. A bit of a surprise on nomination day, she beat out a bunch of singers, like Jennifer Hudson (Respect), Rachel Zegler (West Side Story), Alana Haim (Licorice Pizza), and -- the one that really pissed off Twitter -- Lady Gaga (House Of Gucci). This is nomination #4 for Cruz, and her acting gets better as she ages. My theory is that Cruz is the only reason her husband Javier Bardem is nominated for Being The Ricardos; he was going to be there as her date anyway, so they might as well save on seats.

Kristen Stewart is an interesting case as Diana (the Diana) in Spencer, but is ultimately not a factor. Quick show of hands: Who thinks this movie is necessary? Who even knew this movie existed? Who thinks Naomi Watts -- who was not nominated for 2013's Diana -- is pissed? (What will the next Diana biopic be called? Did she have a middle name?) There isn't a topic I care less about than the British royal family, and I find the recent glut of film/TV content (and the accompanying avalanche of awards) baffling. This film, about an emotionally-fraught Christmas that Diana spends with the royals as her marriage to Charles is crumbling, does not convert me. When text at the beginning informs us this is "a fable from a true tragedy", you know we're in for some real nonsense. And Diana's opening line is literally "Where the f--- am I?", so from the outset it's clear we're in heavy-handed metaphor territory. What follows is a tough sell, even for the most devout of The Crown evangelists: a psychological thriller, swimming in horror tropes and evocative imagery (choking on pearls, glowering monarchs, being trapped in a haunted mansion), about -- gasp! -- spending a weekend with the in-laws. Marrying into the royal family is hard. We get it. (I sympathize with the real Diana, I honestly do. But a fictionalized version of this regal pseudo-hysteria is just not my bag. I'm more of an I Wanna Marry Harry guy.) I'm not even sure what actually happens in the movie, but best I can tell, the ghost of Anne Boleyn convinces Diana to get a divorce. As for Stewart's performance, it's hard to judge, because it has to be so specifically in service of the tone and atmosphere of the film. Which isn't bad, it's just… a lot. It's a parade of exasperated sighs and stubborn sulks, occasionally veering into casual paranoia. It has all the breathless insincerity of a Kate Winslet acceptance speech. You know the movie poster of Stewart looking sullenly and wistfully out a window? It's that, for 117 minutes. The typically press-averse Stewart has actually been gamely publicizing the film with convincing (read: well-rehearsed) geniality. But I'm afraid it's all for naught.

If we were truly picking the best performance, my clear choice would be Tessa Thompson, for Passing. How did the Academy miss this one? (And not just the actress, the entire movie: I would have nominated it for Picture, Supporting Actress, Director, and Adapted Screenplay as well.) In a year of externalized performances, Thompson gives a powerfully internalized one. Co-star Ruth Negga has had the majority of the awards buzz and probably the showier role, but I think Thompson has the more difficult part. The film doesn't take the easy way out to clue us in to what she's thinking: no inner monologue, no verbalizing her feelings, no emotional outbursts. And more than that, she's almost always hiding what she's thinking, and is perpetually conflicted. She spends the duration of the film trying to figure out Negga's character, but she's the one the audience is trying to figure out. Is she jealous? Appalled? Fearful? Annoyed? Indignant? Aroused? Indifferent? Vengeful…? My feeling on the Oscar snub, however, is crystal clear: disappointed.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Kodi Smit-McPhee (The Power Of The Dog) WILL WIN: Troy Kotsur (CODA) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Timothée Chalamet (Don't Look Up, The French Dispatch) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Jeffrey Wright (The French Dispatch)

What a cluster this category is. A total disaster. It's as if the morons… Wait, I'm sorry. One of my New Year's Resolutions is to hold less anger in my heart for subjective popularity contests that have no real impact on my life, and instead be more compassionate, gracious, and optimistic…

Ahem. This year's slate of Best Supporting Actor nominees is a refreshing, exciting departure from the expected. It adds a welcome dash of spice to break up the monotonous predictability of the mindless Oscar slog. We should all be grateful for this unexpected treat…

Nope. I can't. I can't do it. The hell with my resolution. This category is a chaotic mess. Choosing names at random would have been a more logical way to pick the field this year. Usually the nominees align closely with the precursor awards; but this year, not only do they not align, there's a negative correlation. If you got a Screen Actors Guild nomination, you were 60% likely to not get an Oscar nod. Bad news for those who had already booked limos, like Jared Leto, Ben Affleck, and Bradley Cooper -- all of whom the telecast producers were counting on for some desperately-needed star power. But don't worry, I'm sure sexagenarians Ciarán Hinds and J.K. Simmons will pull in monster viewership. Have you seen their Twitter numbers? Dozens of followers. (The only thing trending about Ciarán Hinds is "How do you pronounce Ciarán Hinds?") Now, Hinds and Simmons are talented actors who give fine performances (and trust me, I was not rooting for the jilted movie stars), but some logic would be nice. It's as if the Oscar voters decided, "Who cares who the nominees are? It doesn't matter. None of it matters. That guy? Jesse what's-his-face? Sure." This isn't a big deal. So why am I so bothered? I just… I don't need this kind of uncertainty in my life.

The favorite (today, anyway) is Troy Kotsur, playing the deaf, blue-collar father of an aspiring singer in CODA. The film in general (and Kotsur's performance in particular) have been charming audiences since it took Sundance by storm early last year. Kotsur's been little-seen before now, but his is a fun, gruff, contentious character, and he gets his 'one big scene' that voters respond to. As the lone acting representative from a movie with a strong cast, people looking to support the film will put their weight behind him. Bonus (at least for me): He played a Tusken Raider in The Mandalorian! (And you thought I wasn't going to sneak some Star Wars into the Oscar discussion.) So for my own sanity, can I at least count on one thing in this category -- a Kotsur victory?

Probably not. So watch for an upset. The actor with the best chance at it is Kodi Smit-McPhee (also my personal choice). He had been the prohibitive favorite for months, but then Kotsur swooped in and took the recent major prizes; perhaps the pendulum will swing back. In The Power Of The Dog, Smit-McPhee is easily the brightest spot in a bleak film. His performance is very specific. In addition he benefits from the neat parlor trick that energizes the entire movie. He seems like an odd choice, until his character clicks into place. I'm not sure anybody else could have played the role; you couldn't just throw, say, Timothée Chalamet in there, you'd get a very different (and less effective) movie. (Why mention Chalamet? I wonder if he'll come up again in a minute…)

After being largely ignored by critics' awards, Jesse Plemons wasn't on the radar for his role as a tender but extremely unobservant rancher in The Power Of The Dog. But for no other reason than to frustrate me, here he is. More interesting than the nomination itself is its implication: The film is even stronger than expected with actors (the largest body of voters), so it could spoil other categories, like Kirsten Dunst (Plemons's cinematic and real-life wife) pulling an upset in Best Supporting Actress. He could also be torpedoing the film's chances in this category, by splitting votes with castmate Smit-McPhee. An eventual nomination for Plemons was probably inevitable, given his recent run of prestige projects (Judas And The Black Messiah, The Irishman, Vice, The Post, Bridge Of Spies). But I'm a little baffled by the nod here. Plemons's character spends the majority of the movie standing around expressionless while ignoring the torment of his wife and her son. Given it's a film where a lot of things don't make sense, I guess this choice fits right in.

I'm workshopping a tweet here, to compete with all the hot-take zillion-follower imbeciles half my age: "Simmons will win the Oscar… J.K.!" That oughta get me a blue check. J.K. Simmons, nominated for his role as William Frawley (a.k.a. paunchy neighbor Fred Mertz on I Love Lucy) in Being The Ricardos, is a nominee you can eliminate for sure. He's the only previous winner in the group -- in fact, the only previous nominee. He won't score a second Academy Award for a role so slight (and silly). The good news for him is, he gets to keep his Oscar. You're confused; allow me to explain: When I take over the Academy, I'm going to institute some new rules. Near the top of the list: First-time acting nominees are not allowed to take home the award. If they win (which I would strongly discourage), the statuette goes on layaway until they secure their second nomination. The idea is to weed out the flukes, the flashes-in-the-pan. If you never get another nom, you never get your award. (I realize that would impact over 100 actors -- more than 25% of all winners. Relax. I'm still working out the details. Special considerations would be made for premature deaths, nominations in other categories, lifetime achievement awards, or any irrational whims I may have.) But bottom line, Anna Paquin, Mira Sorvino, and Tim Robbins do not get to keep their Oscars. So under the new bylaws, Simmons would have gone home empty-handed when he won for Whiplash, and would instead collect the hardware this year, with his second nomination. (We'd do a little presentation in the lobby next to the coat check, or set up a photo booth or something. He could it tweet to his 15 followers.)

Do you ever get the feeling that voters just watch YouTube clips to pick nominees? That's what it seems like this year. All you need is one poignant emotional scene to grab some attention. (If it's in a hospital bed, and you verbally summarize the film's theme in a weighty speech, so much the better.) I'm not claiming that's what happened with Ciarán Hinds in Belfast, but I'm not not claiming that's what happened. Though voters may have picked him based on a couple key scenes in a sizzle real, I don't have an issue with his nomination (though I'm sure his costar and early favorite Jamie Dornan does). As the family patriarch, Hinds doles out both sweet encouragement and terrible advice to his 9-year-old grandson, as the conflict between Protestants and Catholics escalates around them. Hinds grew up during the Troubles in Belfast in real life, and his presence carries some legitimate weight. He's been Oscar-adjacent for decades in films like Munich, There Will Be Blood, and Road To Perdition, so it's nice to see him finally score a nod himself. But he's not a threat to win.

If we really wanted chaos in this category, I could pick my own favorite five performances, which might not overlap with the nominees at all. Let's see… How about: Wesley Snipes in Coming 2 America (A triumphant return to his comedic roots; everyone needs more Snipes in their lives… except his tax attorney); David Dastmalchian in The Suicide Squad (Is Polka-Dot Man the greatest superhero of all time? Give him his own show and let's find out); Rob Morgan in Don't Look Up (He quietly makes everyone else in the star-studded affair look like a moron); Jon Bernthal in King Richard (Who knew he can act??); and my official Snubbed choice, Jeffrey Wright in The French Dispatch. A Wes Anderson neophyte, every single vocal choice that Wright makes is incredible (like this bon mot: “I’ll answer your question out of sheer weariness”). Had he not played the Watcher, he would have been my top choice to play Kang in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Listening to his version of the twisty, expository multiverse dialogue in Loki would have been sublime. Fortunately for us, he's already lined up for Anderson's next film, Asteroid City, later this year. Let's hope I don't have to name him as my Snubbed choice here again next time.

Believe it or not, my anxiety over this category could have been worse: Timothée Chalamet. (Oh there he is.) My runaway choice for Gloriously Omitted, he deflates almost every movie he's in. This year he's in several (Don't Look Up, The French Dispatch, Dune), and he's annoying in all of them. (Even that Scissorhands commercial.) The big question: Who's a more irritating Paul Atreides: Chalamet and his Ministry-of-Silly-Walks sand-shuffle, or lifeless Kyle MacLachlan and his chemistry with absolutely nobody? Well, we've got at least one more Dune sequel to find out.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN: Ariana DeBose (West Side Story) WILL WIN: Ariana DeBose (West Side Story) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Vanessa Hudgens (tick, tick… BOOM!) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Caitriona Balfe (Belfast)

When Ariana DeBose wins Best Supporting Actress for playing Anita in West Side Story, she'll join an exclusive group: pairs of actors who won Oscars for playing the same character. (Rita Moreno, of course, won for the 1961 version; had Moreno been nominated for her role in the new one, she would have been in a category all her own.) Moreno and DeBose would be the first pair in a re-make; Marlon Brando and Robert De Niro won for Vito Corleone (a sequel); Heath Ledger and Joaquin Phoenix won for the Joker (a reboot). DeBose has a big advantage in this category, because she's practically a third lead, and she does it all: acting, crying, singing, and dancing. (If you told me she designed the sets too, I wouldn't be surprised.) And she's the key to the film's romance: She and Bernardo have way more chemistry than the unconvincing Maria and Tony. DeBose is also my personal pick here; I give her a slight edge over Aunjanue Ellis because she's the best thing in a movie that I think is largely superfluous. Not bad for an actress who before now was best known for performing as an inanimate object: In Hamilton, she played the bullet!

Kirsten Dunst is the only other nominee here with a chance, albeit a slim one. (But if her film, The Power Of The Dog, goes on a rampage, look out.) If we're talking musical chops, compared to DeBose's singing, Dunst's piano isn't cutting it. But her character plays a pivotal role in the film, especially in its drawn out (reeeeeally drawn out) sense of dread. Most of the time, she's a ghost of who she had previously been. She's the one that anchors the film in its themes of loneliness and isolation. Not even 40, she's 30-plus years into her career (kickstarted by a co-starring role with Tom Cruise back when he was only mostly-crazy), and is getting the best notices she's ever had. But if she does ever win an Oscar, it will probably be for a Sofia Coppola film.

In King Richard, Will Smith is getting all the attention, but the real revelation is Aunjanue Ellis, playing the mother of the Williams sisters. Richard is the show, but sometimes Ellis's Oracene is more fun to watch. The film really takes off with her pivotal scene, a heated argument where Oracene calls out Richard and cuts right through his alpha B.S. She's the rare performer that can go toe-to-toe with one of the most famous people in America. (And lord knows Alfonso Ribeiro tried.)

There is no shortage of young, childless podcasters weighing in on the accuracy of the portrayal of fraught mothers in The Lost Daughter. “I babysat once, and it was like, really hard.” One of those mothers is played by Jessie Buckley, who was one of the bigger surprises on nomination day, as a younger version of Olivia Colman (really?). Few saw this nomination coming, as all the buzz for the film was around Colman and writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal. (Personally, I thought Buckley was stronger in I'm Thinking Of Ending Things -- one of my Snubbed choices last year.) Unfortunately, I think Buckley's flashback scenes are where the movie ultimately sags. I'm in the minority here, as everyone is raving about those scenes, and how it shows the difficulties and frustrations of parenting young children, especially from a mother's point of view. And in one respect, it's refreshing to see, since that struggle is rarely shown on screen in a realistic way. It gets into the ugliness of parents being overwhelmed and underprepared. Kids are a pain. (Not mine. Other people's.) I just found that aspect of the narrative less interesting; I was invested in the present-day character and her mysteries. (And that freakin' doll.)

We all love Dame Judi Dench -- who doesn't? -- but her nomination here is just plain lazy. With so many fine options in this category, Dench's inclusion for her cranky-grandmother bit in Belfast is just a yawn. Yes, she's perfectly cast, and her trademark feistiness is a welcome addition to the film, but overall the role is slight, and not particularly memorable in her grand oeuvre. (Though she gets credit for setting the bar so high.) She has one powerful, memorable image at the end of the film, but otherwise doesn't boast any of the Big Oscar Scenes that litter this contest. She is, however, the beneficiary of the film's overall transporting and immersive power, and her authenticity plays a big part in that. I guess I'm just mostly annoyed that there were plenty of other deserving, unrecognized actresses, that don't have the benefit of her Pavlovian award response. Frankly, Dench isn't even the most deserving in her own movie. Which brings us to…

Caitriona Balfe, my official Snubbed choice, in Belfast. Despite Balfe collecting all the nominations over Dench prior to the Oscars, Dench managed to underhandedly steal this one. (Dench, a notorious swindler and feared presence in the seedy Surrey underworld, has been suspiciously mum on rumors of voter blackmail and threats.) A more diplomatic explanation is that voters were simply confused about where to cast their votes for Balfe. She quite clearly has a lead role, but campaigned in the Supporting category; very likely her votes got split between the two. (Academy members aren't known for paying attention to what's going on around them.) I can almost guarantee Balfe got more overall votes than Dench. (Mysteriously, several of the ballot boxes were routed to the PricewaterhouseCoopers "Special Counting Division" in Surrey, England. Quite puzzling.) Belfast is eliciting some of the most emotional reactions of all the films this season, and Balfe is a primary reason why. She does all the heavy lifting in the film, narratively and emotionally. Though to be honest, my Ingloriously Snubbed pick is really a toss-up between Balfe and Ruth Negga in Passing. I'm giving it to Balfe because she has the bigger role (I'm not immune to category fraud myself), and because I'm hesitant to name Passing as my Snubbed choice in every single category (though I would be justified). Aside from them, there are plenty other women I'd nominate ahead of Dench: Margot Robbie (The Suicide Squad), Kathryn Hunter (The Tragedy Of Macbeth), Judith Light (tick, tick… BOOM!), Marlee Matlin (CODA), Cherry Jones (The Eyes Of Tammy Faye), Nina Arianda (Being The Ricardos), Alexandra Shipp (tick, tick… BOOM!), and Margot Robbie a second time, because she's just that awesome in The Suicide Squad.

BEST DIRECTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Kenneth Branagh (Belfast) WILL WIN: Jane Campion (The Power Of The Dog) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Stephen Chbosky (Dear Evan Hansen) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Denis Villeneuve (Dune)

Jane Campion is the runaway winner here for The Power Of The Dog. (My personal choice, Denis Villeneuve, is not among the nominees; more on him later. But you could have sold me on several other directors here: Wes Anderson for The French Dispatch, Guillermo del Toro for Nightmare Alley, Asghar Farhadi for A Hero, Rebecca Hall for Passing. Even James Gunn for The Suicide Squad.) Westerns are a tough sell for me, as are Campion movies. (In high school, sometime between action flicks and goofy comedies, I suggested to some buddies that we see The Piano, without knowing anything about it beforehand. Those guys have never forgiven me.) With The Power Of The Dog, Campion has made a film that's lovely to look at, and she imbues the film with a sense of something rotting, but I mostly feel frustrated with the storytelling itself (especially with the musical cues, which I find manipulative). After she wins the Oscar, she'll have her pick of projects; I can't wait to see if she casts Sam Elliott in her next Western.

Belfast is seen by many as a return to form by Kenneth Branagh, and crowning him with an Oscar would be recognition of finally making good on his early (over)hype as "the next Olivier", after storming the scene with Henry V three decades ago. And if Campion were not in this race, Branagh would probably get it. Despite the film's aforementioned lack of hipness, the direction is universally considered exceptional and engaging. The streets of Northern Ireland provide the perfect intimate canvass for him to create a portrait of his childhood, and a film that will likely be remembered as his signature work. Especially after the CG artifice and excess of Murder On The Orient Express, Belfast, tactile and unsanded, feels like Branagh's surest footing in ages. (My gripes? So glad you asked. The black-and-white is so close to being perfect… god, I wish he had shot it on film instead of digital. The intro in color looks like cheap travelogue stock footage. Some of the edits intrude abruptly on beats. And the vintage Van Morrison songs make for a fantastic soundtrack, but they feel like an emotional shortcut, where a traditional score might serve better. But hey, if VanMo was my hometown hero -- and he would take my calls -- I'd do the same thing.) If nothing else, I'm sure Branagh is relieved he's had better luck with Belfast than with his recent Agatha Christie movies, where his stars -- Johnny Depp and Armie Hammer -- have had a habit of getting canceled.

After all these years, I still don't know if I like Paul Thomas Anderson as a filmmaker or not. There are plenty of things I like in his films, but I come away from each somewhat empty. They feel stubbornly inaccessible. My reaction to pretty much every film is, "Huh." (With the exception of Magnolia, where that reaction was followed by "What the f---??" Also, I took my mother to see Magnolia. Take a guess how that went.) Licorice Pizza, though a much different vibe (you mean it's okay to smile during a PTA movie?), still leaves me feeling a similar way. Instead of just enjoying the breezy story of first love, I spent most of the time wondering, What the hell is really going on here? (I've been told I need to chill out.) PTA is a lot of people's favorite filmmaker, so an Oscar is undoubtedly in his future. But it won't be in this race. This year, his only real chance is in the Original Screenplay category.

If you're feeling unaccomplished, you might want to skip this paragraph. With West Side Story, Steven Spielberg has now secured a Best Director nomination in six different decades. Most people haven't even seen a movie in six different decades. He's still looking for that elusive third win, but it won't be this year. His film is gorgeous, but ultimately a re-tread, and not enough to draw any significant votes. Maybe he'll have better luck in his seventh decade.

Drive My Car is a big beneficiary of the international expansion of the Academy's voting body. Japan's Ryûsuke Hamaguchi is the latest in a recent raft of directors nominated for non-English-language films (there have been one or two each of the previous three years; before that, it was rare). His film is lovely, but isn't awestriking in the way that other films in this category are. At its best, the film uses imagery and expressions to tap into universal emotions that are hard to describe in words; at its worst, it's feels languid and plodding. (Did he consider jazzing it up with a jaunty Beatles song?) Many people have been genuinely moved by this film; unfortunately, I wasn't one of them. But don't feel bad for Hamaguchi -- unlike that deadbeat Spielberg, he'll go home with an Oscar, for Best International Film.

Denis Villeneuve is doing it better than anyone right now, especially when it comes to spectacle. (People whine that the aforementioned Spider-Man movie didn't get a Best Picture nomination; but if Villeneuve had directed it, it would have.) Dune got 10 nominations, but somehow not Director; no film with that many nominations has missed on Best Director in 35 years (the last was Spielberg -- that guy again -- for The Color Purple in 1986). I'm sure Villeneuve isn't losing any sleep over this slight; he still got noms for Picture (as a producer) and Screenplay. And I'm willing to say right now that he'll be nearly a slam dunk to win Best Director for the final Dune installment (whether that's Part 2, Part 3, or Part 7).

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN: Kenneth Branagh (Belfast) WILL WIN: Paul Thomas Anderson (Licorice Pizza) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Aaron Sorkin (Being The Ricardos) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Wes Anderson (The French Dispatch)

Usually my favorite category, this year's Original Screenplay category doesn't disappoint. It features a showdown between two revered, venerable triple-nominees: Paul Thomas Anderson (Licorice Pizza) and Kenneth Branagh (Belfast). They've been making Oscar-caliber movies across four decades, mastering many disciplines (directing, producing, writing, and for Branagh, acting), and collecting troves of nominations (11 for Anderson, 8 for Branagh). But despite the general consensus that both are worthy of the big prize, neither has won. Their styles and sensibilities couldn't be more different. California cool vs. British dignity. Heady vs. weighty. Inscrutable vs. particular. New period pieces vs. old period pieces. Dirk Diggler vs. Hamlet. There's not a lot of overlap in their Venn diagram of fans. In any other year, either of them would be heavily favored to win based on legacy alone. But this year, voters will be forced to choose. (Man, I would love to see the ballots.) So who will win?

It could be either one. But as the big show approaches, Anderson seems to have the edge with Licorice Pizza. Especially in a writing category, he's the one more people seem to be gravitating to. A lot of it is because it's his first film that feels, for lack of a better word, warm. It's pleasant. It's uplifting. It doesn't make you fear that all of humanity is lost. In other words, it doesn't really feel like a PTA film. Personally, I'm not sold. Despite the simplicity of the story and structure, I was thoroughly lost the whole time. How? It's a series of lazy-Sunday vignettes (many based, improbably, on real stories from Anderson's friend Gary Goetzman), collected together like a playlist, easy to drop in and out of -- what's so hard about that? To me, none of it (the decisions, the circumstances, the shambolic nature) seems logical, at least not in the life of a teenager. But it's like life, especially in memories, a series of random encounters -- that's what people are saying. No, it's not! Life is nothing like what happens to this kid. In this movie, there's an ignorant joyfulness about the high school experience that makes me think Anderson never attended high school. My theory: If you told me Anderson wrote this story when he was actually 15 -- this is what he imagined life to be like, and how he expected older women to act -- I would totally believe it. Of course a teen would dream up: himself fawned over by older women in short skirts, owning a pinball arcade, being a movie star, having his mom work for him, never going to school, being a respected patron at a high-class cocktail lounge, messing with adult a-holes, sleeping on water beds, being an L.A. business mogul, watching movie stars jump fire pits on motorcycles, assuming Jon Peters is a raving lunatic, and -- most crucially -- almost zero consequences. (I also thought there was a strong chance that we'd get a reveal at the end that it was all mostly in the teenager's head. I would have liked that better.) Ultimately, I think supporters are focusing less on what we see, and more on what we feel. And most people feel marvelous. (That only works if you have feelings.) It's a coming-of-age story, and I think those either resonate or not. For me, this one does not.

Branagh's Belfast is getting some of the most emotional reactions of all the nominees. The story of innocence lost is a tried-and-true theme, and a pretty good way to lure Oscar votes. (And, that scene where the mother takes the kid back to return the pilfered laundry detergent during a violent riot is actually true -- Branagh's mother did that to him in real life.) It's my personal pick here, but it's not necessarily a rock-solid endorsement (see below for the script I would have voted for in this category). By the way, am I the only one that thinks the Everlasting Love musical number is really annoying? (Classic me. I keep bemoaning the gloom of the nominees, and then when Belfast has one measly joyful scene, I trash it for being frivolous.)

Is it a successful political satire if both sides of the aisle claim it as validation, and most viewers don't even know it's a political satire in the first place? Don't Look Up, written by Adam McKay and David Sirota, while highly amusing, doesn't quite approach the sharpness of McKay's previous Oscar-winning script, The Big Short. It's not a real threat here to win. The movie playfully hums in the first half ("But it's all math"), but sags in the second, as it devolves into some predictable allegorical stuff that is not nearly as much fun. It also takes aim at billionaire megalomania and wades into heavy conglomerate paranoia -- which is all founded, but also uninteresting. (Bold, seeing as how this movie was made by Netflix. Maybe Ted Sarandos didn't read the final draft.) Perhaps the logic in the film is beside the point, but it's not totally clear to me when exactly the asteroid is supposed to hit and when the plan to thwart it is supposed to happen. Wait, it's the same day?? (I need a big ticking clock and a famous person constantly yelling how much time is left, dammit.) And I suppose this is weird gripe for a comedy, but I thought there were too many jokes; the follow-up punchlines didn't land nearly as well as (and detract from) the initial ones. I guess that's a polite way of saying I could have used about 30% less Jonah Hill.

The overall goodwill for King Richard spilled into a few categories, including Screenplay. The real story of the rise of Venus and Serena Williams alone is probably enough to get this nomination. And the script (written by Zach Baylin) takes great care not to screw it up: Taking a page from wholesome real-life(ish) sports movies from the 1990s and early 2000s, King Richard enables you to root for the underdog heroines from beginning to end. And the script tweaks the formula enough to give it an edge and make it feel contemporary. It's strongest when it examines the relationship between the parents; it could have been stronger if it delved deeper into the relationship between the siblings. Whether it paints an accurate picture of Richard Williams is a subject of some debate; I have no idea, and I'm too lazy to read Wikipedia. But the script accomplishes the most important objective of all: You never stop cheering for the Williams sisters, even if you're not always cheering for their father (or Arantxa Sánchez Vicario).

The biggest left-field nomination in the whole shebang was for The Worst Person In The World -- a Norwegian film nobody has seen, starring actors nobody has heard of, written by a duo (Joachim Trier and Eskil Vogt) unfamiliar to Western audiences, from a country most Americans can't find on a map. Anybody who says they predicted this nomination is lying. (By the way, I predicted this nomination.) It's a story that's a bit all over the place, but -- unlike some other contenders -- it uses that trait to great effect. The result is a film made up of 12 chapters (almost like mini-films), with varying genres and tones, flouting tropes along the way. For example, the film captures the aimless protagonist so precisely that we effectively experience her silent inner monologue, which is so much more natural, convincing, and relatable than the manic psychological nonsense in Spencer. And the film's episodic nature is messily coherent, resulting an experience that feels much more like truth and reality than Licorice Pizza. It's not perfect script, and it's not one of my favorite films of the year, but it's a wonderful ride, and it lands nicely. It's okay with everything not being okay. (The lead actress, Renate Reinsve, reminds me a lot of a grown-up Danica McKellar. Could this movie be Winnie Cooper's life after Kevin??)

We've heard all the adjectives about Wes Anderson before, so let's see if I can write about The French Dispatch without using the following words: stylized, whimsical, fussy, twee, extravagant, intemperate, fetishized, mannered, cutesy, nerdy, and of course, quirky. This anthology film is an exhibition of Anderson's core sensibilities completely unbridled (should've added 'unbridled' to the list) -- much like the beloved, unedited, unbounded journalists in his movie. You might argue that Anderson could use some reining in, but I would argue that would defeat the purpose. Is this up there with Anderson's best? No. Did I love it? Of course I did. Even if I didn't, would I admit it? I don't really know why I'm so enamored with Anderson. I can't say he gets me. He’s like a European New Yorker by way of Texas, and I am… not. His films couldn't be further from my experience or my values. But he is my indulgence. Some engorge on food, others splurge on wine. I revel in Anderson-ness. (I'm still breathlessly awaiting the release of The Coterie Of Midnight Intruders.) Is it so terrible to love something that I objectively know is possibly, maybe, not very good? As his art dealer in The French Dispatch says, "Surely there ought to be a double standard for this sort of predicament."

Do we really need Being The Ricardos? Is Aaron Sorkin's decidedly-less-than-definitive take on Lucy and Desi necessary? I can feel the writing inserting itself into the story in an unnatural way. It really stretches to connect the dots. It's confusing. The metaphors are blunt and also a reach. And honestly, it's a really dumb title. I'm a fan of the man, no doubt, but (I can't believe I'm saying this) can Sorkin be 10% less Sorkin-y? The good news is, a lot of people will get the Cuban Pete reference in The Mask now. Chick-chicky-boom!

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN: Jane Campion (The Power Of The Dog) WILL WIN: Jane Campion (The Power Of The Dog) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Steven Levenson (Dear Evan Hansen, tick, tick...BOOM!) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Rebecca Hall (Passing)

There is a rare three-way race for Adapted Screenplay. The Power Of The Dog holds the edge, but the lead over CODA and The Lost Daughter gets slimmer by the day. The fact that Jane Campion will win for Director and maybe Picture opens the door to reward someone else in this category. I've mentioned that I don't like The Power Of The Dog that much. But it's easily the movie that I've thought about the most, racking my brain trying to figure out why characters do the things they do. I even watched it a second time (which is rewarding, picking up more clues along the way), but ultimately it's more interesting to me to think about than watch. Is that a screenplay strength? The script certainly boasts one of the best endings of the year. But mostly the story feels like a long joke with a short punch line. And it gets away with a lot of contrivances and convenient events that allow for the dramatic denouement. Even as I finish this paragraph, I'm already doubting that it will win.

Will CODA's late surge carry it in this category? I'm saying no, but don't be surprised if I go back and edit this to say yes when nobody's looking. Though the subject matter and perspectives are new, the story beats are familiar to anyone who's ever seen a coming-of-age movie. (Why is leaving for college such a drawn-out, traumatic experience in the movies? My parents changed the locks the minute I left.) What writer/director Sian Heder's script lacks in plot, it makes up for in charm. The parents are fun and immature and self-absorbed; they act more like teenagers than their teenage children. The young protagonist is the opposite of a hyper-articulate teen (which is refreshing), who wins us over a lot faster than she wins over her dud of a singing partner. It explores some interesting themes for the CODA teen: She bemoans the fact that her family depends on her, but she has unwittingly depended on her family for her own identity for years; if she's not a translator for her parents, and she's not pursuing her dream of singing, then who is she? The film begs the question: What's the key to great writing -- technical perfection, or how it makes you feel? Ultimately, I guess it depends on how you feel about tidy, uplifting resolutions (and maybe a big ol' family group hug at the end).

I really wanted to love this movie. When I saw the trailer for The Lost Daughter (the feature debut from writer/director and erstwhile actress Maggie Gyllenhaal), I was all in. It promised to be a twisty, taut psychological thriller with a pedigree, anchored by a compellingly untethered Olivia Colman. But the film itself is much more meditative than thrilling. Meandering, almost. For me, it's a let-down. (I should know better; I need to stop watching trailers.) The film is psychological, to be sure, but it's more of an examination; it's a leisurely stroll instead of an off-the-rails ride. It starts out promisingly enough: Colman arrives on vacation and quickly signals to the audience that something is not quite right -- there is an underbelly to the paradise, and to her soul. She almost immediately takes offense to the loud, gaudy Real Housewives and their shady husbands that invade the beach ("We're from Queens." No sh-t.), and the intrigue rises. Who are these people? And why is Colman so invested? What is she cooking up? The mystery sucks us in. But from there, the foot comes off the gas, veering off into excursions and flashbacks (lots of flashbacks), and becomes much more of an internalized mental exercise. And I become much less fascinated. Gyllenhaal has something very specific she's going for, and executes it well, but it just isn't what I was hoping for. The big talking point around this movie is the expression of motherhood, in its various forms and degrees of messiness. It raises some interesting questions about mortality, morality, perpetuating cycles, and faithfulness (to oneself, a partner, and children), and intentionally leaves a big swath of ambiguity. (I have a theory about the ending, but the internet says I'm wrong.) That's all fine, but I guess I just wanted the movie to pick a story and stick with it.

How's your Checkhov? Specifically, are you intimately familiar with the themes, beats, and plot points of Uncle Vanya? No? Well, you might struggle to fully understand the animus of Drive My Car, which spends about a third of its three-hour run-time re-enacting scenes from the 19th-century play. (The other two-thirds are about, you know, driving a car.) The contemplative story, written by director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi, and Takamasa Oe, weaves some fairly simple plot points into a complex tapestry about love, loss, coping, self-sabotage, guilt, and ultimately (hopefully) something more. Taken all together, the point of the movie is… well, if someone can send me the CliffsNotes for Uncle Vanya, I'll get back to you.

The fact that Dune is nominated for Screenplay makes its Director snub all the more insulting. Of all the raves that the film is getting, the script (written by Eric Roth, Jon Spaihts, and Denis Villeneuve) isn't at the top of the list. The film is riveting, no doubt, but ask anyone to give you a two-minute synopsis of the movie, and you'll be met with a blank stare. (As far as I can tell, it's about oil.) The film certainly tries to distance itself from David Lynch's 1984 curio (a lot more realism, a lot less sexual tension between all the men), but still has some head-scratchers: Instead of the OG's widely-criticized opening monologue by Virginia Madsen, there's a disembodied computer voice giving the same clunky exposition? In the year 10190, in another galaxy, people are still drinking coffee? And using contemporary idioms? How do you kiss without bumping nose tubes? As with Best Picture, any real chance for Dune to win a Screenplay Oscar will come with the sequel.

As the writer and director of Passing, I'm going to give an all-around Ingloriously Snubbed nod to Rebecca Hall. (She's also a Snubbed alumna, as an actress in 2008's Vicky Cristina Barcelona.) While so much of the acclaimed fare this year is cold and foreboding, Hall's film is completely inviting. That's not to say it isn't thorny. It's subtle, cerebral, psychological, substantive, and requires examination. But (what a relief!) it's not illogical or confusing. The character motivations are abstruse, but not confounding, like in The Power Of The Dog or The Lost Daughter. The film's stated theme is "Who’s satisfied being anything?" It presents a few very different perspectives, but leaves room for ambiguity, and ultimately asks: Who isn't passing for something, in one way or another? Hall's connection to the story (adapted from a 1929 novella of the same name) is fascinating: Ancestors on her maternal side had been passing for multiple generations, and the book helped her understand and come to terms with it. As a first-time director, Hall is extremely self-assured, and puts a bold stamp on every aspect of the film: the black-and-white (or as Hall calls it, "grey") cinematography, the unexpected 1950s melodramatic tone, the boxy 4:3 aspect ratio, the natural lighting, and the hypnotic music -- my favorite of the year. (I'm shocked that Devonté Hynes was not nominated for his jazz score.) My only reservation about the film is the ending, which is (intentionally) jarring and difficult to reconcile. But credit to Hall for making a decision to end the film in a way that makes it impossible to shake.

It's rare enough for a writer to have two movies made in the same year based on their screenplays. But it's downright unheard of for both of them to make my Gloriously Omitted list. Congratulations to Steven Levenson, writer of Dear Evan Hansen and tick, tick...BOOM!, on this dazzling achievement in futility.

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