#oscarprognostication2024

[ryanjdonovan]

DONOVAN’S OSCAR PROGNOSTICATION 2024

Truth -- that seems to be the theme for the films at the Oscars this year.  What is truth?  Is there such a thing?  Can it ever truly be known? (Anatomy of a Fall)…  Is it perception? (American Fiction)…  Is it fluid, subject to interpretation? (Poor Things)…  Is it disputable? (Nyad)…  Is it timeless? (Past Lives)…  Is it colored by history? (Oppenheimer)…  Is it clouded by memory and nostalgia? (The Holdovers)…  Is it based on perspective, bent by fame? (Maestro)…  Is it subjective, controlled by a narrative or manipulated for personal gain? (May December)…  Is it controlled by power? (Barbie)…  Does it get rewritten? (Killers of the Flower Moon)…  Does it become forgotten or ignored? (The Zone of Interest)…  Is it purple? (The Color Purple)… (Okay, I struggled with that last one.)

At a time when we doubt that anything is true, how can we believe in the Oscars themselves?  It's still secretive and opaque.  At least the cronyism this year has been discretely kept behind closed doors, as it should be, as opposed to transparently flaunted on social media (like last year with the Andrea Riseborough nomination scandal).  So this year, if the Oscars are going to be manipulated, at least they'll have the decency to hide it from us.

Here's one truth that's irrefutable: My 25th annual Oscar predictions are guaranteed 100% accurate.  So read on… and get ready for some unpopular opinions.  Think I loved masterworks from celebrated auteurs, like Oppenheimer, Barbie, Killers of the Flower Moon, The Zone of Interest?  No!  Overrated, all of them.  Film snobs (and Mattel executives) are sure to castigate and shame me for my treacherous viewpoints… because they are unwilling to accept the truth. 

Fact Check = True: You can follow me on Letterboxd: https://letterboxd.com/ryanjdonovan/

BEST PICTURE:

SHOULD WIN:  The Holdovers WILL WIN:  Oppenheimer GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  May December INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  The Taste of Things

It's a big year for characters that have been name-checked in retro popular music: Oppenheimer (in Sting's 'Russians'), Leonard Bernstein (in R.E.M.'s 'It's the End of the World as We Know It', Barbie and Ken (in Aqua's 'Barbie Girl').  Unfortunately for The Zone of Interest, there are very few pop songs about Nazis…

Oppenheimer will win Best Picture.  That is certain.  But should it?  Maybe the better question is: Have we been tricked?  Tricked into thinking this is the most important film of the year?  Into believing that the only acceptable way to see this film is in 70mm IMAX on the biggest screen possible, when 90% of the film is people talking in small rooms?  Into believing that this is dazzling, dynamic filmmaking because the editing, sound design, and score make it all (again, 90% talking) so seemingly intense?  Into believing the most complex and destructive calculations that the world has even known can be written down and solved on a solitary blackboard or a single sheet of paper?  My answer: Yes, we have been tricked.  Now, I think it's a fantastic movie, and it deserves a lot of the recognition it's getting.  And I'm exaggerating my assertion that we've been tricked… but only a little.  Other than the One Big Explosion, was it really critical to see this in a format that only existed in 11 states (fewer than 20 theaters) in the entire country?  I can't believe I'm being heretical of the theatrical experience, but… no, it wasn't.  If you just saw it on a regular movie screen, was that okay?  Yes, you can be forgiven for your cinematic transgression.  (And, for all the hoopla about the technical perfection of the theatrical film print, I still had a hard time hearing the dialogue, which has been true of all of Christopher Nolan's recent films.)  I can't shake the notion that the film is relentlessly propulsive… but also very boring.  The sound, the way it's cut together, and the music (and let's be honest, the nudity) essentially manipulate the audience into believing the story is more interesting than it actually is.  Without those elements working overtime, would we be nearly as captivated?  Would we even care about the outcome of the trial or the hearing or the tribunal or the security clearance inquisition or whatever the hell is going on?  Honestly, I wouldn't even put Oppenheimer in Nolan's all-time top 5.  An apt comparison -- but superior film -- is Dunkirk: historical events, thrumming sound design, thriller pacing, time-hopping story, Oscar acclaim.  However, that film has real stakes and drama, not senate committees and conference rooms and smirched reputations (the atomic bomb, of course, notwithstanding).  Similar to Oppenheimer, during the first watch, many of the filmmaking elements in Dunkirk call attention to themselves, and the film tends to get in its own way.  But on subsequent viewings, those initially-troublesome aspects pay off, and the viewing experience vastly improves.  Today, I'm willing to call Dunkirk a masterpiece.  Maybe the same will be true with Oppenheimer.  I guess I only have to watch it five more times to find out. 

So, my personal pick for what Should Win is not Oppenheimer.  Unfortunately, I can't really decide between my top three films: The Holdovers, Anatomy of a Fall, and Past Lives.  It keeps flipping.  Ask me on a different day, and I'll give you a different answer.  Such distinct movies.  They couldn't be more disparate in the ways that they appeal to me.  Okay, I've made a decision… for today anyway.  Here I go again, voting with my heart instead of my head…

My choice is The Holdovers.  (I can hear your disappointment.)  Many would argue this is exactly the kind of dusty film we should be getting away from for Best Picture, and that my endorsement is the best evidence for why it shouldn't win.  Fair.  My cerebral choice would be Anatomy of a Fall -- that's the film I've spent the most time pondering over after the fact.  But The Holdovers speaks my language.  That's the best way I can describe my personal connection to it.  I wasn't alive in 1970 and I didn't go to prep school and I don't know what my history teacher smelled like.  But somehow it resonates.  This is probably the Alexander Payne movie with the most heart and the most sincerity -- and that earnestness mixed with all the gleeful bitterness and sarcasm that you expect from Payne is what makes it so gratifying.  For me anyway.  Everybody else apparently prefers to watch bombs explode.

Masquerading as a domestic drama and a legal procedural, Anatomy of a Fall is actually a puzzle -- inviting and challenging, frustrating and rewarding -- and we're not even sure we have all the pieces.  This is a good thing.  As we go through the steps of the dramatic conflict and courtroom proceedings, we are compelled to pick up pieces along the way, and try to make sense of how they fit.  We're even put through the paces as if we are being judged ourselves -- we endure the details and subjectivity and inhumanity of a trial.  (And not just any trial, a French one.  Which is nothing like American trials we see depicted in movies and TV.  It's bonkers.  I have no idea if it's accurate, but it seems that storytelling and conjecture are much more important than facts and evidence.)  For me, it's an apt allegory for any conflict where there are multiple perspectives and selective facts (e.g., anything online, or every episode of Judge Judy); I find the older I get, the more I feel this way.  By the end of the movie, when trying to draw a conclusion, we don't even know if we can trust the puzzle pieces that we've collected and stitched together.  And we're forced to confront the realization: Maybe we can never know the truth… or, more distressingly, maybe there's no such thing as the truth.

Past Lives, the least assuming of all the nominees, might feel slight compared to other films that tackle more 'important' subject matter.  (The problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world, or so they say.)  The 'what might have been' theme is tried and true, but this movie puts a different spin on it, with the Korean concept of "in-yun" -- a kind of timeless fate between people.  And the sweeping love story doesn't rely on shortcuts (overt sexiness or titillating dialogue or suggestive imagery) or manipulation (sentimental music or emotional close-ups).  First-time director Celine Song gives the naturalistic film space to breathe and time to think.  A prime example (Spoiler Warning, for those who have not seen the film) is the final exchange between Nora and Hae Sung, which is truly exquisite.  They talk about what their relationship will be (in this life and future ones), and she says she doesn't know.  Initially, I heard his restrained response as "See ya, then" -- a deflated resignation and farewell.  But as it sunk in, I heard it as "See you then," as in "I'll see you in our next life" -- not as a goodbye, but as a resolute promise that he'll wait for her forever.  Subtle and deeply affecting.  (So, what about Nora and her husband Arthur, then?  I'm still a cynic, of course; this film did not thaw my cold heart.  They seem hopelessly tired of each other… and they don't even have kids yet.  Sorry guys, time to start thinking about the next past life.)

It's a little hard to describe to someone why I like Poor Things without sounding like a depraved lunatic.  "It's a really sweet coming-of-age story about a young woman who runs away from her domineering father -- who conducted experimental surgeries on her and an undead baby -- and has a sexual awakening that takes her across an otherworldly European hellscape, leading her to a life of prostitution and revenge.  Her numerous dalliances, which are graphic and sexual but not actually sexy, could be perceived as statutory rape since she has the mind of a child.  It's really great.  Hilarious."  Of course, the film is more than that, but it's a little hard to put into words.  I can't say I relate to any of it, but the perverse humor, fanciful sensibility, and fairytale/nightmare mash-up strike a chord somehow.  Maybe its power is in allowing the viewer a wide range of interpretations -- control or chaos, losing religion or finding faith, shunning love or welcoming it -- it's all there.  A couple things hold it back from being a truly superior film for me, specifically the dark turn in the final quarter (I get the point, but I don't need it) and the occasional bluntness (using a chainsaw when a kitchen knife would do.)  Overall a rewarding experience, but it's clearly not for everyone.

American Fiction has one of the toughest challenges of the nominated films: how to balance its many themes while still making their place in the story feel natural.  It's not a breezy list: death, family trauma, financial strain, artistic integrity, stereotype fetishization, heartbreak, commodification of pain, self-serving elitism, professional disrespect, societal expectations, alienation -- mostly as they pertain to race.  The film succeeds incredibly well.  Despite the personal and touchy subject matter, it's inviting, not hostile.  And despite its density and potential weight, it's thoughtful and light on its feet.  (Categorizing it as a comedy, which has been the case during awards season, is a bit misleading; half of it is satire, with plenty of humorous moments, but it's also a drama that avoids getting bogged down.)  Best Picture is not likely where the film will get rewarded, but I have a feeling it won't go home empty-handed. 

When Killers of the Flower Moon debuted, it seemed like it might have good chance at unseating Oppenheimer as the favorite.  And while there were plenty of rapturous reviews (though it's unclear how much of the fanfare was Scorsese-worship and how much was genuine love of the film), it never quite got there.  While admirable and epic and filled with exquisite craftsmanship, it feels somehow lacking.  True, the themes of evil in the hearts of men and descent into hell are undeniable and fuel every single scene (at an hour and a half in, the situation is already pretty execrable… and then they announce the KKK is coming).  But the overall story itself doesn't quite justify the 3.5-hour runtime.  The complex web of deceit and corruption might be more compelling if every character perpetrating the crimes wasn't such a moron.  The ensuing investigation isn't exactly a chess match; it's more of a game of checkers against a five-year-old.  (Bonus points to the brainiac who asks a lawyer if it's legal to adopt children and then murder them for financial gain.)

The Barbie trailer declares that the movie is for people who love Barbie and people who hate Barbie.  But what about people who have never cared one way or the other about Barbie?  Because that's me.  So maybe not surprisingly, I neither love nor hate the movie.  It's funny, engaging, and enjoyable.  But I never saw it as a contender to vie for Best Picture.  If you've been absorbing pop-culture satire anytime in the past 60 years, you know Barbie-as-metaphor is not a novel idea -- sketch comedy, music, The Twilight Zone, movies, etc.  (How quickly we forget about Tyra Banks.)  The movie has a lot of things to say, has been a huge success, and obviously means a lot to a great many people.  But I, ever the curmudgeon, like to look with a more cynical eye: Is this a pro-consumerism movie?  Or an anti-consumerism movie?  Or a movie masquerading as pro-consumerism in order to satirize unabashed consumerism while actually convincing us of the virtues of anti-consumerism but underneath really just being a vehicle to sell merchandise for a large corporation?  (Hint: Do you think Barbie doll sales increased in 2023?)  Where are the lines between self-awareness and subversion and hypocrisy?  Only Twitter knows for sure.

“A work of art does not answer questions, it provokes them; and its essential meaning is in the tension between the contradictory answers.”  Oh boy.  That's exactly what we want to see at the beginning of a movie, right? -- a clear indication that it will leave us confused.  That quote, from Leonard Bernstein, is what opens the film Maestro.  And sure enough, it delivers on that promise: almost no answers.  As someone who knew next to nothing about the legendary conductor ahead of time, I don't know what I was expecting to get out of this experience.  And despite spending two hours with the character, I don't think I really know much now.  Does that mean I wanted a more traditional biopic, a Behind the Music episode, or a film adaptation of his Wikipedia page?  Sadly, maybe.  The movie has its fans, and nabbed several nominations, so clearly some people are responding to it.  I'm sure director/star Bradley Cooper knew there was no way to please everyone.  (Maybe that's why Steven Spielberg pawned it off on him; Spielberg had planned to direct, but handed the keys to Cooper after seeing A Star Is Born, and stayed on as a producer.  Incidentally, Spielberg actually has more nominations for producing (13) than directing (9); this film makes him the most-nominated producer ever.)  Don't expect this film to factor in the race -- as soon as Cooper missed out on a directing nomination, its Best Picture chances were dead in the water.

I'm not quite sure what to say (or how to feel) about The Zone of Interest.  Through unique sound design (what you hear rather than what you see), it's a film that highlights the atrocities of the Holocaust by presenting it with an unsettling sense of normalcy, as seen through the daily lives of the Nazi family that lives next to Auschwitz.  The banality and ignorance are the point.  The idea seems to be that anti-shock value is even more disturbing than shock value.  But it's not sneaky, it's overt.  (Case in point: the flourishes -- like the red screen, the reverse negative, or the loud screeching sounds -- which may or may not be there just to wake up any dozing audience members.)  It's easily the most polarizing of all the nominees.  Whether you appreciate the film probably depends greatly on how effective you think the approach is.  Personally, I find the technique and the structure -- and therefore, the film -- confounding, preventing me from fully connecting with it.  It strikes me more as an experience than a narrative -- novel and provocative, yes, but not successful in terms of story.  (And it may or may not be pointing a finger at modern-day museum cleaning ladies, I can't be sure.) 

My pick for Ingloriously Snubbed is The Taste of Things, which was France's submission for Best International Film (instead of Anatomy of a Fall), but shockingly didn't end up making the cut for Best Picture.  It's a 19th-century French romance between a mature monogamous couple, set in a rustic country kitchen, cooking gourmet cuisine the entire time, with no violence, swearing, or enmity. In other words: porn for my wife.

Here is my unsolicited ballot with all the Best Picture nominees, from best to worst:

The Holdovers

Anatomy of a Fall

Past Lives

Oppenheimer

Poor Things

American Fiction

Killers of the Flower Moon

Barbie

Maestro

The Zone of Interest

BEST ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN:  Cillian Murphy (Oppenheimer) WILL WIN:  Cillian Murphy (Oppenheimer) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Leonardo DiCaprio (Killers of the Flower Moon) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Ralph Fiennes (The Rat Catcher)

After months of being neck-and-neck with Paul Giamatti, Cillian Murphy has emerged as the front-runner for his work in Oppenheimer.  (Though it's not a sure thing; there's always at least one curveball on Oscar night.)  While Murphy and Giamatti both give bravura performances and are singularly perfect for their roles, Giamatti could probably do his Holdovers character in his sleep (or while eating a cheeseburger at In-N-Out).  Murphy, meanwhile, gives a performance unlike anything we've seen from him, making it seem like more of a revelation.  He certainly benefits from the year's best cinematography: framed like a portrait, wearing his hat and coat like a superhero outfit, paranoia frothing over his hard-edged face, and fish-eye-lens shots in close-up rendering him like a deer in headlights.  There's also the drama-versus-comedy bias at the Oscars, of course.  But in the end, voters will choose Murphy for delivering a career-defining performance and being the center of mass in the movie of the year.  (Then again, you could use the same description for Margot Robbie in Barbie, and we know how that turned out with the Academy.)

The central figure in The Holdovers is what you might get if you put "Paul Giamatti as a teacher" into an A.I. engine.  It is, without a doubt, the Paul Giamatti-est Paul Giamatti role ever.  And it is totally my jam (which is definitely a phrase that people still use).  After their magical collaboration in Sideways, it's hard to believe it's taken Giamatti and director Alexander Payne almost 20 years to team up again.  (Then again, I realize "grouchy Paul Giamatti star vehicle" is probably not high on many studios' wish lists.)  Readers of this article over the years (both of you) know he's a first-ballot Snubbed Hall of Famer: American Splendor in 2004, Sideways in 2005, and Should Win / Will Win for Cinderella Man in 2006.  And so, of course, this year I'm picking… someone else to win.  As much as it betrays the very fabric of my being, I think I have to endorse Murphy for Best Actor.  In terms of Oscar bait, Giamatti is missing a key element: The Big Emotional Speech.  You can almost picture it -- at the end, when he praises his student to his parents in front of the headmaster -- it could easily be a three-minute swooning monologue, full of lionizing epithets, clever wordplay, and inspirational Greek quotes, providing dramatic salvation for the boy while heartbreakingly sacrificing his own career, eliciting cheers as you uncontrollably and elatedly shout at the screen through tear-filled eyes, "O Captain!  My Captain!" or "You're the man now, dog!"  The Big Emotional Speech would have secured the Oscar immediately.  But that doesn't happen.  Payne doesn't subvert it (as you might expect), he simply avoids it.  That's not Payne, and that sure as hell isn't this movie.  True to life, Giamatti effectively sacrifices the Oscar by dutifully serving the film.  Like the Hall of Famer he is.

With American Fiction, Jeffrey Wright finally relinquishes the title of Greatest Living Actor to Never Be Nominated.  (On the ladies' side, Emily Blunt does the same with Oppenheimer.)  You may recall that I accurately predicted a nomination for Wright two years ago (never mind the fact that I said it would be for a different film this year, Asteroid City).  With Fiction, Wright elevates the already-crackling material in a way that I don’t think anyone else could.  He seems extremely at ease with his character, despite the fact that the character is not at ease at all.  His is probably the most believable portrayal in this race, a person you might know in real life.  (Like, I would probably be his despised neighbor, Phillip.)  He has some momentum here at the end of Oscar voting, having the most recent movie and winning the Indie Spirit Award, but it won't be enough to pull him ahead of Murphy or Giamatti.  (I'm sure he'll take solace in the fact that I have him in a virtual three-way tie with those two actors for Should Win.) 

If the Best Actor award is for who wants it the most, Bradley Cooper would win hands down for Maestro.  The man is campaigning hard.  If you've seen or heard one of the 5,000 interviews he's done this season, you know what I'm talking about.  How Leonard Bernstein was speaking through him.  How he trained 36 hours a day to be a conductor.  How he was handpicked to direct the project by God (a.k.a. Steven Spielberg).  In each interview, he makes sure to weep at least once and tries to work in the story where The Hangover director Todd Phillips told him he wished he believed in himself as much as Phillips did.  To his credit, it all seems very earnest.  I truly believe that handwritten notes from Michael Mann make him cry, and I truly believe that he very much wants to accept an Oscar.  As for the performance, it's transformative, but often feels like it slips into caricature, especially in the second half -- it's like Joe Piscopo doing Frank Sinatra, with Ben Stiller's Maury Finkle and Rick Moranis's Merv Griffin sprinkled in.  And as far as character motivation, I'm not entirely sure -- he seems to have two pursuits: getting summer to sing in him and humping anyone with nice hair.  As actor, writer, and producer of the film, Cooper adds three nominations to his previous nine.  But at the end of the night, the hardest-wanting man in show business will be 0 for 12, I'm afraid.  

After years (decades!) of admirable work in supporting roles, it's nice to see Rustin's Colman Domingo get recognition in a star-making turn.  It's just a shame it's not a better movie overall.  The screenplay aside, the film has the immobility of a walled-in stage play, with performances that play to the back row.  (Maybe not coincidentally, director George C. Wolfe has a highly-accomplished career in theater.)  Everyone in the ensemble seems to be overdoing it by about 10% (even Jeffrey Wright, who's so great in American Fiction), with a striking lack of naturalism (especially when compared to, say, Past Lives, which got zero acting nominations).  As such, Domingo, playing real-life activist Bayard Rustin, feels a bit broad early on; but he's at his best in the final act, when the performance rises to meet the poignance of the events in the film. 

Ralph Fiennes, my Ingloriously Snubbed choice for The Rat Catcher, is the best argument for why performances in short films should be eligible for Acting Oscars. 

BEST ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN:  Emma Stone (Poor Things) WILL WIN:  Lily Gladstone (Killers of the Flower Moon) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Natalie Portman (May December) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Juliette Binoche (The Taste of Things)

As we come down to the wire, it seems that Lily Gladstone is edging past Emma Stone, for her heart-wrenching role in Killers of the Flower Moon.  They've been deadlocked most of the season; just a few days ago I would have said Stone had the slight edge.  But the Screen Actors Guild award tips the race in Gladstone's favor.  Really, it's still up for grabs, but if I were wagering, I wouldn’t bet against Gladstone.  And while she gives a strong and effecting performance, she's not quite my top choice -- though it has more to do with the film itself.  Despite being the lynchpin of the movie, I don't quite believe the love story between her character and Leonardo DiCaprio's.  Her character seems too savvy and too emotionally mature to fall for DiCaprio's halfwit baloney.  And because that relationship is so essential to the narrative (and true to life, according to their descendants), and because it allows the viewer to understand how so many awful events in the story take place, my disbelief causes much of the film to fall apart.  And unfortunately, it's holding me back from fully endorsing her performance.

Emma Stone gives an astonishing, hilarious, and frank performance in Poor Things, as her character goes on a globe-trotting adventure of self-discovery and sexual awakening.  (She could be the protagonist of the Seinfeld movie-within-the-show, 'Rochelle, Rochelle'.)  She's my slight pick for Should Win over Sandra Hüller, based on the high level of difficulty in her role: She has to portray the mental and physical evolution of a child growing to adulthood in a woman's body (as well as portray a lot of "furious jumping") -- and despite the inherent bizarreness, none of it ever comes across as false.  Her journey feels shocking, but also inevitable.  Despite being manipulated by her 'father', she follows in his footsteps, using increasingly-scientific curiosity and methods to evaluate things, people, and experiences.  (You know, she's something of a scientist herself.)  Having won already for La La Land, many voters will be happy to give the award to someone else.  But for my money, Stone's Poor Things performance blows La La Land away.  (And I still hold a grudge against La La Land for crapping on A Flock of Seagulls.)

Watching Sandra Hüller's character, who's accused of murder in Anatomy of a Fall, she's like Schrödinger's Cat -- she's both guilty and not guilty.  She skillfully draws us into her perspective while somehow keeping her distance; we empathize with her, but we never know what she's thinking.  Upon that intimate unknowability, she adds more complex layers -- love for her son, knowing that she'll be judged in the public's eye even if she's found innocent, and arguing a point that she doesn't believe (or says she doesn't believe) for the sake of her defense.  It's a remarkable turn from an actress largely unknown in the United States.  Hüller may benefit from double-dipping (she's also fantastic in The Zone of Interest), but voters are clearly considering this a contest between Lily Gladstone and Emma Stone. 

In another year, Carey Mulligan might get my vote for her performance in Maestro.  Director and co-star Bradley Cooper has been vocal about Mulligan being the true star of the movie.  She's a formidable foil for Cooper in the first half, though she risks veering into affectation.  That changes in the second half, when the film ratchets up, and Mulligan's performance ascends, becoming more naturalistic and bare -- and as a result, more connected to the audience.  It's a showcase for the breadth of her talent.  Through it all, she more than holds her own in the cacophony of argumentative dialogue that gives the film its signature melody. 

Why are we doing this?  Why do we keep doing this to poor Annette Bening?  Nominating her again when she has no chance to win?  She doesn't need our charity.  Her fifth nomination (for Nyad) feels like an unnecessary courtesy, especially given the number of other deserving actresses this year (more on that later).  To be fair, at the outset of Oscar season, this seemed -- on paper anyway -- like a great shot for Bening to finally land the trophy: a biopic of a complicated real-life character, a unique story about a mind-boggling accomplishment, a punishing physical performance, a commentary about age and perseverance, and a potential showcase for emotion and drama.  Unfortunately, the movie itself, about long-distance open-water swimmer Diana Nyad, is less than amazing, and her performance probably suffers because of it.  She finds better footing (swimming?) in the second half of the film, however, when stilted dialogue and imitation give way to more authentic emotion.  A bit of a surprise when nominations were read, Bening will have to hope for another crack at Oscar glory in a better movie.  Regardless, I suspect she's doing just fine without us.

As for my pick for Ingloriously Snubbed… Thought I was going to say Margot Robbie for Barbie?  I actually preferred her (abbreviated) performance in Asteroid City -- her scene was my favorite in the film.  I have a few actresses I'd nominate over Robbie: The official choice is Juliette Binoche (The Taste of Things), but Greta Lee (Past Lives) and Zar Amir Ebrahimi (Shayda) would also be worthy inclusions. 

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN:  Robert Downey Jr. (Oppenheimer) WILL WIN:  Robert Downey Jr. (Oppenheimer) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Charles Melton (May December) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Willem Dafoe (Poor Things)

There's little doubt that Robert Downey Jr. will win his first Oscar for Oppenheimer.  Voters are responding to an overwhelming sense of "it's his time", "the movie is awesome", and "he gives a great acceptance speech" (oh, and "his performance is good").  A question they may ask, before casting their vote in the supporting category, is whether they think Downey has an Oscar-winning lead performance in him sometime in the future.  (If Dolittle is any indication, probably not.)  Personally, I'm not quite sure who to endorse, in a group of solid if not electrifying performances.  (See Ingloriously Snubbed for my real pick.)  It's maybe more of a process of elimination, but ultimately I land on Downey too.  It's not exactly his most dynamic or captivating performance ever, but for a supporting role, he delivers the goods without going all 'Downey'.  And, I'm not going to lie, I'm rooting for him too… I mean, he does give a great acceptance speech.  (One lament about Oppenheimer's supporting roles: I wish they would have gotten Gene Hackman out of retirement, just so he could say the word "Oppenheimer" in his signature growl -- à la his Oppenheimer Funds commercials of yore.)

Just a few short years ago, I gave Robert De Niro a rare double-helping of Gloriously Omitted (for The Irishman and Joker) and suggested he hang up his holster.  I'm happy to say the calls for his retirement were premature.  Killers of the Flower Moon is the best De Niro in years (decades?) and his first well-earned nomination since 1991's Cape Fear.  It's vintage De Niro, full of menace and manipulation -- a schemer who's just wise enough to know that he doesn't have to outsmart everyone, just the guy next to him.  (In a movie landscape full of shared universes, is it possible this role is a Louis Cyphre origin story?)

It seemed inevitable that voters were going to include one of the standout supporting performances in Poor Things -- either Mark Ruffalo or Willem Dafoe.  While I would have picked the other one (see below), this is probably the silliest, most dynamic, and (intentionally) funniest Ruffalo we've ever seen.  (No "They knew!" grandstanding here.)  It's unlike any part he's ever played, and his odd vocalizations serve him well in the role.  Despite being the 'adult' in his relationship with Emma Stone's character, he really nails the I-didn't-get-my-way pouting that every parent knows well.  While effective, it ultimately feels like he's play-acting a bit, instead of authentically inhabiting the role, so voters won't be swayed to give him the award.

Well, one doll we know won't be represented in Barbieland is Oscar Winner Ken.  Ryan Gosling is more than game in Barbie, but this is probably the film's least likely shot at a trophy.  Maybe Gosling's Ken can use his clicky-pen doctor powers to explain to me what the point of the Mattel sub-plot is and what the corporation is doing in the movie.  I don't mean what Mattel represents, I mean what they literally do.  Like, how do the Patriarchy Ken dolls get manufactured so fast?  The Ken revolution (and corresponding mass production) seems to happen in the span of a day, without any involvement from the company.  Does Mattel make dolls, or do the dolls somehow self-manifest based on the actions of the Barbieland characters with Mattel just reaping the benefits?  Basically, I don't understand any of the Mattel movie logic.  (And Will Ferrell clearly doesn't either.)

Sterling K. Brown was a bit of a late-breaking surprise for his part in American Fiction.  After three Emmy awards and a bunch of recent nominations -- so many nominations -- it seemed inevitable that an Oscar nod was going to happen for him sooner or later (though his movie career has taken longer to fully launch than expected).  While he has no real shot to win, his nomination is likely an indication of things to come.  (An even surer sign that he's made it is that he's created sworn enemies -- the sincerest form of flattery in Hollywood -- in Charles Melton and Willem Dafoe, two actors that were hoping to get his slot.)

Speaking of Charles Melton… I am, apparently, the only one on planet Earth that is not blown away by Melton's performance in May December.  I understand that as a victim of trauma at an early age, his character is supposed to be stunted and withdrawn.  But where viewers and critics alike find his performance mesmerizing and chilling, I find it… well, oafish and flat.  ("Yes, of course it is!" the Internet yells at me.  "That's because he's broken inside, you inconsiderate monster!")  Okay.  I get it.  Actually, I don't.  The performance doesn't strike me as particularly nuanced or engaging.  ("But he has an emotional breakdown in front of his son who's half his age but twice as mature!  The fact that they're totally baked and weirdly sitting on the roof of the house make it all the more poignant, you cretin!")  Sigh.  Every commenter out there anointed him the Oscar winner long before nominations were announced.  ("He's so perfect they should rename the category after him!")  I was unconvinced.  And so, it turns out, was a large portion of the Academy.  What will hindsight say?  I've watched the film again, and, with everyone so passionate about the authenticity of his performance, I'm willing to admit that I may be wrong about it.  On second thought, no.  I'm not.  And so I dub him Gloriously Omitted.  (A couple silly honorable mentions: Brendan Fraser, for showing up to yell for 10 seconds in Killers of the Flower Moon; and Jesse Tyler Ferguson, for treating Cocaine Bear like it's a sequel to Wet Hot American Summer.)

There's only one choice for Snubbed: Willem Dafoe in Poor Things, as the Scientist, or as the Father, or as Dr. Frankenstein.  (Or as God, if you like.)  In fact, he'd be my choice to win the Oscar over all the actual nominees.  His performance feels strangely authentic, despite the fact that his is probably the most audacious and ludicrous in the movie.  There's no note of novelty in his performance (which is something I can't say about his screen-mate, Mark Ruffalo).  It's as if Dafoe's long history of weirdo characters has led him to this wonderful culmination of superlative oddness.  Some other smaller performances worth mentioning: Tom Conti in Oppenheimer (I seem to be the only one who likes his goofball Einstein), Rhys Ifans in Nyad (the shaggy, underrated soul of the impossible quests), and Milo Machado Graner in Anatomy of a Fall (the gifted child at the heart of the film). 

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN:  Da'Vine Joy Randolph (The Holdovers) WILL WIN:  Da'Vine Joy Randolph (The Holdovers) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Julianne Moore (May December) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Viola Davis (Air)

The two leading contenders are the ones that (not coincidentally) have the best and most complete parts in their respective films.  The first is Da'Vine Joy Randolph, the runaway choice for her role as a grieving yet tender mother/coworker/road-trip-buddy in The Holdovers.  She's arguably the third lead in the film, with her own standalone story and well-developed characterization.  Typically a comedic actress, she gives her character a sense of faded warmth and vitality in the wake of recent difficulties.  She's never been my official Snubbed choice, but she's been in consideration for standout performances in Dolemite Is My Name and The United States vs. Billie Holiday (not to mention as the comically fed-up but dogged investigator in Only Murders in the Building).  (Good thing I'm not giving awards for Best Accent -- I'm not really sure what's going on with her occasional Boston inflection in The Holdovers.  She evidently didn't study Ben Affleck's Dunkin' Donuts Super Bowl commercial.)

Danielle Brooks similarly benefits from a fantastic part in The Color Purple, and she fully capitalizes on it.  The film brims with supporting roles that voters probably considered for nominations, but Brooks brings a unique (and welcome) energy to the film; each scene she's in changes the dynamics of the entire piece.  Her nomination is a no-brainer, encapsulating pretty much everything the Academy likes in a supporting performance.  She gets to sing, dance, and throw a punch -- but the role and screentime are less than what Randolph has to work with, so she won't realistically challenge for the prize.  But getting her own catchphrase ("Hell no!") isn't a bad consolation. 

Barbie has been called a lot of things -- smarter and dumber minds than mine have seen to that -- but one thing that stands out to me is that it's a sneaky coming-of-age story.  But unlike director Greta Gerwig's previous films (Lady Bird and Little Women), we realize halfway through that it's a coming-of-age story for the mother character (which makes it a coming-of-middle-age story, I guess?).  So the film in many ways is just as much about America Ferrera's character as it is Barbie herself.  I think that is a big reason why so many people (and voters) have responded to her performance, beyond her "Woman" monologue.  However, Ferrera's best performance of the year may have been trying to look impressed while co-presenter Kevin Costner awkwardly fumbled his way through an excerpt of her now-famous monologue at the Golden Globes.  Yikes.  (Bonus points to her for spoofing the speech in the Oscars promo video with Jimmy Kimmel.)

I think voters may have been grading on a curve when nominating Jodie Foster for Nyad.  It's a competent performance, but I personally don't think it's anything out of the ordinary; the fact that it's in a middling film with underwritten dialogue doesn't help.  I suspect that since she doesn't appear in many movies anymore, voters were enthused to see her on-screen, and lazily gravitated to her, over less-conventional performances from other actresses.  She'll get a True Detective bump (like Matthew McConaughey, Mahershala Ali, and Rachel McAdams before her), but she's no threat to collect her third trophy. 

While it's helpful to be graded on a curve, it's even better to be part of the snowball effect.  Case in point: Emily Blunt in Oppenheimer.  There's no real way to sugarcoat it: the nomination is week.  There's simply not much for her to do.  But Oppenheimer is rolling through town, and it's carrying a lot of people with it.  So her nomination has seemed inevitable since last summer.  The only surprise is realizing that she's never been nominated for anything else (like The Devil Wears Prada, The Young Victoria, Into the Woods, Sicario, A Quiet Place, Mary Poppins Returns, or The Girl on the Train).  Despite being her only nominated role, Oppenheimer probably won't even make the highlight reel of her career.  (At least her character has more to do -- albeit with less consequence -- than Rami Malek.)

The year had a lot of fun and interesting smaller roles, many of which weren't actually in contention for the Oscars, but are worth mentioning: Viola Davis is the obvious choice for Air, but it's certainly not her most memorable work.  Sandra Hüller (in The Zone of Interest) is a bright spot in a film I otherwise didn't love.  Kerry O'Malley is memorable in The Killer for what is essential a cameo.  (I hope she had a stunt double.)  Kate McKinnon is perfect in Barbie.  (I'm waiting for an announcement of a Weird Barbie spin-off.)  And Teyonah Parris: I'm not necessarily citing her role in The Marvels, but after doing action, horror, and drama, I would recommend a big-budget rom-com -- she has the best (and most under-used) smile in Hollywood. 

BEST DIRECTOR:

SHOULD WIN:  Justine Triet (Anatomy of a Fall) WILL WIN:  Christopher Nolan (Oppenheimer) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Bradley Cooper (Maestro) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Alexander Payne (The Holdovers)

This is the strongest lock of the night: Christopher Nolan for Oppenheimer.  But there is still intrigue with this category… specifically, after winning every single award of the season, how long can Nolan continue to pretend to be surprised and grateful and humble?  I don't think he can keep it up.  I think on Oscar night, upon his crowning achievement, he'll finally say, "We all knew I was going to win, I'm better than all these hacks, and it is long overdue."  A little honesty and pompousness would be refreshing.  (After many months of officially giving no comment on the Barbenheimer phenomenon and clearly having no patience for all the viral marketing nonsense, maybe he will finally tell us what he really thinks of Barbie.)  Perhaps he'll reveal how autobiographical his film actually is.  I'm not the only one who strongly suspects that it's a meta-commentary on the world at large not understanding his films and the negative reviewers not appreciating his genius.  (Lydon Johnson might as well be giving J.R. Oppenheimer a gold statuette instead of the Fermi Award at the end of the film, years after having his Inception Security Clearance revoked.)  And of course, Nolan is the obvious choice for Should Win… right?  I mean, how could he not be?  …Right?  Or…

…But then there's Justine Triet, director of Anatomy of a Fall.  While her film may lack the spectacle of Oppenheimer, she finds subtler ways to make it engaging and keep the viewer glued to the screen.  Through twisty psychology, magnetic performances, alternating points of view, DIY detective work, confounding legal proceedings, and shifting blame (plus a dog who may know more than everyone else), she keeps us highly invested while daring us to doubt the main character.  The film is long, but effectively so; Triet puts the viewer into the center of the arduous situation, frustrating us along with the protagonist.  It's a balancing act that could collapse at any time, but Triet keeps it all together.  So for the effect she has on the viewer, and the way she orchestrates all the components to tell the most engrossing story, I choose her for my Should Win.  (But if I'm being honest, that probably won't keep me from rooting for Nolan, one of my favorite directors over the past two decades.  Had he already won for Dunkirk, like I said he should, then I wouldn't be conflicted.)

From a visual perspective, I probably like the look of Yorgos Lanthimos's Poor Things best of all the Director nominees.  A Victorian fever dream with production design on steroids, the visual style matches the absurdity of the characters and the journeys they're on.  Elements that shouldn't go together end up meshing in a lovely but jarring, unique but familiar way.  It's a Frankenstein movie that evokes the aesthetic of a different monster movie -- Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula.  There are also strong influences from The Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland, of course.  The city of Alexandria is straight out of Dr. Seuss's 'Oh, the Thinks You Can Think' (I was half expecting to see the Vipper of Vipp).  Much of the iconography seems heavily influenced by the Follies numbers in The Great Ziegfeld from almost 90 years ago.  And then it throws in some retro-future steampunk elements, just to irritate the European History teachers.  (I'd love to hear what Paul Giamatti's Holdovers character would say.)  I can't say I loved Poor Things quite as much as Lanthimos's previous effort, The Favourite, but he's become a must-see director for me. 

Killers of the Flower Moon gives Martin Scorsese his 10th Best Director nomination, vaulting him past his old nemesis Steven Spielberg for most by a living director.  (William Wyler is the all-time king, with 12.)  As Scorsese nears the end of his career, many thought this would be the grand finale and score him an elusive second statue, putting him in elite company.  But Christopher Nolan, his new nemesis, said, "Not so fast."  Were it not for Oppenheimer, I could easily see Scorsese winning; Flower Moon is one of his best-looking films (it looks a hundred times better than The Irishman).  It's also one of his best-sounding films -- without being able to lean on the Rolling Stones, he got a magnificent composition from Robbie Robertson (who passed away a few months ago), the kind of foreboding score that I really respond to, that isn't overly-manipulative or doesn't do too much heavy lifting (<cough> Oppenheimer <cough>).  It's also probably the most sensitive film he's made in years; instead of focusing primarily on the FBI investigation (which would have been in his wheelhouse), he refocused the story on "love, trust, and betrayal", after hearing input from members of the Osage Nation.  However, one hang-up I have is the radio-play ending, which felt awkward and blunt.  There's something dissatisfying about not seeing the characters meet their fate.  Maybe that’s the point… or maybe editor Thelma Schoonmaker said, "We gotta wrap this up."

This year's unconventional nominee, Jonathan Glazer, is an acquired taste, and certainly not for everyone.  With his résumé of button-pushing films (Sexy Beast, Birth, Under the Skin), he's not exactly a family-friendly director.  (My generation knows him as the director of Jamiroquai's iconic 'Virtual Insanity' video in the '90s, which won him an MTV Moonman Award.  Maybe he's going for a MEGOT?)  Glazer has jokingly referred to his film The Zone of Interest as "Big Brother in the Nazi house" -- which is not totally inaccurate.  A more serious comparison might be Jeanne Dielman…, or other European observational 'slow cinema' films.  Glazer goes to great lengths to make the film the inverse of what you might expect from a Holocaust film; visually, it's not graphic or assaulting or visceral, but thanks to the sounds he puts in the background (the "second film", he calls it), it is those things in your imagination.  The film goads and baits the viewer in ways no other film in my memory does.  I'm afraid to say it doesn't totally work for me, at least not as intended.  I can't help but feel like it's a lot of pretense lacquered onto subject matter that probably doesn't need it.  Glazer is clearly an artist of immense talent, who refuses to conform to conventions… which is another way of saying that he's probably a producer's nightmare.  I'm guessing in school he was often told how much potential he had by frustrated teachers threatening to fail him.  I just hope he someday channels that potential into a film that works for me (preferably one that includes a catchy tune, funky dancing, and a trippy moving floor).

I'm not sure if Maestro is well directed, but it's certainly very directed.  I'm guessing I'm not the only one that has director Bradley Cooper on the Gloriously Omitted list.  The film is full of pizazz and talent, but what's perhaps more fascinating than the film itself is the irresponsible psychological excavating we might do about its author.  How much of it is self-examination of Cooper himself and his thirsty quest for artistic recognition?  Only his therapist knows for sure, but I'd wager that the movie teaches us more about Bradley Cooper than Leonard Bernstein.  Honorable mentions to David Fincher for The Killer, doing less of what he does best, and Todd Haynes for May December, doing… well, I don't know what the hell he's doing.  (More on that in Original Screenplay.)

Under the singular direction of Alexander Payne, The Holdovers is like a warm, scratchy wool blanket at grandma's house -- despite the discomfort and awkwardness, it's so cozy and so familiarly specific that you never want to leave.  I'm a sucker for his analog-film aesthetic -- I relish Payne's version of the 1970s more than other retro nostalgia-porn, like Licorice Pizza or Dazed and Confused.  His omission was my biggest disappointment on nomination day, and is my easy Snubbed choice.  Other worthy contenders include Celine Song for Past Lives and Anh Hung Tran for The Taste of Things.  Song, a first-time film director, frames her shots in Past Lives like an old pro.  Perhaps my favorite is when the Greta Lee character (the center of gravity in the film) leaves the two men alone together.  The shot starts wide, as if it's unmoored by her departure, and calls attention to her absence.  But then as the men talk and make their own connection, the frame becomes anchored, centering on them and slowly pushing in.  But just subtly -- perfectly.  On the other end of the spectrum, Tran's sweeping camera work in The Taste of Things heightens the culinary experience that is the soul of the film.  While extremely complex and painstakingly choreographed, it feels effortless and looks natural, never calling attention to itself.  He also eschews a musical score, so the camera highlights the sounds of the gourmet kitchen -- and those sounds effectively become the score, providing surprising rhythm and melody. 

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN:  Arthur Harari, Justine Triet (Anatomy of a Fall) WILL WIN:  Arthur Harari, Justine Triet (Anatomy of a Fall) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Christos Nikou, Stavros Raptis, Sam Steiner (Fingernails) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Alex Convery (Air)

There's an interesting phenomenon with the nominated writers this year: three of the films are written by domestic partners (Anatomy of a Fall, May December, and Barbie).  And appropriately (or alarmingly), those films also happen to include major conflicts between the sexes.  (I had assumed Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach had hashed everything out during Marriage Story.)  Anatomy of a Fall, written by Arthur Harari and Justine Triet, seems like it would be cause for concern for the couple.  Do we think a story about a woman who may or may not have killed her husband with zero remorse is a red flag?  I can imagine their writing style… 

Justine: [At the keyboard.]  Arthur: [Turns up music.]  Justine: "The husband is listening to his annoying music… and then he mysteriously falls off a third-story balcony to his death!"  Arthur: Shall I turn down the music, love? 

Assuming they haven't killed each other before then, I expect Harari and Triet will collect the Original Screenplay Oscar together. 

But it's far from a lock.  The script for The Holdovers (written by David Hemingson) has a good chance to sneak in.  It has the uncanny ability to make me nostalgic for things I've never known, places I've never been to, life before I was born, and experiences I've never actually wanted. 

Another strong contender and possible spoiler is Past Lives, the story of a love that defies the limits of time and distance… or the story of an Uber that shows up just a little too quickly.  Writer/director Celine Song, with her first film, handles the script with the delicacy of someone with decades more experience.  The film deals with the ideas of fate and free will, not just in this lifetime but across many lifetimes.  It also references another fantastic screenplay: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  That film is specifically mentioned by a character, but its themes of repeating connections and the inevitability of love (even when relationships fail and heartbreak is inescapable) also reverberate throughout the story and dialogue of Past Lives.  Eternal Sunshine won Best Original Screenplay 20 years ago; even if Past Lives doesn't win, it's a worthy successor. 

After watching Maestro, I'm still wondering what Leonard Bernstein has to do with the end of the world as we know it.  The script, written by Bradley Cooper and Josh Singer, is probably the least compelling of the bunch here.  I'm equally fascinated and frustrated by the dialogue; it's like Bernstein's music -- boisterous, abrupt, busy, discordant, jarring, overlapping… and, probably intentionally, difficult to fully understand.  Aside from never saying what they actually mean, characters talk over each other and -- more crucially -- past each other.  I get to the end of a scene and wonder, What did I just listen to?  What are they fighting about?  I heard words, and yelling, and disagreement, but I don't actually know the meaning of what they said to each other.  The characters do not seem to be confused, but I am.  If the dialogue in the film isn't for you, at least you can smile at the Snoopy Thanksgiving Parade Balloon metaphor (which, like life, literally goes by without Bernstein seeing it). 

May December (directed by Todd Haynes, written by Samy Burch and Alex Mechanik) was at one time a strong Oscar contender in several categories, but ended up an also-ran.  Its lone nomination is for screenplay, and for me, it's a hard one to wrap my head around.  How to interpret the melodrama-run-amok that we see onscreen?  Upon a second viewing, it's clear that there's more than a healthy zesting of camp (if you're not sure, remember that Haynes is the guy that made Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story -- with plastic dolls).  Here's my theory on how to reconcile the film (if you haven't seen it, skip this paragraph): We are not seeing reality; we are seeing the movie that Natalie Portman's character (the actress) is picturing in her head.  She is imagining the events of her research and interaction with the family as a melodramatic episode.  In her mind, she's picturing it play out as if it's her idea of a prestigious Oscar-type film.  But since she's not very talented, she's imagining it in an over-the-top, overly-performative, amateurish way.  So to Portman's character, it's supposed to be sophisticated, but it comes off (to us) as campy -- dramatic music, overt sexual tension, deceptive wife, boy-toy husband, evocative imagery, a lisp for a character tic, and herself as the sly (but ridiculous) seductress.  Since she doesn't have a deep imagination, she rips off other movies -- specifically her favorite prestige movie from her formative childhood: The Silence of the Lambs.  So she infuses the story with all kinds of Lambs elements that, of course, don't work at all in this narrative: butterflies, 1990s thriller score, a pet-shop stockroom that looks like Buffalo Bill's basement, a dark X-ray lab, face-to-face interrogation, characters looking into the camera.  But she's no Jonathan Demme, so her version of it is terrible, of course.  She thinks she's Clarice Starling, but she can't outwit Julianne Moore's Hannibal Lector.  (The film even casts Moore, who played Starling… but not in the original; instead she was in the second-rate, non-Demme sequel.)  We get to the end and see Portman's character has been deluding herself, stuck in a purgatory of basic-cable mediocrity.

If I name Asteroid City as my choice for Gloriously Omitted, will my Wes Anderson Fan Club membership be revoked?  It's… (choosing my words carefully here)… not one of his best.  I would probably go easier on the movie if 1) he hadn't included the scene with Adrien Brody and Margot Robbie, which is easily the most electric scene in the film, and made wish he made that movie instead, and 2) he hadn't also made The Rat Catcher, which I love, in the same year (see: the Adapted Screenplay category).  To be on the safe side, I'll go with Fingernails (written by Christos Nikou, Stavros Raptis, and Sam Steiner).  What a great premise.  What a boring execution.  The pitch: In an alternate reality, true love can be scientifically tested by ripping the fingernails off two people and putting them in a microwave-looking-thingamabob.  The experience: Dull people sitting around doing their mundane jobs or watching TV and passively doubting or projecting their feelings, failing to make us believe any of these mopes could possibly be in love with each other.  It should have been a lot weirder or a lot shorter -- it could have made a helluva Black Mirror episode.  (As it is, it's still better than any of the actual episodes in the latest season of Black Mirror.)  Honorable Mention unfortunately goes to celebrated writers Dustin Lance Black and Julian Breece for Rustin's script.  The film takes a dynamic figure playing a pivotal role in landmark events in history, and makes the experience feel educational instead of cinematic.  The screenplay often verbalizes the subtext, and makes it text.  You can practically hear a producer's reductive notes coming through in the stale dialogue.  A missed opportunity.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN:  Tony McNamara (Poor Things) WILL WIN:  Cord Jefferson (American Fiction) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Julia Cox (Nyad) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Wes Anderson (The Rat Catcher)

All the scripts in the Adapted category are smart and challenging, and interrogate what we think (or what we think we think) about well-established events, people, and perceptions (and toys).  A favorite among voters this year (and the likely winner) is American Fiction, the first film written and directed by Cord Jefferson.  All the films in this category confront the preconceived notions in different ways, but I think American Fiction does it more elegantly that the others.  My only reservation about the script is the ending.  (Some spoilers here.)  We come to form a relationship with Jeffrey Wright's character and become invested in his story.  So it's a letdown when we get a satirical resolution, instead of a sincere, meaningful one.  (I realize that's the point -- the character doesn't get to finish his own story, and he's succumbed to the idea of simply giving paying audiences the pandering ending that they think they want.)  We're left to question not only what happens to him, but also whether he's at peace with his choices.  Like the character himself, we feel a bit unfulfilled.  But I suppose that's life. 

Oppenheimer has yet to win a major screenplay award during the Oscar run-up, so despite it steamrolling through most categories, it's looking less and less likely to win here… but don't count it out.  With Christopher Nolan a sure bet to collect trophies for Director and Picture, voters will likely use this category to spread the love around.  And I agree with them; screenplay is not Oppenheimer's strongest suit.  Despite all the timeline chicanery, it's mostly a courtroom drama (never mind the fact that characters keep saying it's not a court).  More than that, it's a courtroom drama with low stakes.  Do we really care if Oppenheimer loses his security clearance?  Nolan's screenplay acrobatics try to trick us into thinking we care.  But we do not.  (And his framing device, despite being an attention-grabber, is ultimately inconsequential.  But don't tell Rami Malek that.)  In the script's defense, what I think Nolan is really trying to do is reclaim -- or at least reframe or question -- important (and very consequential) events in history.  And he succeeds in that.  (One final script critique: The movie goes out of its way to make the Trinity test extremely intense, but my wife will tell you, the most harrowing part of the movie is the relentless sound of the poor crying baby.  Good lord.)

If you're looking for a potential upset, the intense nomination-snub backlash for Barbie could propel it to a win here, as a way to reward writer/director Greta Gerwig (and co-writer Noah Baumbach).  The concept of a toy or doll coming to life is not exactly a new idea, so the core idea for Barbie is not terribly original.  Think of Pinocchio, The Lego Movie(s), The Nutcracker, Small Soldiers, Wreck-It Ralph, Mannequin, Annabelle, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Ted, Child's Play… even Barbie herself in the Toy Story movies.  They all yearn for (and usually get) agency over their own lives, and 'write their own story'.  (Well… the screenwriters, like Gerwig and Baumbach, actually write their stories.)  Within that construct, Barbie manages to take on some big ideas about humanity, womanhood, mortality, and feet.  When it comes to screenplays with fantastical premises, I tend to get hung up on the in-movie logic.  A small sampling: What's the relationship between the Barbieland Barbies and the actual toys?  Is there one Barbieland Barbie for every single toy?  If so, there would be over a billion of them, and many of them would theoretically look the same.  And Margot Robbie wouldn't be the first doll to be outgrown and discarded.  Or is it one Barbieland Barbie for every toy model?  If that's the case, then that would mean that thousands of people have a toy that corresponds to Margot Robbie, not just America Ferrera.  So wouldn't those people all have influence over her?  Why is Ferrera the only one impacting her?  But then how to explain Weird Barbie?  Per the movie, Weird Barbie started as a standard model (maybe the Margot Robbie model?), and then got played with too rough.  If it's one Barbieland Barbie for each individual toy, shouldn't there be a ton of Weird Barbies?  And shouldn't their faces all look like the other standard Barbies that they originated from?  Or if it's one Barbieland Barbie per model, then how did a single toy being mangled cause an entire model (with thousands of corresponding toys) to become Weird?  (And I wonder why people hate watching movies with me.) 

With movies, I have a tendency to laugh at things that are audacious, even if they're aren't conventionally funny.  It's an expression of shock and bemusement, more than actual humor.  As a result, I'm often the only one laughing in a movie theater.  (Which just thrills my wife.)  And so I spent a lot of time laughing at Poor Things (written by Tony McNamara).  Don't get me wrong, the film is hilarious, wickedly so… but, understandably, not everyone appreciates the humor.  But the audacity is where it truly excels and sets itself apart.  In a category where any of the films could win, this is my pick for what should win.

I've already written at length about my lack of connection to The Zone of Interest (written by Jonathan Glazer).  It's hard to judge the screenplay, when the directorial style overwhelms any real sense of story.  Strong narrative is paramount to me.  And this isn't that.  To be fair, tidy storytelling and artful subtlety are not the film's aim; decrying complicity is.  But Glazer's choice of contrasting audio and visual is a risky gambit, and the film is not as affecting for me as others covering a similar topic.  I guess the important thing is that it calls into question whether we really remember the atrocities as an urgent warning, or if we breeze past them like a dusty museum piece -- just another rote, distant history lesson.  (It can also be perversely seen as an outside commentary on the hollowness of the "American Dream", but I don't personally buy into that reading.)

This is probably unfair, but I'm giving Gloriously Omitted to Nyad, written by Julia Cox.  It's hard to tell if the clunkiness is in the writing or directing or producing (or all of the above), but it's there nonetheless.  If you've ever seen an underdog sports movie, you know the beats, you've heard the dialogue, and you've seen the cliches.  The directors, Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin (another married couple!) are acclaimed documentary filmmakers (Oscar winners a few years ago for Free Solo), but this is their first narrative feature.  So maybe not surprisingly, they deftly handle the physical feats but not the human drama.  The good news is, the script and direction become more comfortable in the second half, and it's hard not to get the feels when the ending hits the right notes.  (But then again, the real-life protagonist, Diana Nyad, has been accused of making a lot of stuff up about her accomplishments.  So there's that.)

If I made the rules, Wes Anderson's short-film adaptation of The Rat Catcher would be eligible here, and I'd be clamoring for a nomination (thereby restoring my recently-revoked fan club membership).  For feature films, Ingloriously Snubbed goes to Anh Hung Tran for The Taste of Things.  At the screening I attended at the Chicago International Film Festival, the writer/director had a wonderful and brutal description of a script: he called it a "dead body", only becoming alive once it receives the language of cinema.  For his buoyant script, I respectfully disagree.