#oscarprognostication2025

[ryanjdonovan]

DONOVAN’S OSCAR PROGNOSTICATION 2025

It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times.  That's right, it's Oscar season.  I'm going to sound like an old crank complaining about this year's crop of films (what else is new?).  They ain't like they used to be.  Heck, I'm nostalgic for the Best Picture nominees from last year.  So take some ibuprofen and settle in for my 26th annual Academy Awards predictions. 

(And if this doesn't give you enough of a headache, follow me on Letterboxd for my irritable movie takes all year round: https://letterboxd.com/ryanjdonovan/)

BEST PICTURE:

SHOULD WIN:  Dune: Part Two WILL WIN:  Anora GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Gladiator II INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  A Real Pain

It's the most unpredictable and wide-open Best Picture race in years.  Which films have a shot?  Anora, The Brutalist, Conclave, Emilia Pérez, Wicked, and A Complete Unknown have all won major awards, and are all theoretically in the running.  Picking the best one is like picking the best Bob Dylan song, it's almost impossible.  (Actually, spoiler alert, the best Dylan song is 'Tangled Up in Blue'.  Might as well alienate the reader right off the bat.)  

What is Anora?  That's a question I try to answer whenever I remind my wife about the movies nominated for Best Picture: "It's that Brooklyn-stripper-Vegas-wedding-Russian-mafia-comedy-abduction-romance-chase-drama movie."  "Oh, right."  Is it a melodrama, a socially-conscious think-piece, or a wild ride on the rollercoaster of young lust?  It's all of those things, and none of those things, frankly.  The film is, putting it kindly, all over the place.  It's basically three acts, with three distinct genres, and three vastly different tones.  And some work better than others.  Personally, I like the middle act the most, when the bumbling henchmen enter the scene, and it becomes a farcical comedy -- a screwball kidnapping caper where nothing goes right.  Less successful for me is the final stretch, which becomes sobering and stark, undercutting the experience (in a way that I'm sure is completely intentional).  The muddled nature of the film makes it hard to assess; ultimately I liked it, but I'm not sure it landed for me the way filmmaker Sean Baker designed.   I didn't feel the emotional connection (at the finale, or to the characters in general).  In the end, mostly what I felt was emptiness.  But, you know, the enjoyable kind of emptiness.  How's that for an answer?  (A simpler answer: It's the movie that is surprisingly and narrowly going to win Best Picture.)

Conclave started the awards season in pole position, with a strong debut at the Telluride Film Festival.  As 'traditional' Oscar fare, it was the film to beat, but it seemed like each week brought a new challenger, and Conclave kept slipping down the list, failing to win any major awards.  But with a late push and strong finish, it looks like it very well could overtake Anora (which would be fine with me).  It manages to be a simmering thriller in the unlikeliest of places: a conclave of stodgy, elderly cardinals electing a new Catholic pope in the Vatican.  Despite the lofty premise, dour tone, and self-serious exterior, it manages to be fairly pulpy and more than a little silly; the patina of prestige adds to the fun.  (My favorite character is the monsignor with all the hot goss who shows up every time things seem calm, to say "There's just one more thing…" and then nonchalantly drop a scandal bomb.)  Who knew the papal candidates were so catty?

I'm no expert on brutalist architecture, nor am I a fan -- to me, it has all the aesthetic allure of a parking garage.  The movie The Brutalist is an exercise in brutalism, literally and figuratively, for better and for worse.  It's meant to be abrasive, looming, and colorless.  The message is clear from the outset: You're in for a bummer of a time (the image of the upside-down Statue of Liberty leaves very little doubt).  I don't know if I like the movie, but it's been hard to shake -- it's probably the most haunting film in the Oscar race (no easy feat).  It's challenging and upsetting; it's meant to spit in your eye.  Frankly, it's hard for me to get on its wavelength.  That gives me heartburn because I know I should like this movie a lot more than I do.  Elements of it are incredible and visionary, but the finished product doesn't jell for me.  Much like my high school term papers, where I got an A for grammar and structure, but a C+ for the final grade, I give this film high marks for craft, but a meager passing grade overall.  The film's publicity machine has been trying to position it as the star pupil (with plenty of help from lovestruck critics), and in January, it seemed poised to sweep the major categories.  But voters haven't been quite as smitten, and it's been losing crucial awards as the race draws to a close.  It's still within striking distance, so a win would not be a huge surprise, but I expect it will finish in second or third place.  The Brutalist's denouement tells us that, contrary to popular wisdom, it's the destination that matters, not the journey.  (Machiavelli would be so proud.)  Unfortunately that sums up how I feel about the film and brutalist buildings themselves: Despite the laudable construction, the finished product simply isn't great.  (Sorry, this review itself has been a brutalist bummer.  For those expecting some levity, here's my punniest take: There are a lot of ideas in this movie, but nothing… concrete.  Runner-up: The Brutalist?  More like the brutalest!)

At this point, it's par for the course: My pick for what Should Win is the least likely to actually win.  Which is not quite as strong an endorsement for Dune: Part Two as it sounds; it's mostly due to a lack of competition.  Seemingly a lifetime ago, Dune: Part Two erupted last spring as a critical and box office hit, sparking genuine enthusiasm that it might actually win Best Picture (especially when other hotly anticipated sequels didn't live up to the hype -- take a bow, Furiosa).  Somewhere along the way it got Two Towers'ed -- all Oscar hopes shifted to the final chapter of the trilogy, Dune: Messiah.  Part Two is definitely an improvement over Part One, so I have reason to be optimistic.  (However, people who have actually read the books -- not me, obviously -- are skeptical at best.)

Is Bob Dylan overrated?  I didn't say that… but I didn't not say it.  But don't listen to me.  I'm a mild fan at best.  I'm not steeped in Dylan lore… or even Dylan basics.  (When I heard A Complete Unknown was about the time Dylan went electric, I assumed it was about his EV car.)  I've been lectured to for decades about how important he is in an academic sense, but I've never really felt it personally.  (I did in fact see him perform live over 30 years ago in front of a sparse crowd, but I was not evangelized by the experience, like most are.  And I thought he was old then.)  So, when it comes to a movie about the story of his launch into mainstream music, I'm hardly an authority.  But this movie is great.  It doesn't always have the surest footing, and when it comes to deconstructing who Dylan is, it doesn't fully succeed.  (More on that later.)  But it's an undeniable good time: it strums and it rocks, in appropriate equal measure.  As for how it stacks up in the Oscar race, it feels like a welcome breath of fresh air compared to the other nominees (I get it, humankind is inherently and irredeemably evil, but would you shut up and let me listen to the dulcet sounds of 'Mr. Tambourine Man' for a few minutes?).  If I were a bigger Dylan fan, this would probably be my clear number one in this category.  As it stands, it's gaining steam at the right time (surprise nominations for Director and Best Supporting Actress bolster its hopes here), but it will be a pretty big surprise if it wins Best Picture. 

The Substance is probably the most viscerally upsetting film in this category.  Is that a good thing?  For the most part yes, as a matter of fact.  Who doesn't enjoy some good-old-fashioned body horror, complete with gaping wounds, ghastly disfigurement, pried-open body cavities, and fountains of blood?  (Oh, right, most people -- including me, the majority of the time.)  But no matter how revolting it is to the viewer, it's nothing compared to how the protagonist feels about herself.  She endures the physical manifestation of self-loathing along with (un)healthy doses of doubt, denial, greed, and jealousy.  And it ain't pretty.  It's not cathartic either, though some have suggested it is, in a perverse sense.  In an odd way, it's moving, as we are all familiar with the concept of more, more, more -- enough is never enough.  And that's relatable in a lot of ways, not just with age or beauty.  (As the out-of-control length of this article can attest.)

Emilia Pérez.  Wow.  I don't really know what to say about a film that has plenty to offend everyone (even the dialect coaches are catching strays) yet somehow manages to capture the hearts of Academy voters and French people alike… while also being oddly fun.  There is a rational reason for just about every person out there to hate this movie (and if you are a cartel boss or a murderer, man, it is really going to smush your cupcake).  And yet… I dunno… I kinda like it.  I guess the only reasonable way to praise this film is in the form of an apology.  So: Dear Internet, I'm sorry for my transgression of bad taste, but I actually had a pleasantly wild time watching this wack-a-doodle-choo-choo of a film.  It's zany, grimy, soapy, purposefully over-melodramatic (and a musical!) -- all things we know I disdain.  But I was oddly rapt -- maybe for the propulsive narrative, the stylish attitude, or the trainwreck-ness of it all… but mostly for Zoe Saldaña's remarkably winning performance.  It's a ride.  There are certainly things that rub me the wrong way (gotta get back to my contrition here), aspects and character traits that come off as disingenuous and contradictory and self-serving.  But those seem to be part of the point of the film -- done with intention, to give us doubts, and to make us question if we're feeling the right feelings.  Maybe I'm reacting to the fact that the film is utterly unique and not at all what I was expecting.  Or maybe a lifetime of watching weird movies has thrown my judgement out of whack.  Regardless, I know I must atone… and will do so by watching The Brutalist five more times in row without intermission or snack break. 

Nickel Boys, shot almost entirely from two characters' points-of-view, is being heralded by some as revolutionary filmmaking, an evolution and advancement of the striking styles of films like Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life and Barry Jenkins's Moonlight.  (Funny, nobody's mentioning 2015's classic Hardcore Henry.)  It certainly makes for a unique viewing experience, that takes some getting used to -- it's not constructed of traditional scenes or sequences, but of series of shots and long takes.  In some ways, it looks like the most beautiful found-footage movie ever.  That beauty -- sun-dappled landscapes, soft-focus insert shots, dreamy camera-gazing, soothing sounds of nature -- belies the horrors that take place at a southern 'reform school' in the 1960s.  (As such, it is a spiritual and thematic kin to fellow nominee I'm Not Here.)  The effect of the cinematography is an extreme intimacy, but unfortunately I find that it's so personal and so visually constraining that it becomes somewhat impenetrable, inaccessible.  As a result, I didn't get as much out of it as I'd hoped. 

The biggest surprise this year was the inclusion of I'm Still Here as a Best Picture nominee, after being completely off the radar for the entire awards season.  A testament to the increasingly international makeup of the Academy, it's a victory for fans of Brazilian cinema, but a defeat for fans of domestic gems that didn't make the cut.  (Cue me shedding a single tear for A Real Pain.)  While it may cause some commotion in Best Actress and International Film, I'm Still Here will not be a factor in this race.  It's hamstrung a bit by the structure hewing to real events rather than to a more traditional (read: interesting) narrative.  There's a frustrating lack of forward motion in the episodic, days-in-the-life storytelling.  And harrowing as it is (and boy, it is), there's no true antagonist; the evil forces are systematic, and largely unseen or faceless -- the regime, the army, the government.  Even the pivotal emotional incident occurs offscreen, and it's almost treated as an afterthought.  Unbeknownst to me going into it, the story is based on a real family in Rio de Janeiro under the military dictatorship in the 1970s, and unfortunately my experience was dampened by being removed from the events (by time, geography, and my general ignorance of things that don't directly affect me or my fantasy sports teams).  (If you would have asked me who the leader of Brazil was in the 1970s, I probably would have said Pelé.)  And hey, as long as I'm picking nits, it has probably two endings too many.  To its credit, I'm Still Here feels like reality… but for me, not like a movie.

Ah yes, Wicked.  What are you expecting me to say here?  I did not see this movie by choice.  I did it for you, dear unfortunate readers.  It was homework.  We all knew I was never going to like this movie.  And in many ways, it lived up to my expectations.  It's 90 minutes of songs stretched to an unnecessary 160 minutes, with filler substituting for character.  There's more allegory than actual story.  The musical numbers don't feel organic -- the songs sound like words forcibly grafted onto music, then chopped up to fit the choreography and superfluous story threads.  (I know 'Defying Gravity' is a classic.  I don't care.)  Eye-rolls abound, like the scene where they brainstorm the color for the newly-planned brick road.  I'm pretty sure a lot of the conflict could be resolved with a simple conversation.  And I'm still not sure if it's an adaptation of the legendary Broadway musical or Jim Carrey's How the Grinch Stole Christmas.  And yet… it isn't bad.  It held my interest, and the conceit was enough to intrigue me about where it would go (especially in the first hour).  Is it enough to make me want to see Part 2?  Absolutely not.  But assuming it's also nominated for Oscars, I will make the sacrifice again, just for you. 

So many choices for Gloriously Omitted.  But it's hard not to go with Gladiator II, given its high anticipation and the pedigree of its predecessor, an adored Oscar-winning smash.  The whole thing is a little ridiculous (and that's not even considering the premise's dubious genealogy).  I suppose that kind of tone shouldn't be a shock after Ridley Scott's previous film, the unintentionally-comedic Napoleon.  Gladiator II often seems like more of a big-budget rip-off than an actual sequel -- I'm almost surprised Gerard Butler isn't in it.  The emperor-brothers (who seem to be inbred and have possibly given each other syphilis) are based on Beavis and Butt-Head and the Sex Pistols (really!), and still haven't figured out that you should kill any popular gladiator immediately.  Denzel Washington is clearly having fun, especially in a goofy scene that parodies Hamlet (with a skull that’s, uh… a little more fresh).  I'm not sure Washington deserved an Oscar nomination, but it sure would have been entertaining to watch him make disinterested sour-puss faces during the ceremony, especially when losing Supporting Actor to the bedwetter from Home Alone.  Is Gladiator II a worthy successor to the original?  I suppose yes, but only because (bad take alert) I didn't have an incredibly high opinion of the first one -- I thought Gladiator was a perfectly enjoyable summer popcorn flick, nothing more, marred by irritating shaky-strobe-effect camerawork but buoyed by charismatic performances by Russell Crowe and Richard Harris.  (Notice I didn't include Joaquin Phoenix.)  Maybe the best thing about Gladiator II is bringing back Roman numerals for sequels… though they didn't have much of a choice -- the movie is literally Roman.  Other contenders for Gloriously Omitted?  Kinds of Kindness, Civil War, Blitz, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Challengers, The Apprentice… the list goes on and on.

My clear pick for what Should Win for Best Picture is A Real Pain.  The comedic yet heartfelt discourse…  Wait a minute, you mean it wasn't even nominated?  Really??  Ugh.  Okay, then, my clear pick for what was Ingloriously Snubbed for Best Picture is A Real Pain.  <Sigh.>  It's a comedy about healing wounds both recent and ancestral.  (Is there laughter to be found while taking a Holocaust tour of Poland and discussing suicide?  Surprisingly, yes.)  While heartwarming and lively, it doesn't offer many easy answers and acknowledges that there's no way to quickly resolve lifetimes of pain.  On the surface, that makes it a little frustrating, but ultimately makes for a better and more thoughtful movie.  If there had been some big 'oh my god' revelation at the end, where everything for the main characters locked into place and the path to healing became clear, its Oscar changes might have been better.  But that isn't this movie.  Unlike most films in this bunch, its inscrutability is a good thing.  (And as an added bonus, it's the only Oscar nominee in history to reference pro wrestling tag team legends The Bushwhackers.)  For others snubs, I would also happily swap in any of the following terrific movies in place of some of the actual nominees: Thelma, The Piano Lesson, Sing Sing, Inside Out 2, Flow, or Maria. 

The Academy has curiously not requested my preferential ballot yet.  So until they do, I'll leave my rankings of the Best Picture nominees right here:

Dune: Part Two

A Complete Unknown

The Substance

Emilia Pérez

Conclave

Anora

Nickel Boys

The Brutalist

Wicked

I'm Still Here

BEST ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN:  Ralph Fiennes (Conclave) WILL WIN:  Timothée Chalamet (A Complete Unknown) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Jesse Plemons (Kinds of Kindness) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  John David Washington (The Piano Lesson)

'A Complete Unknown' is a sensible title for a Bob Dylan biopic, but a more accurate title would be, in the words of Joan Baez: 'You're Kind of an A**hole, Bob'.  And that's certainly how Timothée Chalamet plays him, as a thorny, grumpy, mumbling genius.  It's the last role I would have expected to see him in, hot on the heels of another musical performance in the wonky Wonka -- desecrating Gene Wilder's legacy.  (Johnny Depp's legacy, not so much.)   The most overrated actor of the last decade, I was not expecting much from Chalamet here.  And he takes on a monumentally daunting task: It would be extremely difficult to play Dylan and not be silly.  (I'm probably more familiar with goofy impressions and caricatures of Dylan than I am with Dylan himself.)  The verdict: I'm not nearly as annoyed by Chalamet as I thought I'd be.  And that's about as high a praise as you're gonna get from me for this kid.  But he seems to be charming everyone else with his all-out publicity blitz.  I'm going to pick him in an upset over Adrien Brody (but I don't feel good about it).

The Brutalist just can't help but be self-important.  And that is certainly true of how it views its leading man, Adrien Brody: The film's poster shows a stoic man surrounded by sparks, à la Oppenheimer -- so he must be an important person.  (Not coincidentally, the forthcoming Ryan Coogler movie Sinners, starring Michael B. Jordan, employs this same conceit.)  The strategy that helped Cillian Murphy to gold last year seems to be working well for Brody, who's tipped by many to win his second Oscar in as many tries.  And deservedly so; he gives a powerhouse performance that rivals his award-winning work in The Pianist (A.I. or not, his accent sure had me fooled).  Brutalist buildings are constructed to withstand trauma, so the movie overtly suggests, and Brody plays his character as a brutalist structure himself (I thought I brilliantly discovered that insightful allegory… until I realized it's right there in the title).  He seeks pleasure -- a balm for his interior brokenness -- anywhere he can (you know, in all the usual places: hookers, drugs, pornography, and hideous architecture).  What he finds is strength in the face of heartbreaking adversity.  (As extraordinary as it is, not all of us can relate.  I, like most of us, identify not with the main characters -- the visionary artist, the suave benefactor, nor the principled wife -- but rather Jim, the beleaguered project manager: the featureless, rational middle-man whose lot in life is to deal with the illogical complaints and impractical half-baked ideas of others.  Where's our movie, The Realist?: "Look, I understand you're trying to build a towering, priceless monument to the enduring pain of persecution and the paranoid fears of Capitalism run amok, and that unilateral control, reckless ignorance, egomaniacal dominion, and all-encompassing arrogance are the only languages you speak, but I'm just trying to get through the work day here, all right dude?")

Ralph Fiennes, in Conclave, isn't really in competition to win this award, which is perplexing to me.  This is Fiennes at his understated best.  He knows exactly how to strike the right tone, give the right reaction, and draw the viewer in.  As a cardinal acting as administrator in the Vatican whose bias and ambition might be clouding his judgement just a tad, he underplays things when everyone else goes big, lending credibility and pedigree and keeping the increasingly histrionic film grounded.  He plays it perfectly -- especially when it seems either God or terrorists (depending on how literally you read it) don't want him to be pope.  I'm pretty much split on Fiennes and Adrien Brody for Should Win.  As a tiebreaker, I'll consider whomever hasn't won before.  And since Brody won previously for The Pianist, I'll pick Fiennes… even if it's a just transparent makeup for his snub for The Grand Budapest Hotel, still my favorite of all his performances.  (I half expected him to say to the recently-deceased pope, "You're looking so well, pontiff, you really are.  I don't know what sort of cream they've put on you down at the Vatican, but I want some.")

Colman Domingo was the earliest front-runner, with his film Sing Sing making its festival debut back in 2023.  He (and the film) had an uneven road to the Oscars, with such a modest film trying to maintain momentum for that long.  Domingo made the cut, but he now finds himself near the back of the pack.  (The film ultimately came up just short in Best Picture, but pulled off an Adapted Screenplay nod.)  He's fantastically charismatic and natural in the film, which is almost a disservice -- practically all the supporting actors are actual ex-inmates and amateur actors playing themselves, so Colman's polish stands in sharp relief.  The same is true in the Oscars field: A decent man in an uncomplicated, uplifting story is rare indeed.  It's a shame the film is not getting more recognition.

Sebastian Stan stars in The Apprentice, which is, as far as I can tell, the story of why Donald Trump talks the way he does.  The movie itself doesn't even know what it wants to be.  Satire or serious?  Comedy or drama?  A descent into hell, a fall from grace, a cracked-mirror underdog story, or a cautionary tale about a wounded boy whose daddy didn't believe in him?  It certainly aspires to the likes of The Godfather, Amadeus, and Faust, but ends up being Forrest Trump: He bumbles his way through notable events, crises, and pop music of the 70s and 80s, accidentally intersecting with a Who's Who of bygone New York (Liberace, Barbara Walters, Ed Koch, and inexplicably, Andy Warhol).  Any high-minded ambitions deteriorate in the second half, as the film verbalizes the subtext and devolves into sketch comedy: Trump reads a sex how-to book!  Trump wanders into an all-male orgy!  Trump Don-splains incorrect physiology to a doctor!  It's all very indulgent; but as a performer, Stan is at least game, and manages to (mostly) avoid overripe caricature (his fright wigs notwithstanding).  He was probably the last of the nominees to make the cut, but I'm sure he's hoping the current administration keeps his performance top of mind for voters.

In a crowded field, I'll give Gloriously Omitted to Jesse Plemons for not one but three roles in Kinds of Kindness, each one daffier than the last.  (He picked the wrong time to join the Yorgos Lanthimos troupe.)  The runner-up is Tom Hardy, for his relentless and unwavering commitment to another ridiculous, distracting, misplaced accent in The Bikeriders.  (At what point does his vocal work become a detriment to his movies?  I'm afraid we passed that point around Mad Max: Fury Road.)  Congrats to Mr. Plemons and Mr. Hardy, for edging out Paul Mescal in Gladiator II, Timothée Chalamet in Dune: Part Two, and Ben Stiller in Nutcrackers.  (Stiller took six years off from acting, and this is what he came back to do??)

BEST ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN:  Fernanda Torres (I'm Still Here) WILL WIN:  Demi Moore (The Substance) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Jodie Comer (The Bikeriders) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  June Squibb (Thelma)

When The Substance debuted at Cannes back in May, it seemed like a curiosity for Demi Moore -- perhaps a comeback, but mostly an unusual, subversive footnote in a long, mainstream career.  Since then, against all expectations, she's gone from art-house underdog to surprise genre star to awards longshot to probable Oscar nominee, and now finds herself as the clear frontrunner.  And, in the unlikeliest of vehicles - a gory horror flick that is nearly a silent film.  I fully support her nomination, but I have a different pick for my personal winner.  I see this as a mostly physical performance, selling us more on exterior horrors than interior complexity -- a challenging portrayal to be sure, but not the kind that usually garners Oscar attention.  But in a field of newcomers and lesser-known faces, she's an easy fan (and voter) favorite.

Heading into the new year, Mikey Madison was the strong frontrunner for her seemingly out-of-nowhere performance in Anora.  A fresh face with a firecracker performance that occupies almost every frame of the movie, she seemed like the reflexive choice for a voting body that loves to anoint an ingenue.  But things have changed since then, as the precursor awards have rolled out.  While not my personal pick, she's a worthy nominee, in a dynamic and unflinching role as a stripper with an unlikely chance at love (or, at least, security).  She's a welcome iteration of the female protagonist in the Sean Baker filmography.  The film gets cooking when people try to manipulate her -- she doesn't play nice, she doesn't mince words, and she doesn't take kindly to insults.  (She also she doesn't seem to know the dictionary definition of the word "prostitute".)  There are a lot of off-the-wall readings of this movie, like 'Anora is a stand-in for every American who's ever tried to be happy'.  It's an overreach, to be sure.  Speaking of overreach, the Oscar will probably be out of grasp for Madison, but you never know. 

I spent most of my Best Picture commentary about I'm Still Here dumping on the film (I was probably a tad harsh), but I actually feel the opposite about the film's lead actress, Fernanda Torres.  In fact, she's my pick for who Should Win.  Despite receiving universal critical acclaim, an Oscar nomination, and a Golden Globe win, she's still very underrated.  Ironically, the structure and realism that weigh down the film overall are a boon to Torres's performance.  Maybe it's my lack of history with her, but her characterization feels extremely authentic, avoiding a lot of the excesses that commonly mar a performance in a heavy movie like this.  (We've all seen protagonists under duress that are 'emotionally wrought', 'teetering on the edge', 'tough as nails', 'fending off a nervous breakdown', or 'getting a divorce from Prince Charles' -- sometimes all in the same movie.)  She's emotional but pragmatic, frustrated but measured, frightened but resourceful.  Mostly, she's a mother loving her children.  It's a tricky balance, and she nails it.

I saw Wicked on a date night with my wife, and knowing that I expected to loath it, I promised her that I would not go into it with an open mind and I would certainly not be objective, assuring us of a miserable time.  But as I mentioned earlier, despite my best efforts, I did not end up hating it.  And a lot of that had to do with Cynthia Erivo and her winning performance.  The camera always frames her so that she commands the screen.  She has a softer singing voice than I was expecting, but she opens up the throttle on 'Defying Gravity', which is a vocal showcase, despite my misgivings about the song itself.  (In a fleeting attempt at cultural relevance, I held my wife's fingernail during the finale.)  The only previous nominee in this group, you would think Erivo would have a leg (broom?) up on the competition.  But it seems that voters aren't crowning anyone for Part One, and instead are (ahem, another feeble attempt at cultural relevance) "holding space" for Part Two. 

Karla Sofía Gascón gives a fine performance in Emilia Pérez, but her real value to the film is helping to set (or upset) the tone: In an extremely turbulent story, she is sometimes a steadying hand, and other times an agent of additional chaos.  (I'm not even going to get into what affect her old tweets have had on the film's Oscar campaign, but it's undoubtedly the latter.)  As a cartel boss who transitions, she is either running from a pain-filled past or running toward a bright new future, we can't really be sure -- but of course, it hardly matters, because the past is inescapable and the future is inevitable.  Thematically, her interplay with Zoe Saldaña's character is the key to the film: They are both in desperate pursuit of self-actualization, and their goals and dreams appear to be complementary, but they ultimately (and inevitably) impede each other.  At this point, even if Emilia Pérez proves to be a true Academy darling and steamrolls to wins in Picture and Director, it won't carry Gascón to victory.

I almost have to create a new category altogether for Jodie Comer and her "Chicago" (I mean, "Sheecaaaga") accent in The Bikeriders, but Gloriously Omitted will have to do.  She makes Tom Hardy's vocal choices seem quaint.  She might as well be a Tina Fey improv character.  (She literally sounds like Fey from a legendary Second City sketch, where she plays a stripper who forgot her boom box so she has to striptease to the sounds of CNN on TV.)  And Emma Stone follows up last year's Oscar winning performance in Poor Things by reteaming with Yorgos Lanthimos and scoring a Gloriously Omitted Honorable Mention for the mess that is Kinds of Kindness.  (She does have another amazing dance scene, though.) 

While it would be hard to make a legitimate Best Picture case for it, my favorite film of the year is Thelma.  But the star, 95-year-old June Squibb, is unquestionably my pick for Ingloriously Snubbed.  Her performance is equal parts silly and heartfelt; she is utterly remarkable and almost single-handedly carries the film (figuratively speaking, anyway; because literally, someone else carries her in the movie).  She's a reminder that no matter what your age, it's never too late to have an adventure, and it's ok to admit you have no idea what the hell to click to make the damn pop-up ads go away.  (A little too relatable.)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN:  Edward Norton (A Complete Unknown) WILL WIN:  Kieran Culkin (A Real Pain) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Chris Hemsworth (Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Michael Potts (The Piano Lesson)

The Best Supporting Actor race has turned into a Succession showdown, pitting erstwhile Roy brothers Kieran Culkin (A Real Pain) and Jeremy Strong (The Apprentice) against each other.  (What, no Matthew Macfayden nomination for Deadpool & Wolverine?)  Based on their history, they're evenly matched: They each have one Emmy win and three total nominations… but Culkin is the reigning champ.  (Their real-life chilliness toward each other due to wildly different and conflicting acting styles only raises the stakes.)  Precursors and pundits have already declared Culkin the Oscar winner, which is a shame -- I'd pick Strong between the two of them, no doubt.  (I think the real question is: Who's nuttier?  I'm afraid it's a tie.)  Is there a chance for Strong to stage an upset?  In true Succession fashion, let the backstabbing begin… 

I understand why Kieran Culkin is nominated for A Real Pain, but I don't understand the support for him to win.  As Benji, the walking contradiction -- who can charm a room and then alienate everyone in it ten seconds later, and can untangle and articulate complex emotions but can't successfully play music on a phone -- Culkin brings a maddening yet somehow endearing vitality to an otherwise subdued road movie.  But how much of it is 'capital-A' Acting?  He's famous for his lack of preparation and just-wing-it performance style.  (Stella Adler would not approve.)  Watch his four seasons on Succession (or just watch a five-minute supercut on YouTube like I did) and it seems like A Real Pain is just more of the same.  Writer, director, and co-star (and meticulous planner) Jesse Eisenberg even said that he wanted to cast someone who naturally embodied Benji -- a personality rather than a performance.  (Believe it or not, Eisenberg said it was an impromptu nipple-pinch during an audition for a previous film that made him think of Culkin for this role.  And believe it or not, they didn't always get along on set.)  I'm not doubting Culkin's talent (well, maybe I am a little), but I am saying there are others more deserving to win the Oscar.  But as is often the case, the statuette will go to the supporting role with the most to do.  And this year, that's Culkin.

Most movies about controversial topics are challenging.  The Apprentice is not.  Yes, this is the movie about Donald Trump's formative period in New York (a.k.a. "the sexy years").  At best, it's obvious; at worst, it's pandering.  You'll be absolutely shocked by… none of it.  It's been hate-watched and boycotted, lauded and ridiculed.  But most of all, it's been met with a shrug.  What stands out, however, is Jeremy Strong's knockout portrayal of Trump mentor Roy Cohn.  I previously said that it's not clear what the film wants to be, but I finally figured it out: It's a romance between Trump and Cohn.  Ostensibly framed as a master-and-apprentice relationship, Trump gets seduced by Cohn's domineering, oily, condescending, cult of personality and simply can't resist.  In other words, he's smitten with the ol' lunk.  And as with many torrid affairs, it's all roses and skyscrapers… until it isn't.  And Strong is excellent.  He plays Cohn as a deeply self-loathing showboat.  He's over-the-top, in a martinis-and-Speedos kind of way, but somehow rarely seems false.  What the performance lacks in nuance it more than makes up for with character.  And Strong, known for his commitment beyond the point of sanity, of course plays it all dead serious and laid bare (in more ways than one).  Would he really play it any other way?  In a career of chameleonic performances (I saw him for years before I realized it was all the same actor), this may be his best yet.  But for the Oscars, it's probably too little too late: His recent surge will not be enough to unseat Kieran Culkin from pole position.  (Pop culture bonus: Sure, being portrayed in Oscar-nominated performances is nice, but Trump and Cohn have that beat: Each is namechecked in a version of the song 'We Didn't Start the Fire'.  Take that, Culkin.)

With A Complete Unknown, Edward Norton (and his exasperated publicists) are trying to replicate what Robert Downey Jr. and Brad Pitt did in recent years: parlay years of stardom, acclaim, and lack of hardware into a Best Supporting Actor trophy.  (It's worked well on the women's side too, as the bookshelves of Jamie Lee Curtis, Laura Dern, and Viola Davis can attest.)  The blueprint is simple: 1) Take a well-respected, veteran leading man, who has a history of anchoring big-budget hits, has multiple previous nominations, and (with insincere apologies to Collateral Beauty) is no longer landing the roles that would legitimately compete for an Oscar in the Lead Actor category.  (It helps if he has not been branded as "extraordinarily difficult" by everyone he's ever worked with, but hey, gotta play the cards you're dealt.)  2) Drop said actor into a plum supporting role in a buzzy, popular film by an acclaimed director (while convincing him that his reduced asking price is "only temporary").  3) Fire up the social media bots and get the "it's his time" chatter churning as much as possible.  (Bonus points if you can get podcasters to use the laughably annoying word "narrative" in praise of your actor.)  And presto!  Oscar gold.  Maybe I'm just susceptible to the narrative (dammit, there I go), but Norton has my vote, for his quiet yet impassioned performance as Pete Seeger in the Bob Dylan biopic.  (Though he actually looks more like Woody Guthrie, if you ask me.)  Detractors are dismissing Norton's performance as a collection of mannerisms and vocal tics -- and that may be fair to an extent, but it's affecting, and it results in his most interesting work in years.  Unfortunately, as the fired P.R. firms for Mark Ruffalo and Woody Harrelson will tell you, the blueprint doesn't always work, and Norton will go home empty-handed. (Meanwhile, his agent will frantically try to get a hold of David Fincher about supporting roles in his next film.)

Guy Pearce scored the first nomination of his long, eclectic career, with the Brutalist.  (I'll take a moment to pause in honor of Memento, one of my all-time favorites.)  He plays Harrison Lee Van Buren -- who bluntly has the names of three presidents and a Confederate general all wrapped into one -- a patron of extravagant architecture whose motivations are… complicated.  (Probably the less we know about his past relationship with his mother, the better.)  Pearce plays his character on a low boil, until his relationship with Adrien Brody's architect comes to a head (or a rear, as it were).  (Pearce and fellow nominee Jeremy Strong have that in common.)  Pearce's performance shines, but it falters a bit in the second half -- as does the movie, when its weight threatens the balance, subtextual themes are awkwardly pushed to the fore, and figurative becomes literal. 

The Just-Happy-To-Be-Here nomination belongs to Yura Borisov for his unconventional goon with a heart of gold(ish), in his first American film, Anora.  He plays a puzzling character, because the film wants us to care about him more than we actually do.  (I guess I should speak for myself; online commenters seem to be plenty invested in him.)  We come to learn that his character, while theoretically an antagonist, understands the main character Ani more than anyone else, as they are both living near the bottom of society, and will never be truly accepted by the privileged people that they orbit.  Borisov has the benefit of being a virtual empath, as filmed by director Sean Baker, getting all the lingering looks and sympathetic cutaway reaction shots.  Baker works hard to present him as the heart of the film, the one we're supposed to relate to, to varying degrees of success.  It's a good character and a fun performance, but frankly I'd leave him off the list of nominees.  I'd rather see his co-star, Karren Karagulian, who breathes life into (what I consider) the best part of the movie: the cranky, stressed, frustrated, ranting guardian who can't keep a bratty kid under control.  He's the one who parents can relate to. 

For my Gloriously Omitted pick… Any chance of Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga being a success evaporates when Chris Hemsworth shows up as the perplexingly goofy villain.  Hemsworth seems to be in a completely different movie (a Sacha Baron Cohen social satire, maybe), and his preposterous prosthetic schnozz is working harder than his pecs.  The movie needed menace, but what it got was absurdity.  (Probably what it really needed was a different Chris.)  A close second is Dennis Quaid for The Substance.  I have no idea what Quaid is doing with his performance in that movie.  I get that it's a satire, I get that he's supposed to be a cartoonish nightmare, and I get that he's supposed to be just as "grotesque" as Demi Moore's character physically becomes.  (And I get that he's pointedly named Harvey.)  But making him so clownishly inhuman undercuts the themes, I think; making him more realistic probably would have made him more threatening and terrifying.  (At least he gets to use his own real nose.)  Other honorable mentions include Jesse Plemons for Civil War (him again!), Willem Dafoe for Kinds of Kindness (at least he was trying something), and Christopher Walken for Dune: Part Two (he was not trying anything at all). 

My Snubbed choice is Michael Potts in The Piano Lesson, an underrated performer in the truest sense.  Not exactly a household name, Potts has been a vaguely familiar face on TV and in film, but a fixture in theater.  Reprising his role in The Piano Lesson from Broadway, he's a grounding force in a movie with many big performances.  He adds texture to the well-crafted August Wilson adaptation, which explores many of the playwright's recurring themes of reckoning -- with family, God, sins, and most of all, the past.  Worth a mention is Michael Shannon: In The Bikeriders, with a cast of Brits, Aussies, and Californians who seemingly learned their accents from bad Mike Ditka impressions, Shannon is the only actor actually from Chicago… and he chooses to do a Latvian accent.  Legend.  (Bonus points for his hilarious self-parodying cameo in A Different Man.)  Additional shout-outs to Karren Karagulian for Anora, J.J. Ó Dochartaigh for Kneecap, Damon Herriman for The Bikeriders, and Martin Donovan for The Apprentice (and for having an awesome surname). 

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN:  Zoe Saldaña (Emilia Pérez) WILL WIN:  Zoe Saldaña (Emilia Pérez) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Jamie Lee Curtis (The Last Showgirl) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Danielle Deadwyler (The Piano Lesson)

Maybe the most pleasant surprise of this Oscar season is the arrival of Zoe Saldaña as a powerhouse performer.  She's a revelation in Emilia Pérez.  From the second she appears onscreen, she electrifies the film.  It's not just her performance, but also the high degree of difficulty -- various styles of singing and dancing, a dizzying gamut of emotions, and serving as the audience's proxy, constantly trying to make sense of the increasingly maddening situations.  She's the reason the film works (for the few of us that think the film does work, anyway.)  She's mostly known for crayon-colored, CGI-franchise fluff, both good (first installments of Guardians of the Galaxy, Star Trek, Pirates of the Caribbean) and bad (all the sequels), with no end in sight.  (Only three more Avatar films to go, if we're lucky.)  And while that's been good for her pocketbook (and her agent), it's largely been a waste of her talent.  This role is more reminiscent of her gritty work in 2004's underseen and underrated Haven, one of the first movies I saw her in.  She is the runaway favorite in this race, and also my personal pick.  But lamentably, she's in the wrong race altogether.  Category manipulation is nothing new, but the fact that she's in the Supporting category is a joke.  Despite not being the title character, she's clearly the film's engine.  Had she campaigned as Lead Actress, I think she'd win there too.  Regardless, she's the star.  And soon, she'll have an Oscar to prove it.

Things I don’t need more of in my life: Broadway musical adaptations, non-canonical Wizard of Oz expanded-universe IP, and Ariana Grande.  For her role in Wicked, somehow Grande has been receiving all the plaudits (and stealing all the husbands, I've been told).  Even if I thought Grande was pretty good and surprisingly funny, I wouldn't admit it.  It doesn't matter anyway, as Zoe Saldaña will prove to be more… Popular.  (Sorry, I'm trying to get these dang songs out of my head.) 

Another revelatory performance in this category is Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez in A Complete Unknown.  Seemingly coming out of nowhere, her inclusion was a surprise to most (but not to me) on nomination day.  The Bob Dylan movie is great, but after Barbaro's performance, I think we need a Baez movie.  Baez was an influential creative and emotional figure in Dylan's life, and Barbaro captures her convincingly, performing the music herself.  (Apparently, she literally learned to sing for the movie.)  Dylan's self-destructive romance with Baez is… wait a second… checking my notes… I'm sorry, the one Dylan has a self-destructive romance with is actually Pete Seeger.  But one of Dylan's lesser loves, Baez, provides the spark that propels him along the way.  (Maybe if she sang about a cartel boss while dancing on a table in a red velvet pantsuit, Barbaro would find herself in the mix to win the big prize.)

Isabella Rossellini's nomination for Conclave is what's lovingly and/or derisively known as a Career Achievement nomination.  It's almost certainly not for the performance in this film itself, which is slight at best, negligible at worst.  She gets to be a singular voice of reason amongst a gaggle of gossipy and irrational cardinals for about 20 seconds, but if you use the bathroom at the wrong time, you'll miss her performance completely.  In another year, that might be fine, but there are plenty of other deserving supporting performances that could have made the cut (see below).  I don't mean any disrespect to Ms. Rossellini; I've particularly enjoyed her second career as a voice actress in recent years.  If you're a fan of cinema history, then her nomination could be considered a nice sentimental link to her parents, the legendary Ingrid Bergman (a three-time Oscar winner) and Roberto Rossellini (an Oscar nominee).  (Or you could call it nepotism.  Ya jerk.) 

I don't know what to make of Felicity Jones's character in The Brutalist.  Her characterization and the role she plays has been one of the more difficult elements for me to reconcile.  As the long-absent wife of Adrien Brody's tormented architect, she's a sort of specter in the first half of the film, her memory and voice hanging over the events (like Brody's temptations, real and imagined).  Prior to her entrance, the film is a relatively balanced two-hander with Brody and Guy Pearce, but her arrival abruptly throws the film off its axis.  You expect that she'll bring joy and relief to her husband, but (aside from a furious time in bed -- is she exercising with a Shake Weight??), she does the opposite.  She's a reminder of the past (they were imprisoned in separate concentration camps), and he reacts to her like she's a weight around his neck.  Their reunion only brings them more pain.  Hopefully it's not intended as metaphor for marriage.  (Then again, the script was written by a couple.  So let's not ask too many questions.) 

The Jamie Lee Curtis Goodwill Tour that started with Everything Everywhere All at Once (and has continued through multiple seasons of The Bear) almost spilled over into another surprising nomination for The Last Showgirl.  Nothing against JLC -- she's a welcome addition to any party -- but for the sake of the other contenders (Monica Barbaro in particular), it's just as well that she sits this one out.  She can have my Gloriously Omitted award as a consolation.  (But not if it gets wrestled away by Natasha Lyonne, a strong contender in His Three Daughters, playing the buzzkill to any social situation.) 

I'm still shocked that Danielle Deadwyler missed out on a nomination for The Piano Lesson.  In fact, I can't believe how The Piano Lesson got left out completely.  It seems like it would check all the boxes: historical drama, character piece with an emphasis on performances, pedigreed source material.  Despite strong reviews, it never got any marketing push or Oscar buzz, and died a quick death on Netflix.  Deadwyler is the spiritual center of the film, in a great showcase role, with a lot of scenes to explore different sides of her character.  She's easily the best performer in the film, and maybe the best of any supporting actress this year.  In a perfect world, Zoe Saldaña would move to the Lead Actress category (and win), while Deadwyler would get a spot in the Supporting Actress category (and win).  But in this imperfect world, Deadwyler has to settle for my Ingloriously Snubbed award.

Joan Chen is another worthy Snubbed choice, for her role in Dìdi.  I have a much different understanding of the film now than I would have 10 years ago.  I see it less of a coming-of-age story about a 13-year-old boy, and more of a coming-of-age (or maybe coming-of-understanding) for the mother, played by Chen.  The writer/director, Sean Wang, is now 30, and based the story loosely on himself at that age.  While the film mostly deals with becoming a teenager, it seems clear that it's really an apology (or at least an explanation) from Wang to his own mother for why he (and every kid) was so abrasive and aloof and distant at that age -- and why it was so difficult to share his life with her.  It's telling that the title, Dìdi, is the mother's nickname for the boy.  But the real key is the final line of the film's credits: "For Mom".

A few other women who were never really in the Oscar race, but worth honorably mentioning: Parker Posey in Thelma, Rebecca Ferguson in Dune: Part Two, Adria Arjona in Hit Man, and Simone Kirby in Kneecap.

BEST DIRECTOR:

SHOULD WIN:  Coralie Fargeat (The Substance) WILL WIN:  Sean Baker (Anora) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Alex Garland (Civil War) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Pablo Larraín (Maria)

Several movies in, I can confidently say I fundamentally don't understand the Sean Baker experience (experiment?).  He works in a milieu of a sort of societal-underbelly-chic (sassy sex workers are the most common characters), with some calling his work uplifting, dignifying, inspiring, and validating, and others calling it pandering, exploitative, crass, and condescending.  (Where you land may depend on how you feel about scenes depicting frank sexual acts, physical relations with minors, adolescent pyromaniacs, and personal hygiene products thrown as projectiles -- to put it all very delicately.)   After oddities like Tangerine, The Florida Project, and Red Rocket, his latest film Anora is his biggest, splashiest, and most acclaimed.  And it's maybe his most accessible… but that's not saying a lot.  With his largest budget to date, Baker revisits themes and topics from Tangerine (his $100,000 film shot on an iPhone that put him on the map) -- lowlife urban scavenger hunts, searing betrayals, unlikely partnerships, and dubious promises of marriage.  And it's certainly an improvement.  While I thought his previous films were misfires, Anora is the first one I've legitimately liked (albeit with major caveats).  And it appears that it will carry him to Oscar gold, but it's far from a lock. 

With The Brutalist, there are of course blunt interpretations -- criticizing things that are inherently bad: classism, xenophobia, antisemitism, men with thin mustaches.  But more fun (and pretentious) is the reading of an ambitious film like this as an autobiography, especially when it's about a creative pursuit (and especially when the filmmaker demands Final Cut, regardless of who's actually paying for it).  "Did I say I'm a tortured genius who deserves complete creative control over everything and gets screwed by his investors?  Of course not, but I did spend the last six years of my life making a 214-minute movie about a tortured genius who deserves complete creative control over everything and gets screwed by his investor, but he's, like, an architect."  To be clear, director Brady Corbet did not say that.  (But did he think it?  Seems plausible.)  He has, however, been very outspoken about the importance of directors having Final Cut of a film, allowing for a completely pure, artistic, unfettered cinematic vision.  And I agree and fully support Final Cut for the director… and yet… sometimes a little reining in may not be worst thing in the world.  (Megalopolis, anyone?)  I'm glad Corbet got to make the film he wanted to make… but I also think the film could stand to be tightened up by a few minutes (or maybe a hundred).  It's no secret, I did not love The Brutalist, and while Corbet has a fair shot to win in this category, I don't think he will.  "Maybe if someone else had some input on the film, Corbet would have won Best Director."  To be clear, I did not say that.  (But did I think it?  Seems plausible.)

A Complete Unknown, directed by James Mangold, while widely praised, is often dismissed as a safe and old-fashioned kind of Oscar movie -- the biography of an influential historical figure.  But I think it's fairly ambitious -- taking on an icon while he's still alive (and actively making music), and trying to contextualize why his rise to fame was a cultural sea change in an already tumultuous 1960s America.  (The sorta-biopic tracks Dylan's ascent, from his mythical emergence from the ether (or Minnesota) into the New York music scene in 1961, to his mythical defiance of folk-music purists with an electric guitar in 1965.)  How to possibly capture the constitution of a man, when, according to Mangold, Dylan himself has said he doesn't understand what happened to him during that time?  To make it even more complicated, Mangold is followed by the shadow of Walk Hard, which directly lampooned Mangold's Johnny Cash film Walk the Line, and effectively ruined the typical tortured-artist-as-musical-genius trope (and music biopics in general) forever.  Instead of avoiding Walk Hard comparisons, he aims straight at them (see John C. Reilly's 'Dylan phase' stage performance in Walk Hard) and somehow manages to defy them anyway.  Given all these challenges, Mangold really could have… y'know… mangled it.  But he pulls it off wonderfully, and, in a bit of a surprise, was rewarded with his first career Oscar nomination for directing. 

Out of all the nominees for Best Director, Coralie Fargeat has the style that is best suited for her respective film.  It's grotesque and unflinching, but polished and captivating -- and it accomplishes exactly what it aims to: It draws you in, even when you really want to (and probably should) look away.  Thematically speaking, it's a reflection of our overstimulated, overexposed lives, I think she would say.  But in her fantastic, distinctive style, it's not reality, it's a sort of hyperreality -- you get the sense that this story isn't quite happening in our known world, you're not sure what to trust, and you become less and less certain about what is rational or even possible.  In the body horror genre, David Cronenberg is the influence most often cited with Fargeat's work, but I see a lot of Catherine Breillat, with age horror in the place of sex horror.  For Should Win, if I'm going basic (and believe me, many days I am), I'd pick James Mangold for A Complete Unknown; but if I'm leaning toward style (and today happens to be one of those days), I'll pick Fargeat.  For my money, her film achieves both visual uniqueness and comprehensive coherence that the others can't match (even if her movie goes off the rails toward the end). 

In these divided times, it's refreshing to see that everyone can come together and agree on one thing: their hatred of the movie Emilia Pérez.  (The most common rating on Letterboxd for this film is 1/2 star, and that is only because it does not allow a rating of 0 stars.)  As mentioned earlier, I am one of the few dissenters who actually likes the film (which I proudly whisper as quietly as possible).  I guess I appreciate director Jacques Audiard's sheer audacity in the face of common sense.  He takes subject matter that should probably be handled delicately, and treats it like a Rubik's Cube.  It's bonkers, an incongruous mashup of styles, genres, perspectives, and stereotypes.  Mad Libs are more coherent.  Maybe his nuttiest move was to cast Selena Gomez as the trophy wife (then scornful ex, then unwitting housemate, then vengeful adversary) of a Mexican cartel kingpin who fiercely declares her independence through -- what else? -- an angry-yet-sexy musical number.  Gomez is not exactly amazing (the internet and Eugenio Derbez will gladly tell you that), but Audiard manages to get a surprisingly affecting performance from her that plays to her strengths: singing, dancing, and sulking.  She does more emoting in four scenes than she's done in four seasons of Only Murders in the Building.  Audiard's film may not have taste, but who needs taste when you have excess?

It's nearly a split decision, but I'll give my Gloriously Omitted spot to Alex Garland, for meeting such high expectations with such poor execution.  His film Civil War seems more like an idea for a movie than an actual movie.  Garland makes it absolutely clear that feels strongly about… something, I'm just not sure what.  Almost just as deserving (and by that I mean disappointing) is Yorgos Lanthimos.  His film Kinds of Kindness (a collection of fables, I'm told -- which just means it doesn't make any sense) is listless and lifeless, and has none of the charm or panache of his previous films (like Poor Things, The Favourite, and The Lobster). 

The obvious choice for Ingloriously Snubbed should be Denis Villeneuve for Dune: Part Two… but I bestowed this same honor on him for Part One, so he can settle for an Honorable Mention.  Also in the running were Malcolm Washington for The Piano Lesson (a strong and confident debut from another member of the Washington family) and Edward Berger for Conclave (narrowly missing a nomination again after narrowly missing a nomination for All Quiet on the Western Front).  But my official choice for Ingloriously Snubbed, in quite a surprise, is Pablo Larraín for Maria (his latest in the 'Famous Women with a Single Name in the Title' series, after Jackie and Spencer).  I was not expecting much from this film, considering how unimpressed I was by Spencer (though Kristen Stewart can shoulder a share of the blame for that).  And while just as odd and precious as that misguided film, Maria goes right in all the ways that Spencer goes wrong.  It's the best-looking film of the year, with every single shot composed like a meticulously-detailed, large-canvas oil painting.  Maybe I'm giving the director too much credit, because the film (and the star, Angelina Jolie) benefit greatly from superlative craftwork: cinematography, lighting, sound, production design, hair and makeup, costumes, editing.  (Astonishingly, the only nomination the film got was for cinematography.)  They key for me is that all the affectation has a purpose: It's a metaphor for what it mentally takes to perform at the pinnacle like opera singer Maria Callas -- the preparation, the fear, the courage, the loathing, the fortitude -- every little detail matters.  You have to lean into the pretense to get anything out of it… otherwise it risks being just a highly-manicured snoozer. 

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN:  Jesse Eisenberg (A Real Pain) WILL WIN:  Sean Baker (Anora) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Steve McQueen (Blitz) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Gil Kenan, Jason Reitman (Saturday Night)

Sean Baker and Brady Corbet once again go head to head, this time in the least-coveted category.  It could mark a clean sweep for Anora's Baker, or it could be a way to split up some prizes with Corbet's The Brutalist (though The Substance and A Real Pain are also in the running, having won their share of major screenplay awards).  I'd rather not choose between Anora and The Brutalist (see below for my personal pick), but if I have to, I'd take Anora.  Both make similar points about classism (or try to, anyway), but while Anora takes place on the underside of society with a lighter approach, The Brutalist plants itself at the apex of society with a dark tone.  I guess I like my medicine with a little sugar, so the comedy of Anora helps.  I think voters will see it that way too, tilting them to Anora.  The story of Anora centers on an intense sexual relationship between Ani, a stripper and occasional prostitute, and Ivan, the comparatively inexperienced son of a Russian oligarch.  (There's gotta be a bad pun about 'The Russians Are Coming' in there somewhere.)  There's been a lot of talk about the script skewing genre tropes and deconstructing beloved films like Pretty Woman.  I think that's mostly hogwash.  I suppose it's easy to draw a comparison based on the logline, but that's essentially where the parallels end.  And frankly that doesn't really interest me.  If it was in fact Baker's aim, I'd rather see him create something entirely new, even conventional, than iterate on a film that doesn't need his commentary.  Parts of Anora are excellent, but it was more diverting than anything -- not substantial enough for me to pick it as my Should Win in this category.  (If Baker does win this award, and sweeps the others, including Best Editing, he will be the first person since Walt Disney in 1954 to win four Oscars in one night, and the first to do it for one movie.  Bong Joon-Ho technically only won three for Parasite, as the Best International Feature award was given to the country, not the director.  If Baker does it, Warren Beatty will not be thrilled.)  

Aside from its upsetting nature, I can't firmly put my finger on why The Brutalist (written by Brady Corbet and Mona Fastvold) doesn't work for me.  Maybe it's too long to sustain the thrumming, audible dread (something it has in common with its better-executed spiritual forebear, There Will Be Blood -- along with a confusing epilogue, but with none of the 'I drink your milkshake' meme-ability).  Maybe it's the lack of narrative connective tissue, which you may argue is immaterial (story is dramatic conflict and only dramatic conflict, yada yada), but I think is quite important to make any logical sense of the dense imagery and heavy themes being thrown at us.  (This is intentional, certainly.  The film does not seem interested in 'helping the viewer'.)  Ultimately, the film doesn't feel completely organic to me; it feels narrativized and manipulated; in other words, obviously and overly written.  In a screenplay category, you'd think that would be a virtue, but not in my book.

Let's try this again… My clear pick for what Should Win for Best Original Screenplay is <…pausing cautiously…> A Real Pain.  <…Looking around, double-checking the nominees…>  Yes, it indeed is nominated.  <Phew!>  Jesse Eisenberg is mostly known as an actor, but he shows here that he's equally (more?) skilled as a writer.  He has a light touch with subject matter that could be suffocating and weighty or silly and superficial, and achieves a balance without diluting anything.  The fact that the story revolves around visiting the place where the characters' grandmother survived the Holocaust really ups the ante.  He takes on a challenging theme: How do you connect to the past, live in the present, and reconcile them both?  The script explores this in entertaining ways by putting cousins together who are polar opposites (one straight-laced guy, Eisenberg, who is basically my avatar, and one flighty guy, Kieran Culkin, who would drive me nuts in under five minutes), and letting them attempt to find the meaning in vastly different (and of course, conflicting) ways.  When they don't find what they were looking for in the past, they are forced to look in the present.  (But in a very funny way.  Really.)  Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing this become a franchise: the duo in a series of 'Road' movies like Bing Crosby and Bob Hope -- like, going to the sites of all the most famous atrocities, eating local cuisine, and having existential crises.  Comedic gold, right?  (Also, I'm testing out a theory: Is it possible the two main characters are actually the same person?)

I have a lot of questions about the business plan for the magical-youth serum featured in The Substance, which is probably the worst entrepreneurial venture of all time.  (How are the reviews on Yelp?  Do customers need to get insurance coverage for, like, a second person?  How will the next round of investor funding go?  How do you dispose of the, uh, organic medical waste?  How does the company, you know, make money?)  I can only imagine the reassuring voice on the TV commercial reading a list of gruesome side effects that would rival Happy Fun Ball.  The script for The Substance (written by director Coralie Fargeat) works terrifically on a psychological level, but not a literal one.  In some ways, it's like getting beaten over the head with a metaphor for two hours.  But it goes right where other films of its ilk (like last year's Nightbitch) go wrong, and its unflinching commitment to the horror is what keeps the movie together for its duration.  I’ve heard it called a movie about addiction, which seems obvious, but didn’t really occur to me.  Aside from the self-loathing I mentioned earlier, I interpret it as a (not-so-optimistic) discourse on the elusive and deceptive nature of happiness.  Demi Moore's character doesn't seem to achieve it until the horrific, inevitable, tragic end, and even then, it seems more like relief than happiness.  But my biggest takeaway: This is why you follow rules!

September 5 (written by Moritz Binder, Alex David, and Tim Fehlbaum) visits fertile ground for the Oscars: the terrorist attacks at the 1972 Munich Olympics.  Previous nominees on the subject include the Oscar-winning documentary One Day in September and Steven Spielberg's revenge-thriller Munich.  September 5 takes a novel approach by focusing on the American TV newsroom covering the events as they unfold.  In a competitive category, it's probably the only one without a chance to take the prize. 

I'm afraid I feel the need to give the Gloriously Omitted slot to Steve McQueen.  His film, Blitz (an early Oscar favorite… until people saw it), lacks the writer-director's signature imprints and flourishes, and seemingly could have been created by anyone.  The tone is all over the place, which keeps it at a distance, and prevents the audience from connecting with it fully; it feels like a book translation where the soul of the piece was lost in adaptation.  If the lead had been played by, say, Michelle Dockery instead of Saoirse Ronan, this would probably be a TV movie.  (Incidentally, a major plot point, heavily telegraphed, was actually spoiled by another Ronan film, Atonement.  And by history, I suppose.) 

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN:  Peter Straughan (Conclave) WILL WIN:  Peter Straughan (Conclave) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED:  Marielle Heller (Nightbitch) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED:  Dave Holstein, Meg LeFauve, Kelsey Mann (Inside Out 2)

With the toughest competition over in the Original Screenplay category, Conclave will probably coast to victory here, having already won multiple precursors.  Writer Peter Straughan does a deft job setting up intrigue in the closed-door proceedings to elect a new pope.  Despite the seemingly rote task, there's no shortage of drama, backstabbing, and double-dealing.  (The first thing Stanley Tucci's character, a hopeful candidate, does after the pope dies, is ask if he can take the pontiff's chess board.  Any chances of a cordial election -- or subtle symbolism -- are quite literally off the board right from the start.)  The fact that the scheming and clashing of egos is set in a conclave of cardinals is arbitrary; it could just as easily be in a courtroom, board room, locker room, or senate hearing.  The script makes nice use of inherent contradictions that fuel the narrative -- the cardinals are allowed no contact with the outside world, to prevent undue influence; yet they have unlimited contact with each other, which allows for significantly more influence (due and undue).  But probably its biggest advantage over the other nominees: It knows how to properly end a story.

With so many villainizing stories saturating the Oscars this year (and most years), it's a welcome relief to experience a humanizing film like Sing Sing (written by Clint Bentley and Greg Kwedar, along with the ex-inmates who lived the story, Clarence Maclin and John "Divine G" Whitfield).  The true story-ness of it is remarkable (inmates at the notorious maximum-security prison finding peace and brotherhood through artistic expression and theatrical performance -- but notably, not singing), so it's hard for the movie to live up to that.  As a result, the screenplay structure occasionally shows at the seams, but that doesn't prevent it from being a warm crowd-pleaser.  The script's elegance is in its simplicity: The measure of a man is in what he does for others -- the ones he can help, and also (and perhaps more importantly) the ones he can't.  (I almost showed this movie to my kids, thinking it was the sequel to Sing -- I assumed that stupid koala did hard time for all the property damage he caused at the end of the first one.) 

As much as I enjoyed A Complete Unknown, one of my biggest complaints about the script (written by Jay Cocks and James Mangold) is that I don't know much more about Bob Dylan now than I did before the movie.  (I guess I shouldn't be surprised, the title is literally 'A Complete Unknown').  Film snobs crap all over Bohemian Rhapsody, but I honestly think I got more out of that movie, with regard to its enigmatic subject, Freddie Mercury.  A Complete Unknown doesn't even really try to 'solve' the riddle of Dylan or explore who he really is.  Mangold has said recently that Dylan communicates who he is through his music and leaves the rest a mystery, and that it's not Dylan's problem that we want to know more about him, it's ours.  (That may be valid, but it's kind of a tough thing to tell an audience after they've paid money to watch your movie.)  Frankly, a better ending to this movie would have been an excerpt from the 'We Are the World' documentary, The Greatest Night in Pop -- Dylan's awkward five minutes in that film go much further in 'explaining' who he is than this entire two hour movie.

Jacques Audiard managed to nab a rare four nominations for Emilia Pérez (producing, directing, writing, and composing a song).  The one for screenplay, which he shares with Thomas Bidegain, Léa Mysius, and Nicolas Livecchi, is probably the least likely to bring him home some gold.  Perhaps the most memorable element of the story is the use of musical numbers, which erupt out of nowhere and seem to occur only in the minds of the performers.  These sequences should be my least favorite parts, but, to my continued astonishment, actually work pretty well.  These aren't exactly catchy showtunes (and the merits of the explicit song about a medical operation are probably best debated elsewhere), but they feel somehow organic and contextualize otherwise confusing character choices.  The MVP of these scenes is Zoe Saldaña, providing an outlet for her inner thoughts and turmoil.  But more than that, she uses the music -- the energy, the singing, the dancing, the pathos, the anger -- to express what feels real to her character at that moment.  It actually helps that she's not the most gifted singer or spectacular dancer (all the vocals are slightly off-key and limited in range, and the numbers are not overly-choreographed, compared to those in a Broadway adaptation) -- the lack of polish fits the tone of the film and the mindset of the character.  In my humble (i.e., worthless) opinion, the sequences transcend typical musicals where people just sing loudly at each other (ahem, Wicked).  But ultimately, why musical numbers?  I don't really know.  But it sure beats a voiceover. 

With the first-person point-of-view style overwhelming the narrative of Nickel Boys (written by Joslyn Barnes and RaMell Ross), it's a little hard to imagine what the screenplay or writing process would have been like.  It's not just the camera point-of-view (which director Ross calls "observational logic"), but the abrupt changes in perspectives, bouncing around in time, interspersed archival filmstrips -- a sort of stream of consciousness -- that make the film disorienting and sometimes downright confusing.  As lovely-looking as it is, the first-person perspective lacks a crucial peripheral view (it's not even shot in widescreen), so you get the sensation of wearing blinders.  I assume the film is supposed to act as memory, with a forced perspective, experiential interface, and an inherently faulty, unreliable quality.  As a result, I totally missed a key plot point (until I read the apotheosis of all thought-provoking cinematic analysis, Wikipedia.)  When the style makes it hard to follow the story, I get worried.

Nightbitch (written by Marielle Heller) started the year as a highly-anticipated Oscar vehicle for Amy Adams (as a mother who may or may not transform into a dog at night), and ended the year instead as my Gloriously Omitted pick.  It's a Frankenstein of a story (or a Frankenweenie, if we're sticking with the canine theme), taking a realistic and unvarnished look at the myriad challenges (physical, mental, emotional, logistical, social, financial, marital) of a mother raising a toddler day-in and day-out, and throwing natural, animalistic instincts and urges into the mix.  The mother-as-primal-beast metaphor works well, especially in a movie dabbling in both dark comedy and drama… when it's just a metaphor.  When it becomes literal, the film takes a disengaging turn, and never really gets back on track.  (A pack of stray dogs advise her to get a divorce, I think?)  It's not subtle.  But for me, the film's real value is in the character of the inattentive partner -- as an underappreciative husband and father myself, I feel seen. 

Considering the first Inside Out received a Screenplay nomination, and Inside Out 2 (written by Dave Holstein, Meg LeFauve, and Kelsey Mann) measures up extremely well, I thought there was a good chance it would also get a nod.  Since it didn't, I'll bestow my Ingloriously Snubbed honor on it.  The new addition of the character/emotion Anxiety is handled particularly well… though I think watching Anxiety gives plenty of teenage viewers anxiety.  I would have also been happy to see The Piano Lesson (written by Malcolm Washington and Virgil Williams) or Dune: Part Two (written by Jon Spaihts and Denis Villeneuve) get nominations.