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A combination of personal favorites and consensus picks ...
Note: while I have set up the polls so that you can only vote once for picture, director and the four acting categories, you may click on multiple answers in the Special Award poll.
My choices are noted with a ★. A tie is indicated with a ✪. Historical Oscar winners are noted with a ✔. Best foreign-language picture winners are noted with an ƒ. Best animated feature winners are noted with an @. A historical winner who won in a different category is noted with a ✱.
In between binge-eating and binge-napping, Katie-Bar-The-Door and I spent our Thanksgiving holidays binge-watching Aaron Sorkin's The Newsroom, a short-lived cable series now streaming as part of our Amazon Prime subscription.
Made for HBO, The Newsroom followed the ups-and-downs of a band of idealistic cable news reporters trying to put on a worthwhile show in an era characterized by insipid junk-news pandering. Jeff Daniels won an Emmy playing the face of the franchise, the grumpily affable Will McAvoy; Emily Mortimer played his ex-girlfriend-turned-producer; Sam Waterston was their boss.
The series also featured fine supporting performances from Oscar winners Jane Fonda and Marcia Gay Harden.
By and large, the critics hated the show — finding it preachy and pretentious — and in the 25 episodes that made up its three seasons, it never attracted a large enough audience to make anybody forget The Sopranos.
Katie and I, on the other hand, liked it — a lot.
It's not that we're devoted fans of Aaron Sorkin. Back in the day, we occasionally dipped into The West Wing without ever really carving out time for it, and what little we saw of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, we frankly despised.
This, though, we fell in love with.
Katie thought The Newsroom was a warm, witty drama that didn't overstay its welcome. She liked spending time with the characters, especially Olivia Munn's intellectually-brilliant, socially-clueless, hilariously-deadpan Sloan Sabbith.
Me, I saw it as a screwball comedy in the tradition of His Girl Friday and The Front Page — tales of bumbling reporters, puffed up with self-importance and seriously lacking in self-awareness, who somehow manage to get a quality newscast out on a daily basis. The comedy is punctuated by moments of dramatic relief — war, death, national crisis — but the show never strays far from its classical Hollywood roots when fast-talking actors like Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell wisecracked their way from scoop to scoop.
Absolutely nobody else read The Newsroom that way, but who are you going to believe, me or nobody's lying eyes?
Anyway, it's a freebie included with a subscription to Amazon Prime. If that's your streaming service of choice, check it out.
When I find myself in times of trouble — and Lord knows, these are troubled times — I turn not to the Bible or the op-ed page, but to the movies.
With Katie-Bar-The-Door out of town on Tuesday, I took the day off and by happenstance, wound up watching a triple feature of films contemplating man's ugliest impulses. I came away with a renewed sense of optimism that if we can't fix the world, we can at least spruce up our little corner of it.
These movies have been around a long while so spoilers abound. No complaining.
First up on the program was Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, a film I saw in the theater back in 2009. I hailed it as a masterpiece at the time then haven't watched it since, afraid to find out I was wrong.
I needn't have worried. As with all of Tarantino's movies, there's lots of talk punctuated by cartoonish levels of violence; as with most of his movies, it's absolutely brilliant.
Freed of the need to follow the plot and digest the movie's many surprises, this time around I allowed myself the luxury of thinking and perhaps even more dangerous, feeling. As it turns out, Inglourious Basterds has something to say about our current predicament, although I'd hesitate to suggest it offers a workable solution.
If you don't know the movie, it's set in Nazi-occupied France during World War II and follows three broad narratives — that of "the Jew Hunter" Colonel Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz in an Oscar-winning turn), and his favorite prey, Shosanna (Mélanie Laurent); a British officer (Michael Fassbender) and his double-agent contact (Diane Kruger); and finally the Basterds of the title, a group of commandos (led by Brad Pitt) wreaking havoc behind the German lines.
"We in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin'." Those Germans the Basterds don't kill, wind up with a swastika carved into their foreheads as a sign for the rest of time that they once fought in service of the worst cause in human history.
These three narrative threads converge on a small cinema in Paris where the Reich's leaders, including Hitler himself, are attending a movie premiere.
But that's the plot. It was the message I was interested in this time around. And that is this: Whether you are a true-believer or a shameless opportunist, an enthusiastic volunteer or a pants-wetting draftee, you are responsible for the cause you fight for and you will answer for the damage you do.
As Kurt Vonnegut once said, "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."
Something for trolls of every stripe to keep in mind.
The second movie, There Will Be Blood, I had actively avoided for a decade — perhaps because the famous line "I drink your milkshake!" led me to believe it was a comedy about dairy products.
It is, in point of fact, a tragedy featuring petroleum byproducts. Based on Sinclair Lewis's novel Oil!, Paul Thomas Anderson gives us the story of Daniel Plainview (the great Daniel Day-Lewis winning his second of three Oscars), a would-be oilman who gets everything he ever wanted and loses himself in the process.
But this isn't a morality play about greed, it's a cautionary tale about that most American of virtues and vices, rugged individualism. Plainview's dream isn't to pile up money — he turns down an easy million, for example, opting instead for the hard, risky work of building a pipeline to the sea. No, what Plainview longs for is to cut the middleman out of his business affairs. And not just the railroads and the big oil producers who take a large cut of the profits, but all middlemen everywhere: friends, family, God, and finally dignity and sanity — anyone or anything upon which he might have to rely.
By the end he's living like a feral cat in a giant mansion, free at last.
Many reviews concluded that Plainview is a monster and maybe he is, but there's a certain majesty in his labors. At least he's making something of tangible value as opposed to the worthless paper products Wall Street's fraudsters and slicky-boys fobbed off on a gullible public.
But crazy Plainview most definitely is, the end for all of us who think we can live without regard for our fellow human beings.
Is There Will Be Blood a great film? Yes, absolutely. Unless it's terrible. The movie is two and a half hours long, is virtually silent for long stretches as it contemplates the West like no one since John Ford, and when people do finally speak, they say nothing of value, which is fine because no one is listening anyway. Like Dunkirk which I reviewed recently here, the characters in There Will Be Blood reveal themselves strictly by their actions.
Do they reveal enough? That is the question. I'd have to see the movie again to decide for sure whether there's as much moving under its surface as I think there is.
Check back here in 2027 for my final verdict.
The third movie on the list, The Grand Budapest Hotel, I have seen again — first on Tuesday then again on Wednesday when Katie-Bar-The-Door returned to town — and in this case, at least, I'm sure it is a great movie, Wes Anderson's masterpiece.
On its surface, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a shaggy dog story about how a hotel lobby boy (Tony Revolori) became the richest man in Europe. But ultimately, it's a contemplation of grace under pressure, kindness in the face of cruelty, beauty in an ugly world.
Set in the years between the two world wars, Ralph Fiennes plays the lobby boy's mentor, Monsieur Gustave H, the concierge of the Grand Budapest, eastern Europe's finest hotel. Gustave meets his guests' every need, especially the needs of rich, lonely women, not from any motivation as mundane as reflexive servitude or the Puritan work ethic but because he is a civilized man who finds pleasure and meaning in creating a bubble of civilization for those fleeing an uncivilized world.
"You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble, insignificant ... oh, fuck it."
Like the inchworm measuring the marigolds, Gustave labors unceasingly despite knowing that in the long run it won't make the slightest bit of difference. But what's the alternative? Surrender to chaos and cruelty and death? Hell, no.
If sooner or later we're all going to die, I have written before, can't we at least do it with a bit of dignity and honor and laughter and good company? And in Gustave's case, poetry and perfume and pastry, as well?
As it turns out, Ralph Fiennes is the perfect actor to lead a Wes Anderson film. He can deliver helium-filled balloons of dialogue without puncturing the illusion that he actually believes what he's saying. And in a film like this, that's absolutely vital. One prick of cynicism, and the balloon bursts.
This is Fiennes best work since Schindler's List.
I confess, I haven't much enjoyed Wes Anderson in the past. I have detected underneath the celebrated whimsy of such films as The Royal Tenenbaums and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou a sourness that for me at least curdled his confections and made them hard to swallow.
That, and when everybody is a nut, nobody is a nut, and the whole thing gets a bit tedious.
But here, there's something generous and moving and maybe even heroic in Gustave's devotion to the better angels of our nature.
"Rudeness is merely an expression of fear. People fear they won't get what they want. The most dreadful and unattractive person only needs to be loved, and they will open up like a flower."
Well, some of them anyway.
Cameos by everyone — Bill Murray, Ed Norton, Harvey Keitel, Jude Law, Tom Wilkinson, F. Murray Abraham, Jason Schwartzman, Tilda Swinton, Owen Wilson, Bob Balaban, Léa Seydoux, and many others. Excellent supporting work from Adrien Brody, Willem Defoe, Jeff Goldblum and Saoirse Ronan. Tony Revolori as the lobby boy, Zero Moustafa, was terrific. Ralph Fiennes deserved an Oscar nomination at the very least.
The Grand Budapest Hotel was 2014's best movie, Wes Anderson its best director.
Sullivan's Travels (1941)
Tired of churning out crowd-pleasing comedies such as Ants in Your Plants of 1939, director John Sullivan (Joel McCrea) vows to make an important movie about economic injustice and class struggle. Unfortunately for him, his only brush with poverty is the first of every month when he mails an alimony check to his ex-wife. So he and a down-on-her-luck Veronica Lake set off on a cross-country adventure to learn what's-what. The result is the best comedy of Preston Sturges's illustrious career.
"What do they know in Pittsburgh?"
"They know what they like."
"If they knew what they liked, they wouldn’t live in Pittsburgh."
8½ (1963)
Everyone is ready for Guido (Marcello Mastroanni) to direct another hit movie — the cast, the crew, the press, the studio, his wife, his mistress, his other mistress. Everyone except Guido, that is. He thinks and thinks, and hasn't got an idea left in his overstuffed head. My favorite Fellini film, chock full of those crazy visuals (a man floating through the sky like a balloon, anyone?) that make Fellini so much nutty fun.
"I don't understand. He meets a girl that can give him a new life and he pushes her away?"
"Because he no longer believes in it."
"Because he doesn't know how to love."
"Because it isn't true that a woman can change a man."
"Because he doesn't know how to love."
"And above all because I don't feel like telling another pile of lies."
"Because he doesn't know how to love."
Stardust Memories (1980)
By 1980, Woody Allen was sick of making funny movies, sick of a public that only liked funny movies, and above all, sick of a universe that only makes sense as the punchline of some sort of decidedly-unfunny, existential joke — so, of course, he made a comedy about it. The critics blasted Stardust Memories in its initial release but its stature has grown over the years. Or anyway, I like it, which is all that really counts, right?
"But shouldn't I stop making movies and do something that counts, like-like helping blind people or becoming a missionary or something?"
"Let me tell you, you're not the missionary type. You'd never last. And-and incidentally, you're also not Superman; you're a comedian. You want to do mankind a real service? Tell funnier jokes."
The Simpsons "Krusty Gets Busted" (Season One, Episode 12) (1990)
Laughs are all well and good but what about poetry, what about literature, what about not getting another pie thrown in your face? Sideshow Bob (the voice of Kelsey Grammer) is fed up and he frames his boss Krusty the Clown, takes over the show and talks to the kids about feelings and philosophy and crap like that. Probably the best episode of The Simpsons first season, way back when the show was actually funny.
"Yes I admit it, I hated him. His hackneyed shenanigans robbed me of my dignity for years. I played the buffoon, while he squandered a fortune on his vulgar appetites. That's why I framed Krusty. I would've gotten away with it too if it weren't for these meddling kids."
"Take him away boys."
"Treat kids like equals, they're people too. They're smarter than what you think! They were smart enough to catch me!"
Top Five (2014)
Comedian Andre Allen (Chris Rock) doesn't feel funny anymore, and who can blame him — his movie's a flop, his love life is a TV show, his relatives have their hands out, and his fans just want him to put the bear costume back on. But, hey, at least his day can't get any worse. Right? Raunchy, hilarious and a pretty biting send-up of modern culture, Top Five was last year's most overlooked comedy.
"You coming to the party right?"
"Some people got to work. I'll tell you what — I'll come to your next bachelor party."
"That's not funny, man."
"Tell me somethin' — your next wife, she gonna be white or she gonna be Asian?"
"It's still not funny, man."
"Oh, it's only funny when you say mean shit. Right?"
"Who was that?"
"My father."
The Monkey sez check out the USA Network comedy Benched which plays on Tuesdays at 10:30 pm. Ostensibly it's about a high-flying corporate lawyer who blows her ride and winds up slumming at the Public Defender's office, but it's really a black comedy about the sorry state of the American justice system.
As a recovering lawyer (just as there are no ex-alcoholics, there are no ex-lawyers, only non-practicing ones), I can tell you the show's depiction of incompetent defense attorneys, overworked prosecutors, idiot judges, clueless juries and the steady parade of faceless, nameless defendants who don't have a snowball's chance in hell of being acquitted even when they are innocent is spot on. In fact, it's the only law show that might give you a sense of why so many lawyers want to get out of the business as soon as they get into it.
Starring Eliza (Happy Endings) Coupe, the comedy is low-key and quirky enough to guarantee the show's cancellation in the near future. See it before it's gone.
The first major studio release funded by a Kickstarter campaign, Veronica Mars is based on a cult television show from the last decade about a teenage detective solving crimes in the have/have-not world of a Southern California high school—sort of a cross between Nancy Drew and Pretty in Pink with dialogue worthy of a Humphrey Bogart movie. Kristen Bell as Veronica Mars had a gift for playing tough on the outside, "marshmallow" (her word) on the inside, that made what could have been an absurd concept into compelling television.
Compelling if you ever saw it, that is.
A ratings flop from the get-go, Mars hung around for three years and then was abruptly cancelled with several irons in the storyline fire. Happens all the time, but Veronica's fans— marshmallows to you—wouldn't let it go, and after years of lobbying, they made Warner Brothers a put-up or shut-up offer: we'll raise the money for the production if you'll distribute the film. And raise money they did. The goal was $2 million in a month; they raised more than $5 million in 24 hours.
With the box office success of the film this last weekend along with what promises to be a cash bonanza from its simultaneous release on a number of streaming platforms, Veronica Mars is a victory for a new business model, one that will likely have a bigger impact on Hollywood than many of the blockbusters and Oscar winners that will follow it this year.
Which is all very interesting in a shoptalk sort of way, but, you know, what about the movie? Is it any good? Should you see it?
Those are two different questions.
We here at the Monkey are fans, so of course we liked it. Katie-Bar-The-Door and I are devoted marshmallows—and have been for, oh, three weeks, I think. We are the perfect examples of how good marketing and streaming technology can short circuit the journey from casual viewer to hardcore junkie. What would have once taken a decade took less than a month, introducing us to a show we'd never heard of via the cover of Entertainment Weekly, serving it up to us for free via Amazon Prime, and letting us binge-watch the entire series on consecutive weekends.
And I suspect people like us are key: Warner Brothers knew the fans would show up, but could anybody else be induced to give a damn? Turns out the original series was one of the neglected gems of the last decade. Once we started watching, we were hooked, and from the end of February to this weekend, the biggest questions on our minds (aside from will the snow ever stop and who'll be the utility infielder for the Washington Nationals) were "Who killed Lilly Kane?" and "Who's a better boyfriend, Logan or Piz?"
And therein lies the answer to the question "Should you see Veronica Mars, the movie?" If you've seen the series, then absolutely. It's a fun reunion with lots of inside jokes, the same dry film noir era humor, and a deeper look into the troubled psyche that fuels Veronica's compulsive, self-destructive need to find the truth—the dark thread that stitched the series together.
If you haven't seen the series, I'd say watch the series—you'll wind up watching the movie. But if you're not so inclined, well, you'll be able to follow the murder mystery, but the emotional ties that bind the characters together will be lost on you—it'll likely wash over you the way an entry in an old detective serial on TCM might wash over you, The Falcon Takes Over, say.
I suspect there are more Mars movies to come, so my recommendation is grab a bag of marshmallows and get busy bingeing.
Ratings
The series: 4.5 stars out of 5
The movie if you're a fan: 4 stars out of 5
The movie if you're not a fan: 2.5 stars out of 5
Postscript with spoilers: While we already knew who killed Lilly Kane, the movie provides its answer to the question, Logan or Piz. I'm sure most fans will be happy with the answer, but unfortunately, the best choice—none of the above—wasn't on the menu. Maybe one day the girl will grow up enough to realize that sometimes the best company is the one you keep in your head.
Maybe the critics aren't as fond as I am of those history lessons Golden Age Hollywood used to serve up—e.g., The Life of Emile Zola, The Story of Louis Pasteur, The Pride of the Yankees—but I thought George Clooney's movie The Monument Men, about the real life efforts to rescue stolen art from the clutches of the Nazis, was a pretty interesting yarn.
Okay, it's not that old Burt Lancaster movie, The Train, which is both a great action picture and a great think piece, but I learned stuff I didn't know, never looked at my watch and didn't feel like I'd wasted my money. As Freud said, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
With Matt Damon, Cate Blanchett, Bill Murray, and a bunch of other people.
3.5 stars out of 5.
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