Monday, February 27, 2012

Monday morning, February 27, 2012.

One of the best things about living in Los Angeles, for a movie fan, is that you don’t have to stay up until midnight to watch the Oscars. The show was over at 8:30 here last night, leaving time to watch Family Guy and CSI: Miami and still be in bed by a reasonable time.
            The highlight of the show last night, for me, was Meryl Streep’s win. Sunday morning she awoke to a churlish L.A. Times piece by Charles McNulty, the Times’ theater (not movie) critic, entitled “My Streep Problem.” He called her recent portrayals (in Mamma Mia!, Julie and Julia, The Devil Wears Prada and It’s Complicated) “cartoonish,” “superficial,” and, to top it off, “artful drag burlesques.”
            And then there are his friends, he wrote, whom he found to not only be indifferent to Streep’s “greatness” but “actually put off by it.”
            Who is this guy, and who are these friends of his? We should celebrate greatness, in every arena, not be “put off” by it. I never heard anyone express similar attitudes about her, although there did seem to be a lot of people who just assumed Streep had won an Oscar just about every year. Nominations, yes--Oscars, no. She’s been nominated seventeen times, a record, but before last night had won only twice (once for Best Supporting Actress) and had lost fourteen times in a row as Best Actress. (Almost Susan Lucci territory!)
            Toward the end of their ad campaign, her studio wisely ran print ads featuring only one review quote—a critic marveling that it had been 29 years since Meryl Streep last won an Oscar. This may very well have tipped the scales in her favor, because most people were surprised by that. She had given so many Oscar-worthy performances during that spell that it came as a shock to realize that she’d been overlooked so many times.

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The show, as happens depressingly often, was poorly produced. The best supporting actress award wasn’t given until 45 minutes into the show. As important as technical achievement are, it’s inherently less interesting to see them rewarded than it is to see glamorous stars accepting the Oscar. The retrospective of great Hollywood movies went back only as far as the eighties—why bother if you’re not going to include Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, or a hundred other great films?
            Billy Crystal was fine but a bit of a throwback as host—he reminded me most of Bob Hope, who used to be Mr. Oscar and could be relied on for stale jokes and self-deprecation. As so often happens, the attempt to do something different than last year’s unsuccessful double-hosting by James Franco and Anne Hathaway led the Academy to go too far in the opposite direction. If the academy wants to seem hipper they should hire Ellen to host next year.

Next week: 2012—The Year of Marilyn Mania

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