The Oscars: the morning after

 

               Chloé Zhao accepts the best director Oscar for “Nomadland”  CNN photo

Something unusual happened to me this year in the run-up to the Academy Awards. I lost interest. Always before, ever since I was a kid jumping up and down on the couch in anticipation of Hollywood's big night, the excitement was palpable. That in itself was strange since even as a kid, something inside me knew it was all make-believe. Once I grew up and followed a career where reviewing movies was part of the job description, the make-believe part didn't go away … I just had to take it seriously. Very seriously. Especially at Oscar time.

This year that didn't happen. It was partly an accident of timing. I had seen most of the contenders last fall and over the holidays, getting special access to screeners and links because of my membership in the Hawaii Film Critics Society. By the time I launched this blog to talk about them several months later, they weren't nearly as vivid in my memory. While I had a full head of steam at first, helping put titles like “Nomadland,” “Promising Young Woman,” “Mank” and “Another Round” on readers' radar screens, I lost interest before getting around to likely contenders like “Soul” and “The Father,” or personal favorites “The Sound of Metal” or “My Octopus Teacher,” that I figured would be overlooked on Oscar night.

My Oscar ambivalence was reinforced reading Maureen Dowd's terrific New York Times column Sunday morning in which she pointed out the deficit of drama in “Nomadland,” the inherent contradictions in Beverly Hills activism, the crippling effects of Covid on every aspect of American life over the past year, and the lugubrious tone of the year's slate of Academy Award contenders in general.

Sooooo – wouldn't you know it? – when the actual Oscar telecast finally happened last night, the same thing happened to me again. I lost interest before it finally ground to an end.

Oh, sure, there were bright spots. Enhanced by the deco architecture of L.A.'s Union Station, co-producer Steven Soderbergh's intention to turn the ceremony itself into a movie showed promise in the early going. 

Presenters Laura Dern and Brad Pitt – last year's supporting actress and actor winners – added lively touches to the usually staid announcements of the nominees. “Promising Young Woman” writer Emerald Fennell's win for best screenplay was auspicious. 

“Another Round” director Thomas Vinterberg's acceptance speech for best foreign film included the heartbreaking caveat that his daughter had been killed in a car accident while they were shooting the movie. Tyler Perry's speech accepting the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award was an inspiration. 

For a while it seemed like the Oscars were finally getting things right, from recognizing films like “Ma Rainey's Black Bottom” and “Mank” in the makeup and production design categories where they belonged, to the natural, comfortable diversity running through the presenters and winners that felt like the industry may have finally relegated its white male dominance to the past.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly where all the good stuff ended, and the ceremony began to wane. It might have been the way the show hurried through the In Memoriam segment, usually a time for heartfelt memories, but it certainly occurred before the anticlimax of the night's three biggest awards: best actors Anthony Hopkins and Frances McDormand and “Nomadland” for best picture.

Not to take anything away from these awesome artistic achievements, but as best actor presenter Joaquin Phoenix observed, it was a shame to have to pick a single winner in any category.

The morning after the Oscars, I found myself experiencing the letdown that always follows the ceremony, make-believe or not. But it did leave me with the reminder to recommend to anyone who hasn't seen them, the unique documentary “My Octopus Teacher” on Netflix. And especially “The Sound of Metal” on Amazon Prime, which wound up topping my personal favorite list, along with those of several good friends.