His Was the Most Human

To simply call him Spock, the iconic character from one of film and television's most innovative adventures in science fiction, would be a tragedy, one he might not appreciate. Leonard Nimoy, who died yesterday at age 83, was much more than Spock: After "Star Trek" ended after only three seasons, he successfully shifted to "Mission: Impossible" as a master of disguise, then hosted the documentary series "In Search Of..." before eventually having a reoccurring role in "Fringe." He starred on Broadway several times, dabbled in music (if one can call it that), directed the 1987 hit "Three Men and a Baby," and even appeared in the alternative music video of Bruno Mar's "The Lazy Song." His transition to film basically started with the remake of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," the year before he hesitatingly returned with his fellow voyagers in 1979's "Star Trek: The Motion Picture." The film, one of the weaker entries of the series, was at least a box office hit, mostly banking on the science fiction craze of the late '70s and especially the fans of the series who eagerly awaited the return. 

But it was the second film, "The Wrath of Khan," that was not only the greatest of all the "Star Trek" films, but also the one that showcased the best of Nimoy's acting. In that powerful final scene of his, Spock offers the utilitarian intellect of the film, calmly reminding his captain of his viewpoint that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. "The Wrath of Khan" might best be remembered for William Shatner screaming at his nemesis, but its best moment is its climax, where Spock proves that he will walk the philosophical walk. "Don't grieve, Admiral," he tells Kirk with a frighteningly hoarse voice. "It's logical." Director Nicholas Meyer, who had never seen any of the original "Star Trek" episodes, was perplexed at his crew for crying during the scene. Upon later watching the series, it suddenly occurred to him why they wept.

Just about anyone could relate to Spock in at least one way. The most obvious is the fact that the character grew up with a Vulcan father and human mother. "Star Trek," as many know, was at the time exploring societal issues and controversies in a way no other series even dared. One young girl, herself biracial, identified with the character and wrote to Nimoy seeking advice. He wholeheartedly replied, telling her to be true to herself as opposed to simply trying to be popular. The current president has been criticized for being "too Spocky and not enough Rocky," but relying on the former's qualities seems to have served him better. Barack Obama, obviously, is also biracial, and perhaps this is why he told the nation yesterday that he himself "loved Spock." Beyond issues of Spock being biracial were issues of him simply being different; Robert Lloyd of the Los Angeles Times suggested that these days we would simply say Spock is "on the spectrum." Spock is different, no doubt, but he is also undeniably talented, strong, and influential. As Captain Kirk tearfully tells his crew at the conclusion of "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan," Spock's heart was the most human. 

Nimoy was at his best when he played Spock. Watch some of the best episodes of the original series -- "Charlie X," "The Corbonite Manuever," "The Managerie," "The Galileo Seven," "The City on the Edge of Tomorrow," "The Return of the Archons" -- and you will see some of Nimoy's finest work. To call Mr. Spock emotionless would be a mistake, for Nimoy knew that Spock was half-human, not fully Vulcan, thereby requiring the character to be completely the master of his emotions rather than simply devoid of them. Some of the episodes, like "Devil In the Dark," demonstrated that sometimes, frankly, Nimoy hit the wrong mark. He later claimed that his co-star and friend for several decades, Shatner as Captain James Kirk, was away from the set to attend a funeral. When he returned, the scene was explained to him: Nimoy as Spock performed a "mind meld," transferring a bizarre alien's thoughts to his mind. "Pain!" Spock yells. Shatner asked if Nimoy could show him, and Nimoy sort of performed a tame version of his previous performance. Shatner grew frustrated and asked rhetorically if that's how he did it, to which Nimoy said no, before really shouting "pain!" again, eyes completely closed and tense. Shatner didn't miss a beat: "Will someone get this man an aspirin?" Nimoy didn't speak to him for two weeks. But, as mentioned, they remained close. In addition to their three live action seasons and one animated, the two joined their fellow trekkers for a total of six "Stark Trek" films from 1979 to 1991, two of which Nimoy directed ("The Search for Spock" and "The Voyage Home," which is the second best of the original six). Nimoy also directed Shatner in an episode of the latter's TV show "TJ Hooker," and they even lent their voices to two computer games in the '90s, but with the most recent "Star Trek Into Darkness," Nimoy surpassed Shatner's record for the most "Star Trek" appearances. Nimoy, portraying Spock Prime, guiding Zachary Quinto's younger Spock in the alternate timeline, sort of served as an ambassador to the newer fans of the franchise, humbly and appropriately passing the torch in J.J. Abrams' "Star Trek" in 2009. His cameo in the most recent one might have been unnecessary, but it was, in retrospect, a nice final appearance from him.

But by now Nimoy's ambiguous feelings toward the character that made him famous at age 35 and a permanent part of American pop culture even in death are fairly well known. He claimed that when he was walking in an airport, a woman approached him with her young daughter, and excitingly told the girl that before her very eyes was the television character she so very much loved. But the girl looked up and did not see Spock, with his raised eyebrow, pointy ears and overly regulated emotions. Instead she saw a man with shaggy hair and street clothes, and the girl was disappointed. Nimoy's response eventually came in the form of his first autobiography, titled "I Am Not Spock." I have not read the book, but apparently Nimoy meant it to be a discussion of the character and how he performed the role, not a bitter rejection or insult. But there was certainly a negative reaction, and to clarify, he later wrote another autobiography: "I Am Spock."

LLAP

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The 87th Academy Awards

The Oscars, saluting the best and the whitest, as host Neil Patrick Harris said at the beginning of the show, wasn't supposed to be this unpredictable. J.K. Simmons would be expected to follow Javier Bardem, Heath Ledger and Christoph Waltz in their villainous footsteps by easily winning Best Supporting Actor. Patricia Arquette, for her astonishing performance in "Boyhood," would follow with an easy win, as she has been a lock all awards season. Julianne Moore, long overdue for a win, would win without any serious competition for "Still Alice." That would leave three races -- Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor -- to be the difficult ones to guess. Not so this year, for it was a year of surprises. The big winner was "Birdman," but I'm not entirely sure what the deal with this film is. All I know for certain is this: it's the most overrated Best Picture winner since "Driving Miss Daisy" from 1989, and it only won because "Boyhood," its main competitor, was released in the summer. That's it.

What makes this particularly frustrating is that it's not as if I was madly in love with "Boyhood." But the nominees for Best Picture this year were mediocre ("Selma," "Whiplash," "The Theory of Everything," "The Imitation Game") and the others, like the most culturally significant ("American Sniper") or the winner ("Birdman"), were terribly overrated, and so "Boyhood" was simply the best. I really don't see "Boyhood" going down in the records as the one that lost the battle but won the war in the hearts and minds of moviegoers; that is, it's not the next "Star Wars," "Raging Bull" or "Pulp Fiction," all of them Best Picture losers. But in terms of actual merit, it truly sounds impossible to argue that it deserved to lose to "Birdman." Beyond that, perhaps the biggest shocker of the night was Wes Anderson not being one of the many winners of "The Grand Budapest Hotel" when he lost to the writing team for "Birdman." Adding to my frustration is that the one Oscar "Birdman" actually deserved -- Michael Keaton for Best Actor -- it lost, and with all due respect to the terrific performance by Eddie Redmayne, his win over Keaton proved that if you really want to win an Oscar, your chances are significantly improved if you're a white guy playing a protagonist with a disability.

But I should at least be happy that I got to watch the awards. You see, in my present country, the awards had been broadcast for at least two years on Fox Movies, making it for easy viewing. (They even offered a re-airing later in the day.) The following year, it was available for viewing on channel Dubai One, making it a bit difficult to find at first, but I was successful nonetheless. This year, however, the Oscars aired on OSN, a private channel requiring its own super, special cable box. ABC, which has aired the Academy Awards in the U.S. since the 1970s, allowed for live streaming of the show on its website, but only for those who already had a cable subscription (which would sort of negate the need for viewing it online), and only for those who had a subscription and reside in one of the eight markets that have ABC-owned-and-operated stations. Those living in Detroit, Atlanta, Seattle and other major American cities would be out of luck. (One could, however, watch the red carpet interviews and backstage clips for free online; oh, joy.)

Why all the hassle? As Will Oremus at Slate points out, money. "If this sounds like cruel and arbitrary from the cord-cutter's perspective," he writes, "it is. But ABC has business reasons for limiting its live stream in this way. In short, networks don't make as much money from the ads sold of their telecasts. And, in general, media companies have little interest in catering to cord-cutters, whom they view as undermining a bulwark of their business models. Yes, ABC networks are free to watch over the air, but ABC is owned by Disney, and the company also owns a slew of cable channels." Because of this, I went to bed late Sunday night (my time) prepared to wake in a few hours on my birthday and not be able to view the Oscars. However, at the very last minute, I found the good folks at ustream, where there was a channel with a live stream (illegally) available. That being said, for the last four awards, the Big Rat found us and shut the channel down, leaving two drunk ladies watching the Oscars as the only available channel that was at least somewhat relevant to the Oscars (really) but would be the fastest way of learning who the winners were. These ladies appeared to be engaging in some kind of bizarre drinking act where every time the camera showed Benedict Cumberbatch they took a sip of wine, I think. (The camera focused on them and their drinking, not the screen.) Their howling in approval left me confused for several minutes as to who the actual winner was; how was I to know that they were such huge Eddie Redmayne fans?

Neil Patrick Harris turned out to be a surprisingly awkward (and boring) host, especially considering how much experience he has hosting the Tony and Emmy awards. Despite a fairly entertaining opening number about the magic of movies (or something) with Anna Kendrick and Jack Black, the remainder of his time, save for a fairly clever (and brave) spoof of Michael Keaton's underwear scene in "Birdman," was devoted to lame and certainly uncomfortable jokes. He should have anticipated what kind of a reaction he would get regarding his running gag involving Octavia Spencer guarding his ballot, which at best was this year's "who wants pizza?" and at worst was a message to Oscar-viewers everywhere that if you win an Oscar for playing a black maid in the 1960s, you will one day return to serving white folks at the Oscars.

It's moments like these -- the inability to open up the show for all viewers, its predominantly white male membership shutting out Ava DuVernay for a deserving nomination, the insult of refusing to let the winners actually talk, and the painful yawns throughout -- that make me wonder why I bother watching. But whereas the show was its usual bore, at least the speeches were awesome. Here's a few of them:

Arquette (Best Supporting Actress, "Boyhood"): "To every woman who gave birth to every taxpayer and citizen of this country we have fought for everyone else's rights. It's time to have our wage equality once and for all, and equal rights for women in the United States of America." Two women, in particular, really enjoyed her speech. (It's a bit depressing, though, that she had to say that in 2015, not 1980, the year "Nine to Five" was released.)

Simmons (Best Supporting Actor, "Whiplash"): "Call your mom, call your dad. If you're lucky to have a parent alive on this planet, call them. Don't text, don't email; call them on the phone and talk to them and listen to them as long as they want to talk to you."

Graham Moore (Best Adapted Screenplay, "The Imitation Game"): "Here's the thing: Alan Turing never got to stand on a stage like this and at look out at all these disconcertingly attractive faces. I do, and that's the most unfair thing I've ever heard. When I was 16 years old, I tried to kill myself because I felt weird and different and I felt like I did not belong. And now, I'm standing here. And so, I would like this moment to be for that kid out there who feels like she's weird or she's different and she doesn't fit in anywhere. Yes, you do. I promise you: you do. Stay weird and stay different."

John Legend (Best Original Song, "Selma," shared with Common): "We wrote this song for a film that was based on events that were fifty years ago, but we say that "Selma" is now, because the struggle for justice is right now. We know that the Voting Rights Act that they fought for fifty years ago is being compromised today." He also said that we live in the most incarcerated country in the world, and that there are more black men under correctional control today than there were in slavery in 1850, a claim that was validated by the fact-checking site Politifact.

And aside from the speeches, there was Lady Gaga's wonderful tribute to "The Sound of Music," as well as the Lonely Island teaming up with Tegan and Sara for "Everything Is Awesome," two of the few moments of life for the show. So in sum: memorable speeches, great singing, disappointing-as-usual host, unjustified (for the most part) winners. 364 more days till the next one.

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The Best Movies of 2014

I've already ranted about the dismal slate of movies we were given last year, and how disappointing it was that so many critics were in love with them. Still, there are at least five movies from 2014 that I think you should see, and they are:

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
A powerful allegory of many of today's societal problems, "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes" might even be better than its predecessor from three years before. The visuals surely look better, and if it weren't for the breathtaking visual effects of Christopher Nolan's "Interstellar," this would certainly land a Best Visual Effects Award at the Oscars.

Leviathan
I like movies that make me think of allegories. The obvious parallel of "Leviathan" is to the story of Job in the Bible; this is where the title comes from, for ancient religious texts refer to sea creatures (or whales) as such. (Director Andrey Zvyaginstev also has described how the real-life situation of Marvin Heemeyer in the United States inspired the story.) But there's another likely inspiration: Thomas Hobbes. His famous philosophical work, calling for an absolute sovereign to rule, shares the title, and the cover features the biblical text from Job: "There is no power to be compared to him." How is that relevant? The film "Leviathan" has been described by Ethan Gates in the New Republic as the movie Hollywood loves but the Russian government hates. There are not so unobtrusive criticisms of Russian corruption, and so it's as if the film makers are saying that there is no power compared to Putin, and that's not necessarily a good thing. (This is a powerful sentiment considering how popular Putin is in Russia.) In "Leviathan," there are also moralistic Orthodox clergymen and moments of sexual violence sprinkled throughout the film. And this all, ultimately, follows the expected path -- the total opposite of American movie's usual trajectory -- that "all's well that ends unwell." This is a dark, depressing movie that, allegory or no allegory, requires a bit of patience, but it's certainly well worth it.

Pride
"Pride" is the reason movies should still exist. This is a film that with ease marries the belief that movies should be about something with the simple requirement that they should entertain. And entertain "Pride" does. I think Dominic West dancing to "Shame Shame Shame" was the best thing I saw in the movies all year. Based on the true story of a queer organization coming to help striking miners in rural Wales, this often does feel like a pretty standard message-film, but it's a lot more than that. It's funny, it's heartfelt, it's smart, it has terrific acting. It embraces cliches, but who cares? Messages about friendship and acceptance can sometimes be forgiven for this. One of the best moments in when the group, Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners, drags the leader of the local striking miners to a gay bar in London, and practically pushes him on stage to thank them for their support. While the crowd isn't exactly thrilled to see him, he eventually, like a natural, gives a genuine moment of thanks: "What I'd really like to say to you tonight is thank you. If you're one of the people that's put money in these buckets, if you've supported LGSM, then thank you, because what you've given us is much stronger than money. It's friendship. When you're in a battle against an enemy so much bigger, so much stronger than you, well, to find out you had a friend you never knew existed, well, that's the best feeling in the world. So, thank you."

The Babadook
"The Babadook" isn't necessarily scary because it features some kind of demon-ghost haunting a mother and her son; it's scary because of what it represents. Even the most amateur film historian will recognize the tribute to early cinema German expressionism, but it's deeper than that; consider what one blogger has said about expressionism, that it is "at its bare essence taking the internal and making it external. Expressionists seek to express meaning and emotional experiences -- often radically to reflect mood and tone -- rather than physical reality." Sure, the monster (or whatever the hell it is) is terrifying, as is the poem that accompanies him (where, "if it's in a rhyme or it's in a book, you can't get rid of the Babadook..."). But what's more horrifying is (slight spoiler alert) the way this movie demonstrates, primarily through Essie Davis' character, that the fall into madness is one of the true horrors of life, that real demons are what's inside us, what often can only be put at bay rather than defeated outright. Understanding this will potentially help viewers understand the ambiguous ending a bit more clearly.

(Another good movie from 2014 about mental health is "Two Days, One Night" from France.)

Life Itself
"Life Itself" was by far the best film of the year, and yet this year's Academy Awards would certainly never give you that impression. I wasn't demanding a Best Picture nomination, which it definitely deserved, but Best Documentary is obvious, and yet, now the overrated "Citizenfour" will go home with the win. Why the film was ignored is something I don't understand, though the film's summer release probably didn't help, as the Academy has a terribly short memory. As I wrote back in July, "Life Itself," the documentary tribute to Roger Ebert, is of course a story largely exploiting our love of nostalgia, for there is a lot of footage of Ebert and his partner Gene Siskel dueling over movies. But "Life Itself" is also the best romance of the year and a truly heartfelt homage to the man who most would agree was the film critic of his time.

Honorable Mentions: "Guardians of the Galaxy," "The Overnighters," "In Bloom," "Snowpiercer"

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SNL40

BLTN

"Tonight Show" host Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake opened the 40th anniversary special of "Saturday Night Live" with a practically comprehensive rap of memorable moments of the most important comedy institution in American history. Energetic and zany, the right mood was set immediately. And then the man himself -- one half of the Wild and Crazy Guys, King Tut, a.k.a Steve Martin -- entered the center of Studio 8H, as he has done 15 other times over the past four decades, to formally introduce the show. Martin made sure the show wouldn't lose its edginess, mentioning to his audience (the SNL family at their seats and the estimated 23 million people at home) that the anniversary feels like a high school reunion, "a high school that is almost all white," ribbing the show for its controversial lack of diversity. Tom Hanks, usually not one of the funniest but certainly one of the most likable hosts in the show's history, and Alec Baldwin, the man who currently holds the record for hosting appearances, both joined Martin. So, too, did Billy Crystal, who was set to appear on the very first episode back in 1975 but was cut for time and eventually hosted and then joined the cast, helping to fill a post-Eddie Murphy void in the mid-80s.

But then, in addition to these four, came Chris Rock, who was better later on in the evening giving a heartfelt tribute to Murray, his idol, and then came Melisa McCarthy, Peyton Manning, and Miley Cyrus in what quickly became SNL celebrity-crowding at its worst; not even Paul McCartney and Paul Simon making their way to sing "I've Just Seen a Face" in wonderful harmony could save this sinking ship. But saved it became. Six minutes of montage clips -- featuring, among many others, the Blues Brothers, Gumbi, Schweddy Balls, and a man living in a van down by the river -- chronologically showcased SNL's golden moments, and should do more than enough to remind everyone of the significance of this New York -- American -- tradition. But was this telecast really three hours long? Yes, it was. Unnecessarily so, and frankly, "Saturday Night Live" over the years often has felt like it could have done better with a little less rather than a little more. Why was it necessary to have Kate McKinnon as Justin Bieber, Baldwin as Tony Bennett, and Tarem Killam as Christoph Waltz in the "Celebrity Jeopardy" sketch when Will Ferrell as Alex Trebek, Darrell Hammond as Sean Connery, Jim Carrey as Matthew McConaughey and Norm Macdonald as Burt Reynolds sufficed? Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader's comedic perfection wasn't enough to rescue the never-ending, yet delightfully sophomoric, "Californians." (Taylor Swift and whatever accent that was shoved in the killing knife.) Emma Stone was funny several years ago singing about her broken arm, but impersonating Gilda Radner's Roseanne Roseannadanna was simply awkward.

But the show was mostly wonderful, funny and tearful, politely yet unabashedly reminding the world why it is still needed. We were shown clips of original auditions of cast members -- Jon Lovitz, Jay Pharaoh, Will Forte, Radner, and others -- and some whom producer Lorne Michaels surely regrets not hiring, like Carrey, Stephen Colbert, and Zach Galifianakis. Jack Nicholson reminded the audience of what America was like in 1975 -- the last Americans were leaving Vietnam, Watergate was still fresh on everyone's mind, and President Ford, according to the New York Post, felt NYC should "drop dead." SNL in those days responded with furious gusto, allowing a tall, handsome comic who shared virtually no physical similarity to Ford convince Americans that a few stumbles equaled complete clumsiness and stupidity. Perhaps no other show has done more to shape how Americans have viewed their political leaders. (Bush even called his meetings "strategery meetings," and Tina Fey turned Sarah Palin's explanation of Russia's proximity to Alaska into "I can see Russia from my house.") The show did not refrain that night either. Original cast member Jane Curtin joined fellow former "Weekend Update" anchors Fey and Amy Poehler to note that she used to be the only pretty blond presenting fake news; "now, there's a whole networked devoted to that."

After the re-airing of the hilarious "Colon Blow" fake commercial in its entirety, Martin Short (whose one season of SNL, with Crystal and others, turned him into a household name in America) and Maya Rudolph as Beyonce introduced several returning members to recreate some of their memorable musical performances -- Ana Gasteyer and Ferrell as Bobbi and Marty Mohan singing their version of "Uptown Funk," Joe Piscopo as Frank Sinatra, Adam Sandler's Opera Man, and Bill Murray as lounge singer Nick Ocean, who added lyrics to the "Jaws" theme, accompanied by Paul Shaffer. This wasn't simply a several-hour series of clips, as the anniversaries in 1989 and 1999 were, though it would have been appreciated to see more of the non-live clips the show does, like the hysterical "TV Funhouse" cartoons Robert Smigel, Louis C.K. and others wrote. We were, though, treated to a brand new Digital Short of Andy Sandberg's, featuring his co-star from "That's My Boy" and fellow SNL alumn Adam Sandler. One near-final moment was the touching, Oscars-style in memoriam for its crew and cast members who have passed away; it was a very touching tribute to Jan Hooks, Don Pardo, Tom Davis, Andy Kaufman, Michael O'Donaghue, and many others. Bill Murray closed with saying that he had to include one final bit of news, and in the spirit of his fellow cast member, Garrett Morris, told the audience that Francisco Franco is still dead.

Fans of one of the most memorable sketches, Wayne's World, might have had to stay up pretty late to see Mike Myers and Dana Carvey reunite to party on (perhaps in tribute to the fact that the skit was nearly rejected initially and only given the dreaded last slot of the night). Myers remarked of the 40-year stretch that is the show, to which Carvey asked, "Do you mean this show has been going on for 40 years?" After mocking the apparent lack of originality in some of the show's critics and doubters during the not-so-good years who asked if the show should be called "Saturday Night Dead," the two sported their dueling Lorne Michaels impersonations, and Myers', in particular, should remind movie-watching audiences of a certain character.    

I suppose I have to mention what seemed to so very much upset viewers: Eddie Murphy's brief, admittedly awkward, return to the show that made him famous. By now, just about everyone knows his famous rise on the show; how, after the departure of Michaels and crew (and the disastrous sixth season), Murray almost single-handely carried the show, or, as "Live From New York: The Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live" co-author James Andrew Miller has said, "saved the franchise." But after supposedly becoming livid after cast member David Spade dismissively called him a "falling star" in the 1990s, it has been no secret that Murphy had had no intentions of ever returning or even discussing his time on the show. Was I disappointed by the brevity of Murphy's appearance? I suppose. Would I have liked to have seen him appear as Michaels originally wanted him to appear? Not really. Was it the worst part of the show? No. Is he still a legend? Yes. Did he still save the show? Obviously. Was it incredible to see him there? Definitely. Do I hope and have faith that he will one day appear as host? That's not even a serious question.  

Of all the numerous amounts of ink that have recently been spilled about this iconic show, none have been as fascinating to read as Rob Shefield's article in Rolling Stones magazine ranking all 141 cast members of the show's history. (Coming in at dead last is a cast member from the 11th season named Robert Downey, Jr.) Look at some of those in the top ten: Chevy Chase (the man who "took one season to define the franchise"), Gilda Radner ("the most beloved of the original cast members"), Amy Poehler (who "could do warmth," yet was "always buzzing with a real don't-mess-with-me hostility never far from the surface"), Phil Hartman (the "grown-up in the room" and "'the Glue' for holding the show together"), Dan Aykroyd (the cast member with "biker-intellectual intensity"), John Belushi ("the first rock & roll star of comedy"). Certainly an argument could be made that the world would not be witnesses to decades of laughter from these individuals if not for the man who put them on the show: Lorne Michaels. Michaels, who for forty (technically thirty-five) years led the show through high and low, is a Canadian who created an American institution, one that, as Paul Simon sang near its closing moments of its 40th anniversary, is still crazy after all these years. Perhaps it still will be for the next forty. Here's hoping.

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Oscar Predictions

What was supposed to be the Oscar year in which Richard Linklater and "Boyhood" took home the big prizes, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu and "Birdman" might just pull it off instead. The past several weeks have proved that the momentum has almost decisively shifted to the latter's favor, even if its lead actor's chances have gone done. Who will win?

The real horse-race this year is the Best Actor category. While it initially seemed like it was Michael Keaton for his comeback role in "Birdman," with wins at the Golden Globes and Critics Choice Awards, as the man to beat, Eddie Redmayne seems to have taken the lead with his best performance yet in "The Theory of Everything." Redmayne also won at the Globes and then took home trophies at the Screen Actors Guild ceremony and recently at the BAFTAs. Had Keaton and Redmayne not been nominated, this easily would have been Benedict Cumberbatch's win for his exceptional work in "The Imitation Game," but with such fierce competition from Keaton and Redmayne, this isn't his year. Incidentally, Steve Carell has also given us his best work in "Foxcatcher," but in a role that essentially is a supporting one, and with all due respect to Bradley Cooper and his third consecutive nomination for "American Sniper," David Oyelowo's performance in "Selma" was more deserved. Carell and Cooper are the least likely to win.

So who will win Best Actor? My head tells me it's going to be Redmayne. While the Academy has traditionally picked a veteran over a newbie (e.g. Humphrey Bogart over Marlon Brando, Gregory Peck over Peter O'Toole, and John Wayne over Dustin Hoffman), these days, they're not too interested in a comeback (e.g. Sean Penn over Mickey Rourke), and definitely are in love with biographical portrayals (for films like "Ray," "The Iron Lady," "The King's Speech," "Capote," etc.). There is an understandable controversy about Redmayne's performance, centering on the Academy's constant rewarding of actors without disabilities portraying characters with disabilities. However, with Redmayne's case, because he was playing Stephen Hawking in his earlier years as well as Hawking as the figure we now recognize, I wouldn't be surprised if Academy voters ignore the controversy. Still, while Redmayne's is a really great performance, Keaton, in my mind, slightly surpasses him. For one, it's true that comedy is harder than drama. It is also, it could be argued, equally or more difficult to create a new character, especially one that seems to, in some respect, tease Michael Keaton and his status as former superhero star staging a comeback. My prediction is still that Keaton will win, but I'd say it's only slightly higher than 50 percent; it is, essentially, the toughest Best Actor race in a long time.

Regarding the final major nail-biter, the Best Picture race, this is also the hardest race to predict in years. "Boyhood" seems to be the choice of critics, as it won at the New York and L.A. film critics awards as well as the Critics Choice Awards; "Birdman," however, stole its thunder with wins at the Screen Actors Guild, Directors Guild, and Producers Guild awards. The latter three in particular are usual good indicators of who will win. This is another head-versus-heart match. I think "Birdman," Inarritu's fifth film, could very well likely win, but my gut still tells me that the Best Picture (and Director) Award will go to "Boyhood." "Boyhood" is an epic of the 21st century, and I think the Oscars will reward that.

Regarding the rest of the races, they should be fairly predictable:

Best Actress: Julianne Moore ("Still Alice")
Best Supporting Actress: Patricia Arquette ("Boyhood")
Best Supporting Actor: J.K. Simmons ("Whiplash")
Best Adapted Screenplay: "The Imitation Game"
Best Original Screenplay: "The Grand Budapest Hotel"
Best Song: "Selma"
Best Visual Effects: "Interstellar"
Best Makeup: "Guardians of the Galaxy"

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2014: The Year of Shitty Movies

Hey there, cats and kittens,

While this time of year typically brings great joy to release my list of the best films of the year (as I did in 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013), I regret to inform you that there will be no top ten list this year. This past year has given us, by far, the worst slate of motion pictures in more than a decade. Whereas the previous year gave us such noteworthy greats as "Wadjda," "12 Years a Slave," and "Nebraska," this year gave us a disappointing mess, for lack of a better word.

There were a variety of different duds, from blockbusters ("Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier") to independent artsy movies ("Only Lovers Left Alive"), and movies so boring the best solution was probably to turn them off ("Particle Fever" and "Le-Weekend"). Some big names gave us crap, too -- there was Darren Aronofsky's worst film ("Noah"), and Tim Burton's most boring ("Big Eyes"). And of course, how can I not forget Mr. Clint Eastwood? Eastwood, though still a universally-loved legend, this year not only gave us the awful "Jersey Boys" (which actually was ridiculed by the critics), but he also directed the most divisive, controversial (and arguably the worst) movie of his career: "American Sniper." Aside from the fact that this movie dumbs down and rewrites history while painting the Iraq War in black-and-white moral terms, this movie was simply boring--dreadfully boring (and you would think that a guy with four Oscars would notice a fake baby). Aside from its opening moments, there wasn't a single scene that really engaged me, and people might be able to legitimately claim it's "powerful" if they've never seen a plethora of other superior war movies. "American Sniper" is one of the worst movies of the year.

Then there's "Birdman," a movie I really, really wanted to like. What a cast -- Michael Keaton, in his comeback role, Edward Norton, Emma Stone, Naomi Watts, Zach Galifianakis. Coupled with a clever screenplay, as well as a respected director and great cinematography, this should have been a movie I really liked. And yet, like so many other 2014 movies, I felt letdown and bored out of my mind. That being said, I hope Keaton wins the Oscar. His performance is excellent, and is one of the few good things about "Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)." Perhaps one day, I will re-watch it and enjoy it, but I doubt that will happen.

There were movies that had great performances, like the always perfect Marion Cotillard (deservedly nominated this year for "Two Days, One Night") in "The Immigrant," Joaquin Phoenix in "Inherent Vice," Tom Cruise in "Edge of Tomorrow," Melissa McCarthy in "St. Vincent," Oscar Isaac in "A Most Violent Year," and the late, great Philip Seymour Hoffman in "A Most Wanted Man"; great performances in crap movies that could cure insomnia. There were other movies that were just utterly ridiculous, like "Fury," a movie in which five Americans in a tank defeat practically the entire Nazi army, or pretentious junk like "Begin Again," or dull documentaries like "Citizenfour," or puffed-up animation such as "Big Hero 6," Disney's movie where they turn a likable healthcare-providing robot into a weapon of mass destruction. And it wasn't simply Hollywood that released such garbage. Films from a variety of different nations also bored me to tears: "Ida" from Poland; "The Tale of Princess Kaguya" and "The Wind Rises" from Japan; "Stranger by the Lake" and "Ernest and Celestine" (two radically different movies) from France; "What If" from Canada; "The Missing Piece" from Cambodia; "Calvary" from Ireland; "Mr. Turner," "Starred Up," and "Under the Skin" from the U.K.; and "Force Majeure" and "We Are the Best" from Sweden and Denmark.

Maybe I should just quit.

Here's hoping for better movies in 2015.

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Into the Woods

Once the familiar becomes strange, as Michael Sandel has said, things are never quite the same. So it is in Disney's adaptation of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's "Into the Woods." Here, the familiar becomes quite strange. I recall complaining to my theatre professor when my university put on a production of "Into the Woods" my freshman year that I didn't care for the sudden change in mood during the second act of the musical. But he and others convinced me of this necessity; strange is often quite good, and Disney, of all studios, has done a mostly good job of avoiding the "Disneyfication" of these famous stories like it did for practically a century.

"Into the Woods" is a musical featuring a variety of different fairy tales so juxtaposed with each other that one might be advised to take a copious amount of notes. There's the usual suspects: a little hungry girl with a red cape; Cinderella, slaving away at home for her terrible step-family; Jack, unable to help his mother because their cow will not produce any milk. But then there's something about a curse being placed on a house of a baker and his wife, or something like that. The plot is not too interesting. But the couple are forced to collect a series of items for a witch (Meryl Streep), who placed the curse, and so on their journey they come across all these characters.

Many of the musical numbers fall fairly flat in terms of interest, but there is something certainly peculiar about it all. Here, as our characters sing, the woods are just trees, and the trees are just woods; stay on the path, they may try, but something wicked surely will come. Little by little, we see these characters' stories becoming intertwined. Little Red Riding Hood (Lilla Crawford) embarks on her journey into the woods to bring some bread to Granny (who is sick in bed), and, as we all expect, she comes across a hungry wolf (Johnny Depp). Depp appears only in one sequence as the Wolf, ears pointed and tie undone, with long black claws. It's a pretty good scene, and despite the (mostly) unfair wave of recent criticism he has recently received, like when the Washington Post's Stephanie Merry called him a "51-year-old ham," it shows that Depp still has it. Is the sequence disturbing? Yes, but by now everyone knows the dark history of these old fairy tales and their didactic nature -- take a read to find out what really happens to Cinderella's stepsisters in the original Grimm stories.

The other actors are also quite good. I knew Meryl Streep and Anna Kendrick (Cinderella) could sing, but I had no idea Tracy Ullman (Jack's mother) and James Corden, who plays the baker, could as well. But the one who really is impressive is Captain Kirk himself -- Chris Pine, as Prince Charming, belts out "Agony" with co-star Billy Magnussen in one of the best scenes in the movie. Also giving good performances are Crawford and Daniel Huttlestone as Jack (of the "Beanstalk" story). (Huttlestone appeared in "Les Miserables" two years ago and Crawford makes her film debut here; she also played the title character in "Annie" in the Broadway revival.)

Job certainly well done to director Rob Marshall. We all knew he could get great singing from his actors from his previous movies, but beyond that he deserves credit for this incredible production design, especially its design by Dennis Gassner and Anna Pinnock, and visual effects team lead by Christian Irles, Matt Johnson, and Stefano Pepin. In addition to a nomination for Streep and the production design team, Colleen Atwood is deservedly nominated for her costumer design. This is truly one of the most visually impressive movies of the year, especially the sequences featuring the angry lady-giant, imaginably one of the more difficult moments to visualize. Beyond that, there might be some disappointment. There isn't quite as much thought as I think many people would want, and I don't think there's any way of being able to decipher if this is or isn't a parable about AIDS, as some have theorized the original musical is. Still, compared to many of the disappointing duds of December, "Into the Woods" is quite the treat.

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Selma

"Our feet are tired, but are souls are rested."
-Martin Luther King

In the opening scene of "Selma," directed by Ava DuVernay, Martin Luther King stares into a mirror and mentions a "disdain for hopelessness." He's simultaneously putting on his tie. It is 1965. It's an incredible way to open the movie, with a haunting score by Jason Moran (in his debut). But then we immediately go from Oslo, Norway to Birmingham, Alabama, where four young girls are descending stairs in what appears to be a church, and it doesn't require a PhD in History to at least suspect what is coming. The church explodes, killing the four girls inside.

King, played exceptionally by David Oyelowo, is not going to tire from his success in helping to pass the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and becoming a Nobel laureate -- he's instead going to Washington, D.C. to try and stress to President Lyndon Johnson that more urgent work is desperately needed, and they need LBJ's help. Despite the passage of the Civil Rights Act, blacks are still being systematically persecuted, and this is made possible by segregationist white governors, police chiefs, juries, etc. If a perpetrator actually sees his day in court (a rarity), then the white jury always finds the white criminal not guilty. Why? Because, MLK tells LBJ, to serve on a jury, a person needs to be registered to vote. And while, technically, blacks did have the right to vote in 1965, as the next scene demonstrates, this was often not actually the case. In the scene, Annie Lee Cooper (played by Oprah Winfrey, a producer of the film), attempts to register (again) to vote. She is rudely asked to recite the preamble to the Constitution. Upon beginning, she is then rudely demanded to identify how many county judges there are in Alabama. She answers correctly. "Name them," is the next order. Her request is denied.

The film accurately portrays Cooper's bravery and her punching a police officer, and Winfrey has stated that she wished to portray the character because of her courage. The depiction of President Johnson, however, has become a bit more controversial. A group of historians and Johnson advisers have pushed back against the notion that King and Johnson had a tense relationship, or that they disagreed about the procedure for solving the problems. Johnson historian Julian E. Zelizer recently wrote at Vox that Johnson and the civil rights leaders were partners, not adversaries. And as Bill Moyers, himself a former Johnson adviser, has pointed out, it was not Johnson who was behind the wiretapping of King's phones. The culprit? Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, two years earlier. And it should not be doubted that the FBI was ruthless toward King. In addition to the wiretapping, an FBI agent, using terms like "filthy" and "abnormal," sent King a letter suggesting the civil rights leader kill himself.

While the scenes with Johnson might be seen as dumbing-down the history of everything, I don't think they hurt the film too much. While it's truly bizarre that Oyelowo didn't receive a Best Act nomination, his fellow Brits give disappointing performances. Tom Wilkinson isn't particularly good as LBJ, and neither is Tim Roth, whose accent sounds more like an exaggerated version of Kevin Spacey in "House of Cards" than it does than the venomous governor of Alabama, George Wallace (whose daughter, incidentally, claimed Wallace saw the errors of his ways and regretted his years of proclaiming that in Alabama there would be "segregation today, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever"). The rest of the cast, however, is sufficient and plentiful: Common, Wendell Pierce, Lorraine Toussaint, and Cuba Gooding, Jr. all appear as civil rights activists, as does Martin Sheen as a judge hearing the case of the legality of the banning of marching in Selma, and Carmen Ejogo (another Brit) is excellent as Coretta Scott King. In her scenes, Ejogo (who also played the character in "Boycott" from 2001 and who had met her) portrays Coretta not only as a concerned wife but one understandingly angry about her husband's infidelity in scenes demonstrating that DuVernay and her team aren't afraid of de-mythologizing MLK a bit.

"Selma it is." King and his advisers agree to go to Selma to march to Montgomery in a demonstration to demand their right to vote. They concentrate on a "defined battleground," and predictably are met with violence; it's "open season," as Johnson warns. One young man is shot and killed in front of his family. In scenes that provoke demonstrators to ask how it can be that troops were being sent to Vietnam but not Selma, skulls are cracked and scores of people chased. These are not, in any stretch of the imagination, easy moments to watch. As the judge Sheen plays notes, "the wrongs are enormous." So it was then, and so it is, frankly, now.

Is "Selma" a great film? No, and at times it doesn't aspire to be more than a mediocre movie about history, much like "The Imitation Game" before it. I hope that this continues the success of Oyelowo, who also appeared in "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" and "Lee Daniels' The Butler," and I hope that the Academy (which is 93 percent white and 76 percent male, and has been stung by a Twitter campaign called #OscarsSoWhite with tweets like "they didn't see 'Selma' but their housekeeper said it was really good") continues to not only diversify but also has enough sense to nominate DuVarney when she earns it. That being said, "Selma" is a movie you should see, but that does not make it one of the year's best.

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The Interview

This is what all the fuss was about? A film showcasing James Franco trying way, way too hard? A film light on satire and heavy on bathroom jokes? Yes, indeed, this is, we have all found out, at the center of a geopolitical scandal like none before it. What was meant to be the third part of the Rogen/Franco trilogy (the first being the overrated "The Pineapple Express" and the second being the underrated "This Is the End") has become one of the most controversial motion pictures of our time, and all for nothing.

Here, Franco is Dave Skylark, a celebrity news journalist who shares a concern with his producer, Aaron Ropoport (Seth Rogen), that they and their show are not taken seriously by their fellow journalists and the public. Anxious to show the world their true talent, they discover that North Korean leader Kim Jong-un (his name has not been altered for the movie; perhaps his personality hasn't, either) is a huge fan of the show, and so they have an epiphany: interview Kim himself. The CIA, however, isn't opposed to the idea of the two of them going to the most isolated nation in the world, but they would certainly appreciate it if the two of them could "take him out." Dave and Aaron are understandably a bit stunned. "You mean for drinks?" Aaron asks.

In "The Interview," Franco gives the least funny performance of his entire career, a performance so devoid of humor it makes his job as Oscar host look like a gem. He creates a character that is perhaps the most annoying in cinematic history, a rich celebration of desperate gibberish and cruel obnoxiousness. Just when it can't become any more over the top, he goes full-Smeagol, twitching and squirming about -- and we're barely ten minutes into the movie. Franco is an actor who is known for his immoderate hyperactivity in movies, but may this movie be a warning to all actors to avoid such an approach.

The movie continues, but the laughs do not. There are practically a dozen cameos, and none of them funny. Eminem comes out as gay ("the greatest moment in gay history"), Rob Lowe has no hair, Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays with dogs, or something -- the stuff of comedic genius. Hollywood (and late-night comedians) need to learn that celebrity cameos aren't automatically funny, and they certainly aren't here. Rogen himself, though, usually offering the only chuckles sprinkled throughout the movie, doesn't really provide anything unique compared to his previous material. True, Rogen and Franco do have a couple of funny moments. As the North Korean guards bang on their door, the two, with material to assassinate Kim, must surely hide it, so they expectedly perform a false conversation: "Uh, I'm gonna take a shower." To which the reply is, "Okay...I'm gonna take one with you." Skylark and Kim develop a bit of a friendship; the latter shows off his tank that was a gift to his grandfather from Stalin. "In my country," Skylark assures him, "it's pronounced 'Stallone.'" The two relate to one another, and there are obvious allegories to the Kim-Dennis Rodman "friendship."

At least some props must be given: There are a few genuinely good moments of satire, not only poking fun at America's enemies, but America itself. The actor who plays Kim (Randall Park) is pretty good, and I couldn't help but think that the movie does, in fact, get better as it goes. I, for one, will never not be a joyful witness to a mocking of such a disgusting pig like Kim. (My sincere apologies to pigs everywhere for the comparison, for it is truly unjust.) 

But my ultimate conclusion is that this is certainly a missed opportunity. I know this is pretentious of me, but I think most folks would not understand that the portrayals of Kim, North Korea, and how North Koreans view their leader are not quite exaggerations in the movie. The film accurately portrays the fake crying, the charades of propaganda throughout every aspect of the country, and the deification of the Kim supreme leaders. Kang Chol-hwan, a defector from North Korea who survived ten years in a North Korean concentration camp, wrote in his memories that to his childish eyes, "Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-il were perfect beings, untarnished by any base human function. I was convinced, as we all were, that neither of them urinated or defecated. Who could imagine such things of gods?" "The Interview" puts it in a bit more sophomoric way by stating that Kim "has no need for a butthole."  Perhaps a movie like "The Interview" will help people everywhere realize not only the numerous absurdities of North Korea, but also the atrocities, the ultimate and complete oppression that is totally unprecedented, unlike anything ever seen in recent humor history. (Imagine if Hitler and Stalin dominated every aspect of their respective citizens' lives and if their families ruled for three generations.)

One could wonder if it's a good idea to laugh about this sort of thing when such things are actually occurring. Beyond that, while there now appears to be some doubt about who actually hacked Sony, some have argued that putting on your Uncle Sam hat and chanting U-S-A! as you watch Kim being mocked is what Kim actually wants you to do. But memories of this scandal behind the release of "The Interview" will far outlive the movie itself. And beyond that, as mentioned, this is a dismal attempt at satirizing a terrible despot. The Greatest Generation had "The Great Dictator." We have "The Interview."

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The Polar Express

"The Polar Express" certainly starts out with a great deal of ambition while trying to make sure it presses all the right notes required of a Christmas movie. There's a calm, mystical score by Alan Silvesti, the usual composer of director Robert Zemeckis, and quite impressive visual effects. There's a poem (as all stories about Christmas must have) of a young boy who is starting to lose faith in Santa. He picks up an encyclopedia to discover that the North Pole is, contrary to all the stories he's been told, "devoid of all life." (Oh, knowledge -- how cruel you are.) The epiphany of this boy's awareness of Santa is where things start to spoil. The score becomes overly repetitive, and the "is-it-real-or-is-it-not" animation begins to make some of the characters looks like aliens. Fairly soon, it becomes evident that the only thing devoid of life in this film is the film itself.

Trains in the movies are usually magical things. One would think that would be the case here, in a movie that features some sort of ghost-hobo and flying reindeer. It's true that things certainly look quite magical in "The Polar Express." After all, an actual train shows up in front of the house of young "Hero Boy." (Yes, that's what he's credited as.) Our young boy is performed by...Tom Hanks? Yes, not only does Hanks, who has shown us that he can play a man dying of AIDS and a man with a mental disability and everything else, play the train conductor (the central adult character) and practically every adult male role in the film, but also "Hero Boy." Why Zemeckis and crew didn't simply have Daryl Sabara (who voiced the character) provide the motion-capture is something I just don't understand. Anyway, Hero Boy gets on the train to the North Pole because why wouldn't he? If we are to believe that a train can show up (and go to) such a place, then we must believe that Hero Boy would get on that train. (Seriously, what a terrible name for a character.) Hero Boy (argh, it sounds so stupid) meets a group of children, one of whom, Hero Girl (who wrote this?), seems to have a crush on him. Another one, a know-it-all (I suppose I should mention that that's the character's name, as well) is not only performed but also voiced by an adult, which just adds to the misery of hearing a child say the words "wise guy." Then we are witness to two not-so-competent (or safe) train engineers whose annoying attributes make Jingle and Jangle, the humorless elf duo of "The Year Without a Santa Claus," look like amateurs in the realm of humor and efficiency. These are several of the attempts at humor that I can't imagine even children laughing at.

This movie isn't all bad. Hanks does do a mostly sufficient job as most of these characters, even though he hams it up so often. "The Polar Express" looks and feels quite wondrous and even frightening, like the graveyard of forgotten toys. One of them even appears to come to life and wants to attack the young boy. "The Polar Express" turns ten years old this year, and the scenes like that have aged well. So no one would deny that Zemeckis, who started his computer animation trilogy with "The Polar Express," is a master of visual storytelling. But his best movies, like "Back to the Future," "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," and "Forrest Gump," focus more on character than visuals. Here, the opposite is true. Its only focus is on visuals, with every sequence trying to top itself, to the point where a giant star on a giant Christmas tree nearly crashes through the skull of one of Santa's elves. And for some reason, 45 minutes into the movie, it embraces its chaotic train ride energy and suddenly becomes a musical. You know how they say you know you've seen a good musical when you leave the theater and the songs are stuck in your head? I can't even imagine the ones who worked on the productions of these dismal songs to have them stuck in theirs upon leaving the studio.

The song that Haley Joel Osment-lookalike sings fortunately finishes, and our characters finally make it to the North Pole, which oddly enough does seem devoid of life (in the figurative, sarcastic sense) but (of course) is inhabited by an army of elves all dressed in red, crawling over each other to shower their adoration on their fascist of a master. The characters (who might just be representing the most annoying portrayal of children in any movie) finally meet Santa Claus (who is also played by Tom Hanks), and then the movie still goes on for another 15 minutes. No exciting train scene can save this film. Ten years later, "The Polar Express" is, for some reason, considered a holiday classic. Call me Ebeneezer, but this movie is crap.

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