The execs of Film Club came together to write about Oscar’s Best Picture nominees and here is the result… *drum roll*
Todd Medema
If you’re looking for an action movie, Boyhood is not for you. If you’re looking for science fiction, Boyhood is not for you. If you are looking for an escape from reality – Boyhood is not for you. No, the beauty of Boyhood is how real it feels. And, indeed, how real it is. Boyhood has the unique claim to fame of being filmed over 12 years… A technique that gives the film such a level of Authenticity that you can’t help but relate to the characters as they go through the challenges of life that we all have experienced. The experience of watching Boyhood is almost as if looking in a mirror, or reviewing old photo albums. Though it may technically classified as a fiction narrative, its story is the non-fiction story that we all share. Two thumbs up.
Max Harlynking
Birdman could only have been made in the time in which we live; a period in which instagrammed selfies form a continuous affirmation to ourselves that we matter. Everyone can post something and receive a specific number telling them how much people “Like” it. Michael Keaton, in a brilliant casting move, plays Riggan, an extreme version of what the public thinks of Keaton and what Keaton may think of himself. Riggan is a washed up ex-celebrity; someone who used to represent greatness by playing the titular superhero. But while Birdman seems like the story of an actor struggling to release a short story self-adapted into a play of “artistic merit,” it might as well actually be about us, the general public, facing our own love and hatred of the self-absorbing ego. After all, what is it to most of us whether a thing has artistic value?
Riggan has a constant debate with himself throughout the film, a quote sitting on his dresser reading: “A thing is a thing. Not what is said of that thing.” If this is criticism’s main role, to define what each thing is, as the film would put it- why even have critics at all? Things are simply as they are, and one must accept them for what and how they have turned out without considering the deeper subtext or “meaning.” The quote seems to combat the very Generation-Z ideal that we are what people think of us, suggesting instead that every picture we post on Facebook is only a picture, and not a representation of how attractive our friends think we are.
The film moves like no other in recent memory. Birdman is a film that, in the editing room, was entirely re-timemapped to keep a consistent flow and pace. There is a central heartbeat here- a drumset, sometimes literal, other times floating in the background, keeping the film moving as the one continuous camera shot (yes, seemlingly only one) weaves in and out of dressing rooms, stages, street scenes, and hallways, dancing like an omnipotent boy playing with a series of dolls in his theater playhouse. The boy, in this case, is Alejandro Iñárrito, who, along with cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki and production designer Kevin Thompson, creates a wonderful environment for the actors/dolls to act out their play.
In a parallel to the play it contains, Birdman functions in three acts; each being separated by the near-literal “curtain-fall” of a simple pan-up to the sky and a fast forward in time. The three-act structure works for this “play” about a play, which is also a film about films and a piece of art about art pieces. Unfortunately, this is the central flaw with the otherwise remarkable piece. Much like the former-actor-turned-playwright sitting in its talons, Birdman gets too caught up in meta-criticism for its own good.
Riggan has an argument midway through the movie with a theater critic who is planning on giving him a bad review despite her not having seen his play. He begs her not to, citing his own hard work and dedication as reason alone to respect and admire his piece. When it comes to art, the critic seems to say, it doesn’t matter how much work we put into it, and it doesn’t even matter if we give our lives to the effort. In fact, the only thing that does matter to this critic (and others) is the meaning formed from outcome of our intentions. As for the outcome of Riggan’s- it’s certainly a sight to behold.
At one point growing wings and soaring through the New York City skyline, Riggan seemingly returns to his former glory, becoming the superhero he once pretended to be. Explosions wreck havoc in the street and helicopters soar overhead, crashing and creating mayhem. This is the role of the actor- a metaphorical destroyer of worlds; someone for which an ego can be so completely boundless it forces the world to believe the image they purvey. We love our superheros/actors because they love themselves. These larger than life characters, for whom we travel to theaters and spend our hard-earned money to praise and enjoy, show us our fullest capability as humans. The characters are larger than us and represent everything we want to be- so why shouldn’t we love them? A thing only is what it is and nothing more, according to the film, and following this motto, we can see that the characters- our superheros; our actors; are only projections of ourselves. They represent our idealizations; our perfections and imperfections shown on a screen that is quite literally larger than life. Then we are taught to idolize and admire these characters from a young age- watching the Oscars and witnessing a glimpse of the glamour that is celebrity. As much as any, these are the world’s “heros,” but as the film seems to suggest, should they be?
Birdman takes these themes on, blowing them up to us as Hollywood is wont to do (the Hollywood versus New York style being another debate held throughout). But the film never allows us to extrapolate new ideas past the basic concepts- sometimes literally shouting at us what we should be thinking and feeling. While Birdman should be commended for putting an independent New York style on what could have been a Hollywood-style film, a thing still is a thing and not what is said of it.
Birdman, much like the play in it, does what it does very well, but leaves one wanting more space to sit back and appreciate the big thoughts behind it, rather than the big personalities being pushed to the front.
Talia Shea Levin
In a season of films that claim to serve a higher purpose – for society, for history, for auteur gratification – yet often fall short of their promises, it is refreshing to see Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash exist for the sake of nothing but the clear and concise communication of its own story.
Whiplash is possessed of such singular vision, barrels toward its conclusion with such reckless disregard for anything but the most essential elements required for its narrative arc, that it is all too easy to forget just how complex of an arc that was and instead remember only J.K. Simmons’s stern jaw line. But to discuss Simmons’s masterful work independent of the whole film, as the media and awards circuit is wont to do, would be a disservice to the beating, bleeding artist’s heart at the core of the thing. Whiplash is a film about humanity’s ingrained desire for greatness, compounded by distinctive millennial individualism and artistic egoism, then almost thwarted but somehow, if you narrow your eyes and lean forward at the whirlwind end of the film, also enabled by an accompanying complete lack of perspective. Perfection is impossible, but those who manage to come closest would disagree.
Whiplash gives us a lot more to chew on than that monomaniacal thesis might suggest. Miles Teller’s impulsive, driven jazz drummer Andrew Neimann has not even figured out his own thoughts on that statement by the start of the film. Though there are no Birdman-esque speeches on life and art and the meaning or meaningless-ness of any of it, Andrew’s journey speaks for itself on all that and more. Taut editing lets us see, hear, and feel Andrew’s deep pain right alongside his insurmountable passion. Do the two go hand in hand, as J.K. Simmons’s fierce Fletcher would argue, or must one renounce both in favor of happiness, as Andrew’s father, portrayed with delicacy by Paul Reiser, might suggest instead? Chazelle places Andrew and us in Fletcher’s camp, looking through a distorted glass at a comfortable but inadequate normalcy outside. We become just as conflicted as Andrew, just as traumatized, just as thrilled by the possibility that it might all end in ultimate triumph. When he fails, we cry with him but urge him to get back on his feet. When he succeeds we rejoice but fear for what tests of will still lay ahead. He is a warrior, a hero who skirts tragic downfall after downfall by mere millimeters, and keeps on charging into the fray, flaws and all.
Like Andrew’s perfect paradiddles, drum hits in rapid succession, Whiplash reveals the perils of a need to become the best and fuels the ambition to succeed in the same breath.
Chris Compendio
“The Grand Budapest Hotel” is a culmination of writer/director Wes Anderson’s work to date. Anderson’s specific and precise style and his extreme attention to detail all comes through in this expansive project, which really demonstrates how refined his craft now is. Ralph Fiennes leads the cast of Wes Anderson-all stars, including Adrien Brody, William Dafoe, Edward Norton, Jeff Goldblum, Owen Wilson, Bill Murray, and many more. All of these actors play their small, but generally memorable parts to a tee – though it is the charismatic Fiennes who is the heart and soul of the film. As mentioned, this film represents a refinement of Anderson’s visual style; one-point perspective is often used, production design is highly elaborate, and the film has a very bright color palette reminiscent of his previous work. But Anderson’s creativity thrives in this production, one example of this being the use of different aspect ratios to represent different periods of time. The story is presented and feels very much like that of a novel, and miniatures are used to great effect. If something as early as “Rushmore” is a diorama, “Grand Budapest” is more like a scale model, or a highly detailed ship-in-a-bottle. Even with some of his stylistic advances, this story still retains the very familiar and distinct quirky, sometimes off-the-rails feel of previous Anderson films. And with that feel also comes a certain charm that only Anderson could achieve. From beginning to end, this film is unpredictable, satisfying, a joy to just look at, and just plain enjoyable.
Suvrath Penmetcha
American Sniper captures the animosity and fear of the Middle East felt by most Americans. The movie is very patriotic and the story is propelled by Bradley Cooper’s transformation and his struggle to lead a normal life. Eastwood does a great job of making the audience root for Bradley Cooper’s character. However, the movie is very one-sided as it portrays all Iraqi people as deceptive, inhuman, and evil. The movie comes off feeling like a promotional for the U.S army. I’m rooting for it not to win Best Picture because it is so one-sided on its presentation of the turbulent Middle East. However, I’m rooting for Bradley Cooper to win Best Actor because his performance perfectly captured the sacrifice and long-lasting affects of joining the army.
Tracy Held Potter
“Selma” is a beautifully assembled historical drama following the American Civil Rights movement through Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s work in the town of Selma, Alabama where voter suppression had illegally excluded black citizens from voting in elections.
Written by Paul Webb and Ava DuVernay and directed by Ava DuVernay, the film is beautifully told through artful cinematography by Bradford Young and invested acting, particularly David Oyelowo who played Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr..
The story hinges on the need for the Civil Rights movement to recover from recent, less successful campaigns where the protests never generated the kind of activity that attracts media attention. Specifically, the nonviolent movement relied, to a significant extent, on the violence of government officials and local citizens to draw attention to the contrast between the peaceful actions of oppressed members of society with the aggressive and therefore irrational actions of others.
On top of that, Dr. King decides that the message of the campaign needs to be tangible and focused so that the public can rally behind it.
The town of Selma then became an attractive location to stage the next major event for the Civil Rights movement because it had a history of black voter suppression and violence toward African Americans. In the first Selma protest featured in the film, an older woman played by Oprah Winfrey is beaten to the ground creating the kind of media attention the movement needs.
The violence in this film was particularly well edited by Spencer Averick as it brought audiences into these scenes but forced them to experience the moments on an emotional rather than intellectual level.
The film has notoriously been underrepresented by this year’s Academy Awards, receiving nominations for just Best Picture and Best Song. Director Ava DuVernay weighs in on her response to this in an interview at this year’s Sundance Film Festival.