Let Oscar winner Anthony Quinn tell you what the hell love is

A face that says "romance": Anthony Quinn on the cover of his 1969 LP.

I don't know who was asking for it, but in 1969, Mexican-American actor Anthony Quinn, star of Zorba the Greek, recorded a spoken word album entitled In My Own Way... I Love You for Capitol Records. By that point, he'd already won two Academy Awards, so I guess he could do whatever the hell he wanted. I mean, who was going to say no to Anthony Quinn? The 12-song collection, also featuring the Harold Spina Singers, contained Quinn's gravely-voiced, philosophical musings about love, which he recited over a lush musical background. I'm guessing the album was supposed to set the mood for a romantic evening. If you were some high-powered advertising executive, say, and you'd just brought home some cutie from the typing pool back to your penthouse apartment, you'd put In My Own Way... I Love You on the hi-fi, pour some drinks, dim the lights, and wait for the magic to happen. And what did you get for your money? Well, you'd get tracks like "What is Love?" It takes Mr. Quinn quite a while to get around to answering the title question, and his winding path takes him through such diverse topics as peanut brittle, the New York Yankees, and "snitching a drag on a cigarette." My favorite part is when he just starts listing women's names. I can't tell you how many times I've amused myself by imitating this very passage. What eventually is revealed is that Anthony Quinn is, hands down, the manliest man who ever manned. Take a listen.

Joe's annual slog through the Best Picture nominees: Part Two

Conceptual artist Plastic Jesus takes a swipe at the Oscars with this public statue.

Dead 2 Rights will be going dark and staying dark for a while, my lovelies. Not by my choice. Circumstances have forced my hand. Specifically, I'm going to be doing some mandatory overtime at my job, and the Geek Squad have informed me that -- after five weeks of deliberation and analysis -- my laptop is irreparable. I learned both of these unhappy pieces of information on Friday afternoon. (Not a good day, in case you were wondering.) 

These are gloomy times, dear reader, gloomy times indeed. As the Walker Brothers put it back in '65, "The sun ain't gonna shine anymore. The moon ain't gonna rise in the sky." The days ahead are filled with long, tedious hours of work and very little time or opportunity for creative expression. Getting up earlier. Getting home later. Seeing very little (or no) daylight. I am currently very tired and very discouraged. But you know what? I'm only halfway through my rundown of the 2015 Best Picture nominees, and I figured I might as well finish the job before this blog goes on hiatus.

B o y h o o d

Ellar Coltrane gets older. This movie stays the same age.

Director: Richard Linklater

Cast includes: Ellar Coltrane, Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke, Lorelei Linklater, Marco Perella

The gist of it: Quiet, introspective Mason, Jr. (Coltrane) and his more outgoing sister (Linklater) grow up with a stressed-out but caring single mother (Arquette) over the course of 12 somewhat bumpy years in Texas. Mason's father (Hawke), an aspiring musician, initially struggles with being a responsible adult but does what he can to be a consistent presence in his children's life and eventually matures and mellows over time. Meanwhile, Mason's mother gets an education of her own and becomes a professor but makes some poor romantic choices and goes through two painful divorces from alcoholic men. Mason and his sister witness all of this, and it shapes who they become as they leave home and go off to college.

My take: First, an aside. I have joked, on more than one occasion, that the Harry Potter movies already did what Boyhood did, only with the addition of magic powers. At the time I first said that, I hadn't actually seen Boyhood. Well, now I know that same thought must have occurred to writer-director Richard Linklater, too, because there's a strong Harry Potter motif running through Boyhood, with at least two major scenes built around the J.K. Rowling franchise. 

Linklater's film is one of the most talked-about of the eight nominated movies and a perceived front-runner in the category. Much of the discussion has centered around the film's extraordinarily protracted production. (Linklater filmed the movie in pieces over twelve years so that star Ellar Coltrane would age naturally on camera.) Support for the film has been vocal, and this has triggered the usual, predictable backlash. I tried to ignore all of this and appreciate Boyhood on its own terms, which turned out to be a good strategy. 

This is a remarkably gentle film. Anyone waiting for a Big Plot Twist (death, car accident, courtroom trial, disease, unexpected pregnancy, etc.) is bound to be disappointed, as will anyone waiting for a Big Profound Message. Boyhood had neither, which very much separates it from most Oscar-nominated films. I, for one, was grateful. Linklater, who based Boyhood somewhat on his own experiences as a youth, does not try to force any plot complications or easy homilies onto these characters. He just observes them and lets us observe them. That was enough for me. It might not be for you.

My grade: B

T h e   T h e o r y   o f   E v e r y t h i n g

Eddie Redmayne and Felicity Jones share a tender moment in The Theory of Everything

Director: James Marsh

Cast includes: Eddie Redmayne, Felicity Jones, Harry Lloyd, Alice Orr-Ewing, David Thewlis

The gist of it: A biopic of British physicist Stephen Hawking, following him from his days at Cambridge in the 1960s to the successful publication of his book, A Brief History of Time, in the 1980s. Just as he's starting to make some potentially game-changing discoveries about the nature of black holes and the origin of time, Hawking's body turns traitor on him. A neuromuscular disorder gradually and painfully robs him of the ability to move and speak, leaving him confined to a motorized wheelchair and reliant upon a robotic-sounding, computer-generated voice. 

Initially given just two years to live, Hawking manages to survive for decades, eventually being recognized as perhaps the most famous and influential thinker of our time. Helping to make all of this possible is his strong-willed, long-suffering wife Jane (Jones), a brilliant woman in her own right who makes incredible sacrifices in order to care for her ailing husband. Part of what motivates Jane is that she truly believes in Stephen's work, though they often clash over religion and the existence or nonexistence of God.

My take: Arguably more famous than anything Stephen Hawking has ever said, done, or written is the image of the man himself: the fragile, motionless frame crumpled up in a motorized wheelchair, feet turned inward, shoulders askew, head lolled to the side, with a tinny, mechanized voice squawking from a speaker next to him. It's a classic tragic image: an extremely active mind held captive in a dungeon of a body. 

I think, despite our admiration for his accomplishments, we can't help but feel a bit sorry for him, though I doubt he'd want our pity. It's human nature. The Theory of Everything plays a bit like a superhero origin story. Gradually, over the course of its running time, we see Stephen Hawking become the "Stephen Hawking" that we all know from documentaries, acquiring all the trademark accessories one by one. We get to see him as a young man and think, "Oh, he used to be able to ride a bicycle! How sad!" 

This is a sentimental, heartstring-tugging biopic which, curiously, is not that much interested in science. Sure, we get some moments when Hawking makes breakthroughs, but the movie is much more about his relationship with wife Jane, and how it is affected by various outsiders (a male choir director, a female caregiver). It's almost soapy. None of this really registered with me, but I'm not sure why. It felt like a movie I would have recommended to my mother or grandmother, if either of them were still alive.

My grade: C+

T h e   I m i t a t i o n   G a m e

Benedict Cumberbatch's best friend is a machine in The Imitation Game.

Director: Morton Tyldum

Cast includes: Benedict Cumberbatch, Keira Knightley, Matthew Goode, Rory Kinnear, Allen Leech, Matthew Beard, Charles Dance

The gist of it: During World War II, brilliant British mathematician Alan Turing (Cumberbatch) -- a computer pioneer later famed for his "Turing test" -- works on a top-secret British military project to decode the Nazis' seemingly-unbreakable Enigma machine, which scrambles messages to outsiders to the point that they are impenetrable. 

Turing pins his hopes on a self-built machine he dubs "Christopher." Although he and his team, including proto-feminist Joan Clarke (Knightley), do eventually get Christopher to work and defeat Enigma, they realize that their newfound knowledge has to be doled out subtly and discreetly, so as to avoid tipping the Nazis off. Turing's codebreaking skills secure several important Allied victories and shortens the war by years, but the public is never made aware of his great achievements. After the war, in fact, Turing faces legal troubles for his then-illegal homosexuality.

My take: It seems like it would hardly be a Best Picture Showcase if there weren't at least one movie about the plight of African-Americans (slavery and the civil rights movement) and another movie about World War II. Selma was this year's example of the former category, a slot which has been filled by 12 Years a Slave, Lincoln, and The Help in years past. And it looks like The Imitation Game is this year's designated WW2 flick. This one is sort of a "twofer," since Alan Turing's postwar legal persecution also allows the filmmakers to work in a lesson about the evils of homophobia. 

Mainly, this movie suggests that perhaps that the war could have been over much sooner if everyone in England weren't such an insufferable prig. The movie presents Turing as a martyr figure who faces prejudice, doubt, and pigheadedness at every stage of his life and career. He has to shield "Christopher" with his body on multiple occasions. 

I guess the best thing about The Imitation Game is that it gives us a new perspective on the question: how do you win a war? The movie occasionally cuts away to footage of planes and tanks and soldiers, to remind you what's happening in the rest of England while Turing is fussing over his machine. But, as this movie sees it, the war wasn't won on any battlefields. It was won by a bunch of nerds doing calculations in a little hut. That's kind of inspiring, but I'm afraid it doesn't make for the most scintillating cinematic experience, at least not for me. 

Due to some questionable programming, I had just sat through another movie about British people working out complicated problems on chalkboards. Some "biopic fatigue" had started to set in while I watched this. Still, I don't see myself returning to The Imitation Game later in life.

My grade: B-

A m e r i c a n   S n i p e r

Bradley Cooper aims to kill for his country in American Sniper.

Director: Clint Eastwood

Cast includes: Bradley Cooper, Sienna Miller.

The gist of it: Rodeo cowboy Chris Kyle (Cooper), though approaching 30 years of age, feels obligated to join the Navy SEALS in order to combat terrorism and put his fearsome sharpshooting skills to use in defense of his nation. Once in Iraq, he becomes a sniper and quickly earns the nickname "the Legend" for his long list of confirmed kills. His wife, Taya (Miller), suffers greatly as Kyle serves four harrowing tours overseas. She has to raise the couple's two children virtually alone as he risks his life in combat and sees his buddies die around him. Though he denies it, the experience changes him greatly. 

When he comes back home between tours, he seems to be in a daze. His blood pressure is off the charts, and he experiences bouts of paranoia. After finally coming home for good, Kyle volunteers to help other wounded and mentally-disturbed veterans, partially to help them and partially to cope with his own PTSD and survivor's guilt. This endeavor, unfortunately, has tragic consequences.

My take: I only listed two cast members up there because, frankly, Cooper and Miller are the only two people who made a strong impression on me during American Sniper. There are various supporting characters, mainly military men who exist solely to get killed and provide further angst for the hero, but I had some trouble telling them apart. 

This is, at heart, the story of a man who struggles with his circumscribed role as a passionless killing machine and the wife who struggles to understand the man she married. This film serves as a blunt rebuttal to The Imitation Game.  How do you win a war? By shooting as many "savages" (the film's term) as you possibly can. American Sniper begins and ends as hero-making propaganda. The opening passages, regarding Kyle's upbringing and eventual entrance into the Navy SEALS, are almost painfully earnest and on-the-nose. The film's closing moments, too, are unambiguously sentimental. If you saw only the beginning and end of this film, you might mistake American Sniper for an updated version of a World War II propaganda picture. 

But there's a middle section full of protracted, bloody, bullet-ridden violence which may make the viewer question the nature of war and the effects it has on the men who fight. What happens to a man, for instance, when he has to kill a child in the line of duty? Unfortunately, American Sniper ultimately forgets any kind of ambiguity in its closing passages in favor of patriotic boosterism, thus (in my mind) negating much of what it had just accomplished. A shame, since Bradley Cooper labors mightily to make Chris Kyle a fascinating and multi-dimensional character.

My grade: C+

What Will Win: Boyhood
What I Want To Win: Birdman

Joe's annual slog through the Best Picture nominees: Part One

Four of the films up for the top prize at this year's Oscars.

I'd like to thank the Academy... for nominating only eight movies for Best Picture this year. The number of candidates for this award varies from year to year. Back when they started handing these cockamamie things out in 1928, there just weren't that many movies to go around, so there were only three nominees total. (It was so easy to get caught up back then!) 

In the 1930s, however, the quantity and quality of feature films increased exponentially, as did the roster of potential Best Picture candidates. The number of nominees hovered around nine or ten in the late '30s and early '40s. In 1944, the Academy dialed it back to just five per year, and it stayed that way for decades. Slumdog Millionaire from 2008 was the last movie to win under the classic "five nominees" system. Then, apparently, the Academy got nostalgic for the '30s, and the number of nominees again shot up to about nine or ten a year. This year, they've settled on a lean, mean eight titles. Good for them. That's plenty.

Why should I care how many flicks are up for the top Oscar? Well, because every year since 2009, I've been attending the AMC Theatre chain's annual Best Picture Showcase, a marathon of all the nominated films. This is my seventh time through the process. I've seen over 50 films this way.

 Why do I do this? Well, it's a little complicated. I call myself a movie fan, but I really don't go to movie theaters very often. I don't generally enjoy the ritual of "going to the movies," mainly because ticket prices have become astronomically expensive and audience members have become incredibly rude. Even when I like or love the film I'm seeing, I inevitably return home feeling like I've been cheated and a little abused. 

But, as I've explained before, being a self-proclaimed "movie geek" and never going to movie theaters is like claiming you're a Catholic and skipping every single mass. If film is a religion, theaters are the churches. The Best Picture Showcase, then, is like a holy day of obligation for me. Holy days, actually. It now takes two consecutive Saturdays. The first of those Saturdays was yesterday. Here's what went down.

T h e   G r a n d   B u d a p e s t   H o t e l

Tony Revolori and Ralph Fiennes have some transit troubles in The Grand Budapest Hotel.

Director: Wes Anderson

Cast includes: Ralph Fiennes, newcomer Tony Revolori, and an all-star cast including F. Murray Abraham, Edward Norton, Willem Dafoe, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton, Jeff Goldblum, Bill Murray, Jude Law, Owen Wilson, Jason Schwartzman, Tom Wilkinson, and Harvey Keitel.

The gist of it: The glory days and sad, decades-long decline of a plush luxury hotel are recounted during a dinner conversation between the place's melancholy owner (Abraham) and an inquisitive author (Law). At the heart of the hotel owner's story are the improbable exploits of its original concierge, M. Gustave (Fiennes), a suave and resourceful gigolo with exacting personal standards and an appreciation of the finer things in life. After inheriting a valuable painting from one of his aged paramours (Swinton), M. Gustave becomes the victim of a complicated and deadly conspiracy perpetrated by a disgruntled would-be inheritor (Brody) and his sinister sidekick (Dafoe). Prison escapes, ski chases, and several murders ensue. Complicating all of this is the beginning of World War II and the rise to power of the Third Reich.

My take: Movies are no longer the center of the pop cultural universe. They're no longer driving our national discussions the way they once did. In a sense, perhaps, movies are becoming obsolete. Most of what they used to do for us -- emotionally, aesthetically, and intellectually -- television and the Internet now do, often much better than the cinema. Certainly more efficiently. And the idea of going to a special, designated place (a cineplex) to actually sit still and view lengthy, non-interactive motion pictures in relative silence is, I'm sorry to say, a relic of an earlier, more naive, less jaded time. Downloading and streaming have leveled the playing field considerably. Movies are just more content to watch on your phone or your iPad. They've lost their cachet. 

In a sense, then, the crumbling hotel in this movie, which we see in both its glittering 1930s prime and decrepit 1960s dotage, is a perfect metaphor for motion pictures. And The Grand Budapest Hotel offers a pretty compelling argument for why we still need movies. It shows us what movies can offer us that no other medium can. This is a sensual experience, something to be savored. It's not realistic, but it's better than reality somehow, forged in the dreamy tradition of Walt Disney. It looks the way I sometimes wished the world looked. Plus, it's a cracking good adventure tale and maybe Anderson's most poignant meditation yet on how glory fades and why we should feel bad about that (even though there's not much we can do about it). Sic transit gloria mundi. Does it ever!

My grade: A-


W h i p l a s h

J.K. Simmons has some personalized instruction for Miles Teller in Whiplash.

Director: Damien Chazelle

Cast includes: Miles Teller, J.K. Simmons, Melissa Benoist, Paul Reiser, Austin Stowell, Nate Lang.

The gist of it: An ambitious young drummer (Teller) enters a prestigious New York music school and soon attracts the attention of a demanding, rigorous, and sadistic instructor (Simmons), who possibly goes too far in his efforts to drive his students toward attaining musical perfection. Despite the protestations of his worried father (Reiser) and neglected girlfriend (Benoist), the young man falls under the sway of the formidable, imposing professor and goes to insane, self-destructive lengths to please this impossible-to-please man. 

After one particularly disastrous competition, the student realizes that his very life may be in danger if he continues along this path, but he's still determined to become one of the greatest jazz drummers who ever lived. It all leads to a climactic showdown between teacher and student in an extremely high-pressure public performance.

My take: This was, hands down, the movie that went over the best with the audience at yesterday's Showcase. I have to admit, this one captured my attention immediately and held it for the entire running time, right up to and including a climactic nine-minute drum solo. That's right. A nine-minute drum solo was one of the most dramatic scenes I saw all day yesterday. 

Some of my involvement with this material came from being a musician myself for the last three-fourths of my life. While watching the poor schmuck in this movie pound away at the drums until his fingers bled, I actually felt a little guilty about practicing so little. I've never been through anything close to this kind of hell, and today I play strictly for fun, but I know a little something about tricky time signatures, fanatical band teachers, and those dreaded and dreadful music competitions where your whole life seems to be on the line. 

But, in truth, you don't have to know anything about music in order to enjoy and fully understand Whiplash. If you can understand someone wanting to be the best and being willing to destroy himself to do so, then you can understand this movie. In a way, it was a bold move on the part of the writer-director to let his protagonist be a whiny, entitled crybaby jerk who doesn't always engage the audience's sympathies. 

J.K. Simmons has the fun part here as the teacher. He gets to be a combination of Pai Mei from Kill Bill 2, John Houseman from The Paper Chase, Mickey from Rocky, Col. Kurtz from Apocalypse Now, and pretty much every movie drill sergeant ever, but especially R. Lee Ermey from Full Metal Jacket. There is one minor supporting character, a sad-sack trombonist, who is here specifically to be his "Private Pyle." In retrospect, Whiplash is a little predictable and a lot manipulative, but I'll be damned if it doesn't work.

My grade: B+


B i r d m a n

Michael Keaton is haunted by his superhero past in Birdman.

Director: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu

Cast includes: Michael Keaton, Edward Norton (again), Emma Stone, Zach Galifianakis, Naomi Watts, Lindsay Duncan, Amy Ryan

The gist of it: An aging actor, Riggan (Keaton), best known for playing a costumed superhero named Birdman in a trilogy of '90s Hollywood blockbusters, is now trying to establish himself as a serious actor by writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play based on the writings of Raymond Carver. 

The production is plagued by problems, many of which are caused by a talented but egomaniacal and unpredictable younger actor (Norton) who has joined the cast at the last minute. But since the writer-director-star has all his own money tied up in this play, the show very much must go on, even when it attracts the scorn of a vengeful critic (Duncan) who resents this Hollywood pretender showing up on her precious Broadway turf. 

Riggan's own personal life is a shambles, too, with a daughter (Stone) fresh out of rehab and an ex-wife (Ryan) who wavers between concern and contempt for a man she once loved and trusted. With all this stress in his life, it's no wonder that Riggan frequently escapes into fantasy and often has the growly, throaty voice of the Birdman character echoing in his head and giving him possibly-dubious career and life advice.

My take: Of all the movies I saw on Day 1, Birdman (whose subtitle is The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) is the closest in spirit to the kind of movie I would want to make myself if I had a cast, crew, equipment, and several million dollars to spend. Maybe as I age and get closer to Sad Old Bastardom myself, I have greater and greater affinity for movies about sad old bastards like Riggan, guys who are just barely hanging on by their fingernails. 

I may also be losing my appetite for cinema-verite-type realism in the cinema in favor of surrealism, parody, and exaggeration. But don't call it escapism! No, I've found that the real truths of life can, paradoxically, be revealed more fully in fantasy. Lies, artfully told, somehow bring out the truth. And Birdman is full of absolutely impossible, magic-realism-type stuff. Hell, it starts with Michael Keaton clad only in his tighty-whities floating three feet off the ground as he meditates in the lotus position.

And don't think that just because his character, Riggan, has retired from his superhero days that we're denied any comic book-inspired action scenes. This may not have been the most stylized movie of the day, since Grand Budapest is practically a living cartoon, but it may be the most stylistically-bold of the four films, with the majority of the film shot and edited in a way that makes it seem like it's composed of long, uninterrupted takes, a la Hitchcock's Rope. And Inarritu is daring in his use of the camera, swooping and soaring (like a bird, get it?) over his actors and letting us sneak all around the corridors at the theater so we can snoop on people's arguments and meltdowns. This is my idea of a fun time at the movies.

My grade: A


S e l m a

David Oyelowo prepares to accept the Nobel Peace Prize in Selma.

Director: Ava DuVernay

Cast includes: David Oyelowo, Carmen Ejogo, Oprah Winfrey, Tom Wilkinson (again), Tim Roth, Giovanni Ribisi, Martin Sheen, Wendell Pierce, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Stephen Root

The gist of it: A biopic of civil rights leader Martin Luther King (Oyelowo), focusing especially on his famous 1965 protest march from Selma to Montgomery in the racially-divided state of Alabama. Having won the Nobel Peace Prize, King hopes to use his prestige to get President Lyndon Johnson (Wilkinson) to enact legislation that will ensure that Southern blacks are allowed to freely register to vote without such impediments as poll taxes and voting vouchers. 

Afraid of damaging his own political career, however, Johnson begs off on this issue and tells King to "wait." Since African Americans are being killed by whites without legal consequence in de-facto-segregated states like Alabama, Dr. King cannot wait any longer. Until they are allowed to vote, he argues, blacks have no say in their own destinies. The march meets with violent opposition from white law enforcement officials, thanks to Alabama governor George Wallace (Roth). It is even controversial within the civil rights movement itself, which is plagued by schisms and fierce philosophical and tactical disagreements. The clergyman's marriage to Coretta Scott King (Ejogo) also suffers during this time. But King presses on anyway, certain that he's doing what's right for the cause he holds dear.

My take: Once someone's birthday has become a national holiday and his name has become synonymous with heroic or virtuous, how do you turn him into a human being again? How do you find the man behind the legend when the legend is 100 feet tall and chiseled out of marble? That was the problem facing Lincoln a few years ago, and it's the one facing Selma now. 

Martin Luther King lived and walked and breathed not that long ago really. Literally billions now living were around when he was assassinated in 1968. And yet, he seems no closer to our time than Abraham Lincoln. Both appear to have graduated from mere humanity and become something more evolved. How can they be made into flesh and blood after that? 

Maybe comedy is the answer. Louis CK starred as the tortured 16th President in SNL's brilliant Lincoln parody a few seasons back, and the Adult Swim animated series The Boondocks hilariously brought Martin Luther King into our time for its "Return of the King" episode in 2006. 

On the other hand, Selma mainly belongs to the tradition of stately, respectful, tasteful, and eminently serious biopics. There is some effort to introduce domestic turmoil, as in a tense scene in which Martin and Coretta discuss the former's infidelity. But the real order of the day here is solemn speeches (often, eulogies), punctuated by scenes of horrific, slow-motion violence. This is all very well-done, though, and there are some tremendously effective scenes, as when Dr. King pays a late night visit to a coroner's office in order to comfort an old man whose son has been gunned down by racist cops. Ultimately, Selma is the kind of movie that feels like the cinematic equivalent of a homework assignment. I respect it, but I wasn't sorry when it ended.

My grade: B+

NEXT WEEK: Boyhood, The Theory of Everything, The Imitation Game, and American Sniper

Joe vs. The 2014 Best Picture Nominees (Round 2)

Only seven more hours to go, folks! Let's keep up that enthusiasm!

It would hardly be a Best Picture Showcase if I didn't have to drive slowly and anxiously in a snowstorm at least once. I don't know what it is exactly, but I've been attending the AMC movie theater chain's annual marathon of Best Picture nominees for six years now, and the stressful pattern keeps repeating itself. Sometimes, it's on the way there. Other times, it's on the way back. On extremely unlucky days, it's both. Maybe the Academy Awards anger the gods or something. And now that the number of nominees has almost doubled and the event takes two days to finish, the odds against me are stacking up.

This year, I was fortunate enough to avoid the snow until the end of the second day. But it was still no fun to have to dig out my car late Saturday, then crawl home at an average speed of 15 mph on streets where there weren't as yet any good ruts to follow. I guess I had been oblivious to what was happening outside yesterday because I was cozy and warm in the hermetically-sealed environment of the ritzy Northbrook Court shopping center. When I wasn't watching hour after hour of award-nominated entertainment, I was dazedly staggering around the wood-and-marble-bedecked corridors of the mega mall, schlepping past Louis Vuitton, Cartier, and Burberry outlets, trying to clear the cobwebs out of my brain.

Let me say that I'm not a great believer in movie marathons. In fact, I think they're a pretty crummy and unfair way to see films. The analogy I always make -- and I'll do it again -- is to eating contests, which are to cuisine what events like the Best Picture Showcase are to cinema. Movies like these, which tend to be serious and on the longish side, suffer a bit when they're stacked one on top of the other. Some of the same basic themes (AIDS, racism, the elderly) and even some of the same actors (Amy Adams, Matthew McConaughey) start to reappear, which may make the audience feel like they've seen the same basic movie two or three times. Still, I plan to keep doing the BPS for the foreseeable future, since it's an efficient way to catch up on a lot of flicks I missed.

And speaking of those, let's get to 'em, eh?


NEBRASKA

Bruce Dern hits the road in search of a million dollars in Nebraska.

Director: Alexander Payne (Election, About Schmidt, The Descendants)

Based on a true story: Nope. This is an original script by Bob Nelson, a writer whose most prominent credit before this was the sketch comedy series Almost Live!

These things are bad, m'kay: Getting old; losing your mental faculties; greed; old rivalries; getting shot down in the Korean War; PTSD; direct mail schemes that prey on the elderly; the economic decline of small Midwestern towns; nursing homes.

My take: Not long ago, the TV series American Dad did a quite-funny and perceptive episode called "Independent Movie" that parodied the conventions and tropes of "indie" films. What's especially notable for this discussion is that the episode was structured as a "road movie," an idiom that indie writers and directors have returned to again and again.

Alexander Payne's Nebraska is yet another example of the durable form, and it makes a good companion piece to last week's Philomena, as both films concern oft-exasperated middle-aged men chaperoning their oft-stubborn elders through improbable, long-shot quests. While Judy Dench traveled from the UK to the US in search of her long lost son, Bruce Dern wants to travel from Billings, Montana to Lincoln, Nebraska to claim a lottery prize he thinks he's won.

There are significant differences, though. Dench's character, while slightly dotty, was still very much in command of her faculties. Dern, however, is a shell-shocked, delusional Korean War vet who only seems vaguely aware of his surroundings most of the time. In last week's movie, Steve Coogan was a snarky, sarcastic journalist who accompanied Dench so that he could turn her experiences into a story and, thus, possibly salvage his own career. In Nebraska, Will Forte is Dern's sad sack son, who agrees to accompany his aging dad on what he knows is a hopeless journey, partly to humor the old man in what might be his final days and partly to spend time with the father he never really got to know.

In the true spirit of indie films, Dench and Dern are neither wholly successful nor wholly unsuccessful in their missions. They don't actually get what they went looking for, but they do get some redemption and satisfaction along the way.

Nebraska is quite an enjoyable, if slightly contrived, movie with touching, vulnerable performances by Bruce Dern and Will Forte and a crackerjack supporting cast, including Stacy Keach as Dern's conniving, blustery ex-partner and Payne veteran June Squibb (who played Jack Nicholson's wife in About Schmidt) as Dern's long-suffering wife, an undeniable force of nature who is not the least bit shy about expressing her opinions. Fans of Mr. Show and Breaking Bad will also be glad to see Bob Odenkirk as Forte's successful news anchor brother.

Some critics have quibbled with Payne's portrayal of small town folks as ignorant, money-hungry rubes, but I would say that Nebraska presents a wide range of characterizations, both positive and negative and everywhere along the spectrum. Not everyone in this movie behaves like Will Forte's bumbling criminal cousins. Pay attention, for instance, to the sweet-natured newspaper editor who has a poignant personal history with Dern. Besides, seemingly more than any major director in Hollywood today, Alexander Payne truly captures the texture of everyday life outside of the major cities. He pays more attention than anyone to how people really dress and what people's houses really look like, both inside and out. There's a definite "lived-in" quality of his movies I truly cherish. And, without spoiling one of the movie's best speeches, I can say that Nebraska has changed the way I look at Mount Rushmore forever. 

My grade: B+


CAPTAIN PHILLIPS

Tom Hanks is relieved of his captain's duties by Somali pirates in Captain Phillips.

Director: Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Ultimatum, The Bourne Supremacy, United 93)

Based on a true story: Yep. But you knew that.

These things are bad, m'kay: Somali pirates; the terrible economic conditions that must exist in Somalia; walking through broken glass; being kidnapped; (maybe) American imperialism.

My take: It's no surprise to learn that this movie was directed by the same man at the helm of two of the Jason Bourne movies. It's a taut action thriller with lots of quick cuts and music that ramps up the tension. You probably already know the broad outlines of the story: Somali pirates hijack an American cargo ship and take its captain hostage, leading to a tense standoff with the US military. Really, the basics were all I knew going in to this thing.

I kind of expected this movie to be one of those queasy, uneasy "fly on the wall" experiences in which the viewer is made to feel like he or she is living this nightmare along with Tom Hanks and experiences the kidnapping from his perspective. But Captain Phillips isn't really like that. For one thing, it moves very quickly and doesn't really prolong the agony of any one situation for a long time. Hanks says goodbye to his wife (Catherine Keener, largely wasted -- and not in the fun way) and gets on the ship, and just a few minutes later, we get one of those scenes in which the approach of a mysterious enemy is monitored on a beeping radar screen. (Fun fact, according to Roger Ebert's Bigger Little Movie Glossary: "Radar screens don't beep. Not now, not ever.")

From there, it's boom, boom, boom. The pirates are on the ship. Boom. They've taken Hanks hostage. Boom. They're on a lifeboat now. Boom. The Navy shows up. What can I say about a movie like this? It's not really the kind of thing I'd go see on my own, but it's fine for what it is. Weirdly, and I don't know if this was intentional, Tom Hanks' character was not that appealing or ingratiating. The actor speaks with an affected, pseudo-JFK-type accent and has kind of a haughty, cold manner. But, still, he's the guy from Big and Forrest Gump and Philadelphia, so we're predisposed to like him.

The script labors to humanize Phillips while emphasizing the alien "otherness" of the Somali pirates, but the movie's most compelling character ends up being Muse, the leader of the hijackers, played by the almost-skeletal Barkhad Abdirahman, who sarcastically nicknames Phillips "Irish." The most effective moments in Captain Phillips occur when the movie slows the hell down and allows for real-time interaction between Hanks and Abdirahman. I wish director Greengrass had included more of that in the finished film.

My grade: B

HER

Joaquin Phoenix starts dating his computer's operating system in Her.

Director: Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, Where the Wild Things Are)

Based on a true story: Nope. This was based on an original screenplay by director Spike Jonze.

These things are bad, m'kay: Loneliness; divorce; becoming too reliant on technology; withdrawing from society and the company of real human beings.

My take: Earlier, we discussed the tropes of indie movies as they appeared in Nebraska. They appear again in Her, whose main character, played by Joaquin Phoenix (who looks eerily like a combination of Johnny Galecki and Groucho Marx in this movie) is another dreamy, sad dude like Will Forte's character in the Alex Payne movie. Judging by their respective apartments, though, Phoenix's writer is in a much higher tax bracket than Forte's speaker salesman. But they're both going through rough times in the romance department. In Nebraska, Forte has just broken up with his longtime, live-in girlfriend (Missy Doty), while in Her, Phoenix is dragging his feet in divorce proceedings with his soon-to-be-ex-wife (Rooney Mara).

While Payne's movie sends Forte on a road trip, Jonze's sci-fi flick gives Phoenix a Manic Pixie Dream Girl of sorts in the form of "Samantha" (voiced by Scarlett Johansson), a computer operating system that possesses its own evolving consciousness. For decades, sci-fi filmmakers have been debating the ethics of creating machines who can think and feel like human beings. Generally, from HAL-9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey to David in A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, it seems like a really bad idea. I mean, can you imagine being cooped up inside a smartphone in Joaquin Phoenix's shirt pocket? That doesn't sound like fun. No wonder Samantha soon outgrows her limited, humdrum life, answering her owner's e-mails and such.

Her plays like an indie romantic spin on Kubrick's 2001. What if, instead of working together on a space station, astronaut David Bowman and the HAL-9000 computer were involved in a complicated romantic relationship on Earth? Kubrick, though, wouldn't likely have made a movie as self-consciously pretty as Her, which often looks like it was based on a glossy full-color catalog full of furniture, clothes, and technology I could never afford. In fact, aesthetically, the picture-perfect Her is the opposite of the grainy, workaday B&W mundanity of Nebraska. While Spike Jonze has commissioned a soundtrack by Arcade Fire, for instance, Alex Payne takes his characters to a steakhouse where lumpy patrons croon "Time After Time" and "In the Ghetto" at the karaoke machine.

Anyway, I was torn between thinking that Her was a moving, highly original parable about the role of technology in our lives and suspecting that it was twee, precious hipster bullshit about a whiny, over-privileged creep who doesn't know how good he has it.

My grade: B+

AMERICAN HUSTLE

Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper, Jeremy Renner, Christian Bale, and Jennifer Lawrence in American Hustle. 

Director: David O. Russell (The Fighter, Silver Linings Playbook, Three Kings)

Based on a true story: The film begins with the caption, "Some of This Actually Happened," which is a good, accurate start. There really was an Abscam in the 1970s, and some of the characters in this film do have real-life counterparts. Most of the Best Picture nominees are based on true stories, and they've all been dogged to one degree or another by complaints that they take great liberties with the facts. Why this still surprises anyone is a mystery to me. Spoiler: movies are fake.

These things are bad, m'kay: Taking bribes; lying to friends; using a child as leverage in a marriage; government agents becoming drunk with power and abusing their authority.

My take: On American Hustle's IMDb trivia page is a little nugget of information that, to me, says it all about this film. "According to Christian Bale," reports the IMDb, "much of the movie was improvised. So, during the shooting of the film he noted to David O. Russell, 'You realize that this is going to change the plot greatly down track.' To which the director replied, 'Christian, I hate plots. I am all about characters, that's it.'"

There have been grumblings, both by critics and viewers, that the plot of American Hustle doesn't really coagulate and that the script clumsily employs a lot of obviously Goodfellas-inspired narration to hold itself together. I'm here to tell you that none of that bothered me in the least. I think the naysayers and complainers are really missing the point. What David O. Russell has done here is to assemble a cast with some of the best actors working today and then to give them lots of situations in which they can interact in interesting and entertaining ways. Who gives a rat's ass if it makes any sense? This is about watching actors act.

From an emotional rather than an intellectual standpoint, I very much responded to the way this movie looked and sounded: the sets, the costumes, the cinematography, the music (which ranges from Duke Ellington to Elton John), etc. I'd liken Russell's efforts to those of a jeweler, taking his gems (the actors) and putting them in the best possible setting. American Hustle doesn't really have much of a lesson to teach us all, other than offering us a series of vignettes that demonstrate the eternal folly of the human condition.

Russell's own assessment of his movie is uncannily accurate. American Hustle doesn't really care about its plot but is very concerned with its assortment of colorful characters: politicians, G-men, impostors, and swindlers, all trying to get over on each other. My recommendation is to lighten up and just enjoy this.

My grade: A-

GRAVITY

Sandra Bullock is adrift and abandoned in the pitiless reaches of space in Gravity.

Director: Alfonso Cuaron (Children of Men, Y Tu Mama Tambien, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban)

Based on a true story: Uh, nope. The director wrote this with his son, Jonas.

These things are bad, m'kay: Killer floating debris; extreme isolation, namely being stranded in outer space with very limited supplies of oxygen; watching your coworkers die right in front of you; the feeling that your life isn't all it should have been.

My take: I have already reviewed Gravity, so I will refer you to my previous article about the film. The gist of it is that Cuaron has made a movie that, first and foremost, sets a new benchmark in special effects, though I hate to think of his poor actors dangling from harnesses in front of a green screen somewhere. Visually, Gravity is a pure triumph. Other directors will now have to play catch-up to Cuaron.

Storywise? Well, let me say this about that. This is a very intimate, modest movie that tells a small, human story against an overwhelmingly huge backdrop. The script is hokey and melodramatic, but a career-best Sandra Bullock does everything in her power to sell it and make it seem believable. I'm not surprised that, of the nine films, this one is by far the most financially successful. I have no idea how it will hold up over the years, but I don't regret having seen it.

My grade: B+

All in all, not a bad crop of films for the Best Picture Showcase. I think 12 Years a Slave will probably win for Best Picture, though the movies I personally enjoyed most were The Wolf of Wall Street, American Hustle, Her, and Nebraska. See you next year, Oscar.

Joe vs. The 2014 Best Picture Nominees (Round 1)

A fancy mall.

    
I spent all day Saturday at a place called the Northbrook Court, a million-square-foot shopping plaza about 19 minutes from my apartment. Wikipedia calls it "a very large, upscale super-regional mall in Northbrook, Illinois" and "one of the most upscale collection[s] of shops in the United States." I guess that's about right. The description makes the place sound a little more hoity-toity than it really is. I mean, a mall is a mall is a mall, upscale or not. A little marble, a tasteful color scheme and some parquet flooring won't turn your shopping center into the Guggenheim.

Bottom line: malls are tacky. That's why they merit an entry in Jane and Michael Stern's The Encyclopedia of Bad Taste (HarperCollins, 1990) between "Macrame" and "Mansfield, Jayne." Trying to build the world's classiest mall is like trying to see who can fart the quietest. Northbrook looks huge from the outside, stretching on and on forever like the bad guys' ship in the opening shot of Spaceballs. But once you get inside, where everything is smooth and shiny, you'll feel as closed-in and claustrophobic as you would at any other mall. The dump has some history, though. Some scenes from Ordinary People were filmed there, as was this deathless moment from Weird Science:

Slumdog was my ticket to Hell. Who knew?

Who knows? Perhaps at some point during my many circumnavigations of the Northbrook Court yesterday, I may have unknowingly trodden over the same ground as Robert Downey, Jr. or Anthony Michael Hall. The heart races. The mind reels. Anyway, I was at the Northbrook Court for Day One of the AMC theater chain's annual Best Picture Showcase, a marathon of all the movies nominated for the top prize at the Oscars this year.

In years past, when there were only five nominees, you could watch 'em all in a single, exhausting day. Now that there are nine flicks up for the statuette, the event takes two non-consecutive days to complete. The second and final day of the 2014 BPS is this Saturday, March 1, 2014. I've been doing the Showcase since 2009, when Slumdog Millionaire took home the prize.

Goddamn, this is my sixth time through the process! I'm not sure exactly why I started or why I've continued. Maybe I thought it would be a convenient way to catch up on all the critically-lauded movies I should have seen by the end of the previous calendar year. Maybe I'm a pop culture masochist and just like the idea of subjecting myself to a cinematic endurance test. However you slice it, the Best Picture Showcase is a great big hunk of what I'd call Middlebrow Respectability. These are flicks that critics and audiences can feel comfortable praising -- not too crude, not too artsy, and usually with some kind of socially redeeming value.

From having watched a bunch of them, I can tell you a few things about Best Picture nominees. Almost all dramas, they tend to be longish (somewhere between 2-3 hours is the sweet spot), stately (read: a little dull), and preachy, commenting on the great issues of our time (and of all time) with lots of heartfelt speeches and crying. These films are attractively, carefully photographed and usually feature a lot of syrupy, manipulative music on the soundtrack. An inordinate amount are based on true stories and end with those captions telling you whatever happened to the characters in real life. Most of the plots conform to a simple formula: "____________ is bad." You know, war is bad, racism is bad, slavery is bad, greed is bad, politicians are bad, alcoholism is bad, the Catholic Church is bad, corporations are bad, etc., etc. South Park's Mr. Mackey would have no trouble churning out Oscar-winning screenplays.

So how is this year's crop of nominees? Eh, pretty typical, I'd say. Maybe a little better than usual. Here's my recap of Day One:

PHILOMENA

Judi Dench and Steve Coogan fly the friendly skies in Philomena.

Director: Stephen Frears (High Fidelity, The Queen)

Based on a true story: Yes, specifically Martin Sixmith's The Lost Child of Philomena Lee.

These things are bad, m'kay: The Catholic Church (duh), mean nuns, old-timey Irish orphanages and workhouses, British politics, a value system which demonizes female sexuality, having your children taken from you, Republicans, homophobia, AIDS.

My take: Basically, an odd couple/road movie with Steve Coogan as a disgraced spin doctor who comes crawling back to journalism and finds an intriguing "human interest story" in the form of a retired Irish nurse named Philomena (Dench), who was forced to give up her out-of-wedlock child decades ago and now wants to find him. The movie has a sort of Rain Man-type feel, except that it comes slathered in Catholic guilt. Where Dustin Hoffman was wowed by Kmart and Judge Wapner, Philomena rhapsodizes about Big Momma's House, romance paperbacks, and hotel breakfast buffets. Coogan is the snarky, sarcastic one, and they have a few squabbles over religion and God.

Philomena is a lot like a Payday candy bar. Coogan is salty, and Dench is sweet and nutty. This is the kind of movie you can feel safe recommending to just about anyone, even elderly relatives, unless they're really offended by profanity (both Coogan and Dench cuss on occasion). It seems like every Best Picture Showcase starts with a well-made "little" movie that has no chance at winning the prize. In years past, it was Milk, Amour, and An Education. This year, it's Philomena. Tell your grandmother about it. She'll love it.

My grade: B

DALLAS BUYERS CLUB

Jared Leto and Matthew McConaughey are unlikely partners in Dallas Buyers Club.

Director: Jean-Marc Vallee (The Young Victoria; C.R.A.Z.Y.; this is by far his best-known film)

Based on a true story: Yes. Various Hollywood types have been trying to turn Ron Woodroof's life into a film since the mid-1990s.

These things are bad, m'kay: AIDS (again), homophobia (again), the FDA, the pharmaceutical industry, the medical establishment, sexual promiscuity, cocaine, processed foods, and the overuse of AZT.

My take: This was more my speed, though if I'd been the one at the helm of this motion picture, I'd have made it less sentimental, corny, and obvious. It's still pretty good, though. Matthew McConaughey, rail-thin and dressed up like a cowboy pimp, is Ron Woodroof, a hard-living no-account rodeo hustler and electrician who finds out he has the HIV virus and only enough T-cells left to last him another month. He responds to this sobering news at first by scoffing at the diagnosis and partying even more heartily, but he quickly jumps from Denial to Bargaining and spends most of the rest of the movie there.

A quick study in AIDS research, Woodroof stumbles onto a business opportunity as he provides other HIV-positive Texans with experimental, non-FDA-approved treatment, thereby rankling the stuffy medical community and the corrupt pharmaceutical industry. Along the way, he forms unlikely partnerships with a cross-dresser named Rayon (Jared Leto), who lives even less responsibly than Woodroof, and a legitimate physician (Jennifer Garner), who is wary of Woodroof's rogue actions but is undeniably impressed by his courage and efficacy.

The very best stuff in this movie is the interplay between McConaughey and Leto, both surprisingly excellent, and I kind of wish the movie had not tried so hard to mold their story into an inspirational tearjerker. Like I said, though, it's quality stuff.

My grade: B+

THE WOLF OF WALL STREET

Leonardo DiCaprio knows how to spend his dough in The Wolf of Wall Street.

Director: Martin Scorsese (Goodfellas, Raging Bull, Taxi Driver)

Based on a true story: Yes. It's based on Jordan Belfort's similarly-titled 1998 autobiography. Belfort himself plays a small role in this film.

These things are bad, m'kay: Wall Street, stock brokers, greed, materialism, cocaine (again), expired Quaaludes, the American legal system, having your children taken from you (again).

My take: "Heaven...  I'm in Heaven!" Occasionally, I like to pretend that certain movies were made specifically for me because they so closely conform to my interests or sensibilities. The Wolf of Wall Street is such a film. Martin Scorsese has given us another heaping slab of sleazy sex, brain-scrambling drugs, and raw, bluesy, primordial rock & roll. I think this was the only movie of the day which didn't have that "serious Oscar movie" music in it. You have no idea how much that helps its case. Just look at the artists on the soundtrack: Bo Diddley, Howlin' Wolf, Elmore James, Romeo Void, Me First & the Gimme Gimmes, Jimmy Castor, and so much more! That's what I'm talking about! Jesus Christ, there's even a marching band in this thing!

And Popeye -- my favorite cartoon character ever -- is here, too! Of the four films I saw on Saturday, this is the only one I'd ever want to see again. I kind of wish I were watching it right now.

 Let's not kid ourselves about one major point, though: The Wolf of Wall Street is definitely Goodfellas version 2.0. Anyone who tells you differently, even Scorsese, is bullshitting you. And, yeah, it's three hours. Think of it as shotgunning an entire season of a premium cable TV show in one sitting. Someday, I may have to write an essay about a prominent motif in many of the male-female relationships in Scorsese's movies. I call it "the princess and the guttersnipe" plot, and it goes all the way back to Marty's debut, Who's That Knocking at My Door? with Zina Bethune as the princess and Harvey Keitel as the guttersnipe. You can find versions of this theme in Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The King of Comedy and even Hugo. Anyway, I'm drifting away from the main point, which is that I give my highest recommendation possible to The Wolf of Wall Street. See it, ya fuggin' bagadonuts!

My grade: A+

12 YEARS A SLAVE

Chiweti Ejiofor and Michael Fassbender get up close and creepy in 12 Years a Slave.

Director: Steve McQueen (Shame, Hunger)

Based on a true story: Yes, the film is an adaptation of Solomon Northrup's 1853 autobiography, Twelve Years a Slave.

These things are bad, m'kay: Slavery (duh), racism (double duh), rape, the Old South in general, whippings, lynchings, dehumanization, crazy white people, having your children taken away from you (yet again!)

My take: Okay, class, let's have a show of hands. Who here didn't know that slavery was evil and degrading and cruel and violent and morally unjustifiable? Anyone? No hands? Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave strikes me as the kind of film everyone admires and no one enjoys. File it alongside Gandhi and Schindler's List among the movies that people will feel obligated to sit through once and then never revisit.

But don't we need an occasional reminder about the visceral horrors of slavery? Don't we need to see the blood and the welts and hear the anguished screams? Well, yeah, I suppose so...if maybe you were thinking of starting up a plantation next week. Under those circumstances, you might see Steve McQueen's film and think, "Oh, right! Slavery is bad! I nearly forgot!" The movie's artfulness works against it. The cinematography is often postcard-pretty, and the compositions have a fastidious, fussed-over quality to them.

The dialogue, likewise, is stilted and poetic rather than naturalistic and conversational. Maybe that's just how people talked back in the mid-1800s, but even then, I doubt that they would address the issues of slavery so directly, as if they knew they were elucidating certain points for the benefit of a listening audience. Much like Philomena and Dallas Buyers Club, 12 Years a Slave is altogether too concerned with providing "teachable moments" for the viewer. Without them, the movie would be little more than gourmet torture porn.

Thanks largely to the actors inhabiting the roles, especially Chiwetel Ejiofor, Lupita Nyong'o, and Alfre Woodard (whose scene is a stunner), several of the film's African-American characters are vivid and memorable. The film's white characters are largely muddled non-entities, like Brad Pitt's liberal do-gooder, or grotesque cartoons, like Michael Fassbender's sadistic plantation owner, yet another iteration of black-hatted, mustache-twirling Simon Legree. And thanks to composer Hans Zimmer's heavy-handed score, we're never in doubt as to how we're supposed to feel... as if we couldn't just arrive at that conclusion on our own.

The film's most effective passages occur when McQueen shows rather than tells, especially a nerve-jangling scene in which Ejiofor must stand on his tiptoes with a noose around his neck for what seems like an eternity. What makes the moment so effective is all the background activity, with extras going about their business as if nothing horrific were occurring.

My grade: B

Next week: Nebraska, Captain Phillips, Her, American Hustle, and Gravity.

Wayne Walks You Through the Best Picture Nominees (Part 2)

(IN CASE YOU MISSED PART 1, HERE IT IS.)

Well, citizens, I managed to make it through the second and final Saturday of the AMC Theatres Best Picture Showcase, which means that I have now watched all ten of the flicks nominated for the top prize at tonight's Academy Awards. So I figured I would share with you my views on the five remaining nominated films.

Hard to Watch: Based on the Novel Stone Cold Bummer by Manipulate

THE FLICK: A desperately poor Missouri girl named Ree must locate her missing, meth-cooking father -- dead or alive -- in time for a scheduled court date in order to avoid losing the family's modest home. The other members of Ree's rural community want to conceal the father's fate and will go to great lengths, including brutal violence, to prevent Ree from learning the truth.

WAYNE'S TAKE: Every year among the nominees, there should be at least one "be-thankful-for-what-you've-got" film designed to play on viewers' guilt. While we're all snug and cozy in the movie theater, the poor-but-proud characters on screen are barely subsisting in a world that looks like a post-apocalyptic hellhole. Last year, the official guilt-trip movie was Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire (which inspired 30 Rock's parody Hard to Watch: Based on the Novel Stone Cold Bummer by Manipulate). This year's model is Winter's Bone. The young heroine, Ree, wouldn't want anyone feeling sorry for her, but somehow that just made me feel worse about what she's going through, not only finding her father but almost single-handedly raising her two younger siblings. (Did I mention that Ree's mother is in a catatonic state? Geez, God, give these folks a break!) Don't worry, though, that this is just a two-hour exercise in tasteful, feel-bad hicksploitation. The plot actually functions as a very intriguing mystery/conspiracy with plenty of shocking and violent incidents along the way. And then there are some truly heartbreaking dialogue scenes, as when Ree meets with an Army recruiter. I don't want to spoil too much about the film, but the scene with that recruiter is probably what will stick in my mind the longest about this movie. GRADE: B

Possibly the Rocky Horror of the new millennium.

THE FLICK: An uptight, high-strung ballerina named Nina enters into a world of madness, pain, and paranoia when she is cast as the lead in a new production of Swan Lake. Is a younger ballerina trying to replace her? Is she merely replacing an older ballerina? And, for the love of God, is Nina actually transforming into a swan the way her character does in the ballet?

WAYNE'S TAKE: Tchaikovsky by way of David Cronenberg (specifically The Fly) with a generous helping of All About Eve (or Showgirls) thrown in, Black Swan straddles a line between high art and high camp. This might well be the most riotous live-action comedy of 2010, a film so far past the point of ridiculousness that sometimes the only reasonable reaction to it is to laugh. Perhaps it will one day be recognized as the Rocky Horror of the new millennium, with fans dressing up as the characters and saying the dialogue in sync with the actors. In Nina, Natalie Portman has finally found a role which suits her stiff, pinched, overly formal delivery. I wonder if she'll ever find a part this perfect for her again. As much in bad taste as Winter's Bone was in good taste, Black Swan is a film for everyone who cherishes the stylistic overload of Stanley Kubrick at his maddest or 1970s/1980s Brian DePalma at his most gleefully gaga. GRADE: A-

A dream inside a dream inside a... you know what? I stopped caring.

THE FLICK: A highly-skilled thief named Cobb, trained in stealing ideas from people's minds, assembles a crew for one last big, risky heist. He and his teammates must actually plant an idea in the mind of a wealthy businessman's heir. Only by successfully completing this task can Cobb ever hope to see the faces of his two children again.

WAYNE'S TAKE: The clear fanboy favorite of 2010, Inception is a film which -- and I realize I may be banished from the Internet for saying this -- failed to impress me during its original theatrical run last summer. In short, I found it to be all gimmickry and no real heart or soul. It seems like it's going to be about exploring the landscape of the mind, but it too soon devolves into shouting, explosions, and shootouts and relies far too heavily on clunky expository dialogue. Plus the whole thing looks like some kind of catalog for sleek, high-end modern furniture. Revisiting the film a half-year later, I realized I had perhaps underestimated Leonardo DiCaprio's performance as Cobb, but I still found the second half of Inception to be a noisy, calamitous, headache-inducing drag. And what should be the central relationship, that of Cobb and his late wife, never felt real or true to me. Do these seem like people who have a shared history with each other? I'm still baffled as to why America embraced Inception so fondly. GRADE: C+

Newsflash! Mark Zuckerberg? Kind of a dick.

THE FLICK: The semi-true, semi-fictional story of the rise of Facebook and its frighteningly ambitious founder, Mark Zuckerberg, a Harvard computer whiz who originally creates the infamous social networking site as a way for horny Ivy League students to keep tabs on each other. As Facebook soars in popularity, Zuckerberg makes new friends, betrays old ones, and winds up as the target of several pricey lawsuits.

WAYNE'S TAKE: Every year among the nominees, there is a film which veers so closely to my sense of humor or my sphere of interest that I like to pretend it was made especially for me. Two years ago, it was Frost/Nixon and last year it was A Serious Man. This year, that movie is David Fincher's The Social Network, a whip-smart update on the director's Fight Club. What can I say? This film had a dizzying effect on me, and I mean that as a compliment. I have no idea if the actual birth of Facebook was anywhere near this amusing. Personally, I don't care if it was. For sheer fun, The Social Network is rivaled only by Toy Story 3 among the nominees. GRADE: A

A n-n-n-nice l-l-little hist-st-st-storical dr-dr-dr-drama.

THE FLICK: Another semi-true, semi-fictional story, this film portrays the relationship between King George VI and his long-time speech therapist, Lionel Logue. When his father's death and brother's abdication force him to take the throne at a time when World War II looms, the reluctant King must finally conquer his stammering problem in order to properly execute his duties.

WAYNE'S TAKE: If The Social Network is very much a film about the world we occupy now (and may one day be a time-capsule candidate), The King's Speech is decidedly timeless. It could have been made ten years ago or could be made ten years from now with virtually no changes to the script or filmmaking style. This is a drama which takes historical events and makes them life-sized and relatable by focusing on the very human story occurring behind the scenes. And, oh, such a cast they've assembled for this task. If you're the type who collects "Great British Thespians" trading cards (I'll trade you two Colin Firths for a Derek Jacobi rookie card!), you will very much enjoy this picture. Were it not for The Social Network, this would have been my favorite of the day. GRADE: A-

And that does it for Wayne's Oscar preview. I'm looking forward to the ceremony tonight. My pick for Best Picture is The Social Network. I don't know whether it will win, but I guess we'll see.