Let's fight about the Oscar nominations

An emotional documentary film by the director of "Hoop Dreams," quite possibly the greatest documentary feature of all time, about a man who predicted the Oscar nominations for 40 years couldn't get an Oscar nomination.

They'll have to make their own...

Neither could an actor whose performance as one of our country's greatest civil leaders sparked with electricity seemingly supplied by the ghost of the source himself.

And, 144,000 frames of images built from Legos and strung together with speed, wit and a sassy score? The Academy, it seems, was not impressed.

Those are just the most egregious omissions we're talking about as we settle in with our list of the 2015 Academy Award nominations this afternoon. And to me, personally, the omissions of "Life Itself" for Documentary Feature, David Oyelowo for his performance in "Selma," and "The Lego Movie" for Animated Feature film are the biggest WHAAAAAAAAT????s of the year.

But I'm about to upset some of you. Because for me, those are the only major crimes. And now I'm going to tell you why, with some snapshot reactions to this year's list of nominees. And you should definitely comment on this post, because if we can't talk about movies, what are we going to ever be able to talk about? Here are the things I've been thinking about:

Best Picture

There are eight nominees this year. That's the fewest in this category since 2008, which was the final year of a five-nominee category before the Academy doubled it to 10 and then decided...no, wait! It can be anywhere between five and 10 (which I call the "Dark Knight Rule"). Since that change, we've had three straight years of nine nominees.

"Girl, I thought you were gone!" Photo source: Annie Barrett

So while some of you are outraged about the absence of "Gone Girl" or "Nightcrawler" from this category, consider the possibility that one less nominee this year simply means that more people liked the same films. Given that the voting system to get into this particular race puts emphasis on first-place ballot votes, I'd say that we've ended up with a high quality slate here. In fact, I predicted these exact eight films and that there would only be eight. I had "Nightcrawler" sitting at number nine just in case, and "Gone Girl" was my #11/alternate choice.

If there's anything upsetting about this list, it's that "Foxcatcher" was good enough to be nominated for Director and Original Screenplay but not Picture. But that director nomination was a surprise, and we'll get to that. And nobody out in the real world can ever understand how a film can be nominated for Best Picture but its director is not nominated. I can understand that. Ask me about it sometime.

"Selma" is a shocker here, not because it's on this list, but because the only other place it appears is on the Original Song list. It will win that award and thus become an Oscar-winning film, but it doesn't have a chance in hell here. The other outrage seems aimed at "American Sniper," but this doesn't bother me. Every year's shortlist requires at least one blockbuster, crowd-gathering film, and among this year's boutique films and persnickety independent selections, this is it. We just don't know it yet because it opens wide this weekend. But mark my words, I'll be right.

Best Director

Lots of haterade about leaving "Selma" director Ava DuVernay off this list and thus denying us the first African-American female nominee in the category, let alone what would have been only the fifth female overall. But I didn't even have her on my final predictions list. And while the media that covers these things is pulling out its hair plugs about how white and racist and sexist the Academy is, I wonder if anyone ever considered whether or not the five nominees might not be more worthy than DuVernay is, and that her nomination might have only been because of her demographics instead of in spite of them, had she been nominated.

Hear me out.

Wes Anderson has made eight incredibly personalized, formally-composed, and consistently excellent films and has never been nominated before today. (He's been relegated to the screenplay category, Oscar purgatory where all hyphenated directors must do time before getting called up.) His nomination finally arrived for what is arguably his best film ever, "The Grand Budapest Hotel" (though I might still consider "Fantastic Mr. Fox" as my favorite of his films).

Inarritu: Bringing color and diversity to the Oscar race.

Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu is a quirky genius who designed his film to appear as one continuous tracking shot, an are-you-freaking-kidding-me? idea that he actually pulled off. And, for those of you who are concerned about diversity, he's not white: bonus.

Richard Linklater made a film that is probably one of the most structurally interesting film creations of the century so far, a movie that we'll be talking about alongside "Tree of Life." And it also happens to be deeply moving, charming, and satisfyingly "normal."

I don't know anything about Morten Tyldum other than the fact that "The Imitation Game" is his first feature in English, but of all of this year's nominees, I found his film to be the most crowd pleasing in that traditional this-is-an-Oscar-film kind of way. Is that a reason to include him over DuVernay? That's worth an argument, though I liked his work better.

And so you have that last slot, which went to Bennett Miller for "Foxcatcher." Not DuVernay, and not Clint Eastwood, who owns that slot on the DGA list. I will admit that I was surprised by this. I was expecting David Fincher to be nominated for "Gone Girl." But I have no problem that he wasn't, because the truth of the matter is that "Gone Girl" (also not nominated for Best Picture) is really nothing more than a super-solid genre film that so meticulously recreated its source novel that I still can't decide which piece I like better. As far as mainstream Hollywood fare goes, it's fantastic. But those movies don't typically get the Oscar nominations. And, as I've said before, you have to decide if DuVernay's work was genuinely better than any of these nominees. I'm not sure that it was.

The Acting Categories

I'm not going to lie...I'm steaming about the Oyelowo omission. What is "Selma" without that performance? That's the real engine of the film. I think many will attack Bradley Cooper for that switch-out, some feeling that three straight years of acting nominations is a bit generous. But he's excellent in "American Sniper." Instead, I would have replaced Steve Carell, who certainly tackles a different tone in his "Foxcatcher" performance but, when compared to Oyelowo, is nominated here a la Nicole Kidman...for his prosthetic nose.

Many wanted to see Jennifer Aniston nominated for "Cake," and while I haven't seen the film yet, I wouldn't have had a big problem with it. But from what I've heard, it's just another one of those gorgeous-star-gets-frumpy-to-be-taken-seriously roles. Is acting without makeup Oscar-worthy on its  own merits? I can make this easier by eliminating four of the nominees, all expected, and focusing on the surprise: Marion Cotillard. I haven't seen "Two Days, One Night" yet, either, but generally speaking, is Cotillard a better actress than Aniston. Um...yes. Yes, she is. She's the only past Oscar winner in the lead categories, and pretty much everything she does generates Oscar buzz, even if this is only her second nomination. Why are we still talking about this?

There was only one supporting performance surprise, and it's Laura Dern, grabbing her second nomination for "Wild." Haven't seen it. Heard it was slight...a not much there role. I was pulling for Tilda Swinton's crazy "Snowpiercer" work, but I knew better. And I also know that the last slot in this category was the only genuine toss-up in the acting categories.

Source: quickmemes.com via Google Images

I should also mention that it stood out to me that three of the Best Actress nominees are their films' sole nominations. I have a theory about female performances being the strongest thing in otherwise weak or average movies that I'll save for another time. 

P.S.: Robert Duvall is now the oldest-ever acting nominee at 84 with his seventh nomination, for "The Judge." And Lady Meryl just notched number 19. Dayum!


Other Things I Found Interesting, In No Particular Order

While I was and still am upset about the omission of "Life Itself" for Documentary Feature, the snub continues two traditions. One is the continued snubbing of director Steve James, who in a less cruel world should be on his third documentary nomination by now. The other, lest we forget, is that the Documentary Feature category is by far the most volatile and unpredictable category every year. Only the foreign film category comes close! Also, if you take a closer look, you should calm down, as the category does contain documentary royalty in the finally-nominated Rory Kennedy, a member of yes...THAT Kennedy family, for "Last Days In Vietnam," and German filmmaker Wim Wenders, whose excellent feature films are constantly ignored but who picks up his third nomination today in this category.

I did not see "Song of the Sea" on anyone's prediction list for Animated Feature, but then again, it was co-directed by Tomm Moore. Don't know the name? That sneaky bastard was nominated in this same category in 2009 for "The Secret of Kells," another animated feature than nobody had heard of or had access to seeing. Deja vu.

Aside from not having seen "Unbroken" yet, (yeah...I know, I know...), I really like the choices for Cinematography. They are all truly worthy, and I was pleasantly surprised by "Ida." We should all take note that foreign films are making headway into this category in particular lately. It seems to be the one mainstream category where non-English language films have made the most headway.

No "Force Majeure" for Foreign Language Film. Sniff. I'm going to have to put it on my top 10 of 2014 list in retaliation.

Oscar nominee. No, seriously.

The end of "The Hobbit" trilogy did not go as well as the end of the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, did it?

This is Diane Warren's seventh Oscar nomination for Best Original Song. No wins. No Celine Dion to sing it, either.

And while we're on Original Song, is anyone else going to talk about the fact that STEPHANIE FROM "ALL IN THE FAMILY" wrote Adam Levine's song from "Begin Again"? Find me a better random fact than that!

 The Diversity Debate

And finally, on to more serious matters.  The big uproar today has been the lack of diversity. I've read on numerous websites that this is the first time since 1998 that no actors of color were nominated. I also read that none of the Best Picture nominees feature a female main character or focus. Kevin Fallon of The Daily Beast is one of many to remind us of the shameful demographics of the Academy, which is 94 percent white and 76 percent male, with an average age of 63. These are undeniable facts, and you won't get an argument from me that all of this is sad and even shameful.

But where I part ways with many is in the way we are going about analyzing the nominations as an attack on diversity. I'm frustrated that we continue to define "diversity" as pertaining only to one's gender and skin color. Perhaps I'm being naive or picking at irrelevant details, but isn't diversity more than this? It surely is those things. And clearly for many, it is the most important of things. But diversity goes deeper than these surface traits.

For a list of nominations that is quite obviously and undeniably white, those who are barking about race alone are missing the following:

• 6 of the 20 acting nominees are not Americans. Five are from England, one from France. All white, but one's home country and ethnicity is also a characteristic of diversity, is it not?
• 2 of the 5 Best Director nominees are not American. Tyldum is from Norway and Inarritu is from Mexico, so he isn't white, either, though he is the only non-white nominee in a marquee category, and I'm not so delusional as to attempt to defend that. 
•  Cinematography nominees come from Mexico and Poland in addition to the U.K. and United States.
• Not including the Foreign Language Film category, which is obviously diverse every year by default, categories like Documentary Short Subject and Animated Short Film have a decidedly international flair.
• Perhaps the most diverse category of all this year is Animated Feature. The most "American" of the lot is "Big Hero 6," which borrows heavily from Asian culture for its fictional San Fransokyo location and its hero, Hiro. "How to Train Your Dragon 2" is American, but Scottish-flavored. "The Boxtrolls" is, at least in execution, pure British quirk. And the two surprise nominees are foreign films: "Song of the Sea" is from Ireland and "The Tale of the Princess Kaguya" is from Japan, a country whose long-standing tradition of excellence in animation has inched toward the mainstream in America. 

So you see, there is diversity within the nominations, if you know where to look for it. The problem is that many in the media want to use the word to describe things that are purely visual. In other words, race. Now, please, please, please don't get me wrong. Absolutely, without a doubt, YES...racial minorities are shamefully underrepresented here. They are barely represented at all. YES, this isn't a true representation of American culture. YES, the Oscars continue to reward a white male viewpoint. Trust me, I know. Trust me, I'd like to see that change, too. And if you've noticed the conspicuous absence of any attempt on my part to defend the gender imbalance in all of this, well, that's because I a have a brain and can't defend the indefensible fact that no woman is nominated this year for directing or cinematography or writing.

What I'm taking issue with is the use of the term "diversity," which I think is a little off as it's being used here. And I'm also taking issue at critics who are aiming their hostilities squarely on Clint Eastwood's "American Sniper," simply because it's directed by a man who represents every key point of the Oscar voting demographic they are having a problem with. The film attempts to honor our military, those who defend our freedom. It illustrates (and granted, other films have done so better) the irreversible sacrifices that these men and women (okay, men in this case...) make by reminding us that they can never get their old lives back in full if they are fortunate enough to return home.  It is patently unfair to target this specific film, because it flares up yet another racial fight. It feels like an attempt to turn the Oscars into Ferguson, which is a bit of a cheap and empty shot.

It makes me sad. I feel like we're pulling further apart instead of trying to heal some of the hurt. This year, the stories told by Hollywood were focused far more on men than women. There were a solid handful of films representing minorities, but really none aside from "Selma" of the quality worthy of Oscar recognition. There's your problem. I'm not sure the Oscars can recognize what doesn't exist. Nor should they nominate Tyler Perry for Best Director for a Medea movie in an act of cinematic affirmative action. I don't think anyone wants that.

Simply put, the people who finance movies have got to do better. They need to trust that we're interested in stories about women and characters who are not white. The actors getting these nominations are perfect for their parts. The aspects of diversity you don't see here today are missing because those parts, to a large degree, didn't exist this year. The Oscar nominees are not the problem. The industry is the problem.

"Selma" deserves more than two Oscar nominations, but I never really saw it getting more than four. Maybe we should focus our energies on making sure that we all get out to the theaters this MLK Day weekend to show our support with our ticket purchases. The lack of nominations in no way diminish the fact that this is one the most powerful movies of the year. And then, we can do our Oscar history research to gain the perspective that comes with context. Wait until you see what company "Selma" is in as a barely-nominated or non-nominated masterpiece.

No 12-step program for this: the movie lover as addict

I have an addictive personality.

Most people figure this out the hard way by actually grappling with an actual addiction: to substances, to body image, to sex, to gambling. The list of things one can become addicted to is varied and long. I suppose I come as close to having an addiction to food as anything else, though I am not addicted to anything in particular and have never embraced this concept as a defined and specific addiction. It's most likely that the extent of my food addiction is my occasional desire to exercise my skill with hyperbole: "I am so addicted to these dark chocolate-covered potato chips."

So how do I know I have a temperament predisposed to addiction when I haven't really suffered from one? Easy. I watch a lot of movies, and I've learned a lot about various addictions from the movies I've seen.

There are some excellent films about addiction.  Alcoholism in particular has been covered extensively in movies like "Days of Wine and Roses" and "Leaving Las Vegas" (back when Nicholas Cage was not a punchline and actually ascended the stairs to the stage at an Oscar ceremony for the performance). Drug addiction is a popular topic in movies, often portrayed in ways that you can't un-see once you've seen them ("Requiem For a Dream" and "Trainspotting" come quickly to mind). Even sex addiction has been covered in Steve McQueen's "Shame" (a feeling I felt too strongly to be caught watching the film in the theater, so I waited for the home release). What I've learned from watching these films is that if I ever dipped my toes in some of these behaviors, I would be the kind of person who would become obsessed, fall down the rabbit hole, have difficulty stopping.

What has never occurred to me was the idea that perhaps I was addicted to movies themselves. But now I'm questioning myself about that possibility.

Patton Oswalt and Richard Roeper at NCC, Jan. 13, 2015

 

Actor/comedian Patton Oswalt recently published a book (his second) called "Silver Screen Fiend: Learning About Life From an Addiction to Film." Oswalt describes his book as belonging to the addiction/recovery subset of memoir genres, though admittedly without some of the high stakes associated with other addictions.

Last night, Oswalt stopped in Naperville to talk about movies and his book at a signing event for Anderson's Bookshop hosted by North Central College. The event was moderated by Chicago Sun Times film critic Richard Roeper.

As "Silver Screen Fiend" details, Oswalt went through a four-year period (1995-1999) of obsessively watching movies. At this time in his life, he had just headed to California to pursue a career as a stand-up comedian. He soon took to attending local movie theaters, and in particular, the New Beverly Cinema in Los Angeles. He kept a log of every movie he saw (excluding those on television or cable at home) and started to understand his hobby was more serious when he began to lack any discrimination in choosing between quality films and bad ones. No genre, language or year of release was off the table.

"We tack ourselves onto something bigger than us to feel like we have more importance in the world," Oswalt said to the audience gathered for his book signing, which included me. "But really, that's just magical thinking."

Exactly how spending hours in darkened theaters watching as many as three films a day and only coming out to walk into different darkened theaters to perform his comedy act qualifies as feeling like a part of something bigger is difficult to pin down, but when I think back on films I've seen, I can definitely recall times when a well-made film has made me feel like I was tapping in to a collective humanity, a more shared experience. It just didn't occur to me that a high could be associated with that.

But Oswalt came to see his habits as a true addiction. "The thing you think is serving you, you become a slave to," Oswalt said.

In a conversation as varied and sometimes spastic as his book, Oswalt and Roeper engaged in quick-tongued banter on films ranging from the glorious to the notorious, Oswalt somehow managing to extol the virtues of "Con Air" as a "man party" in one moment, then dropping a "McCabe and Mrs. Miller" reference in the next. During a question and answer session, he addressed subjects ranging from his own television and film appearances to career in comedy, ultimately hinting that the end result of his film addiction is headed toward a new phase of his career as a director. Someday.

Me with Oswalt. We talked about "Plan 9 From Outer Space."

I'm halfway through "Silver Screen Fiend" as I'm writing this, and it's a well-written and entertaining memoir on a topic I've certainly got in me that I never considered to be source material for a book. But I like the idea of putting our obsessions to good use. That's probably why I write this blog, even if few are reading it. I'm telling myself that I'm a part of something bigger to feel like I have more importance in the world. But, as Oswalt said about the thrill of doing stand-up, it's the terror of failing that makes the work so amazing. We're not just addicted to the rush of succeeding, but the terror that none of it will work.

Clearly, addictions loom large in our lives and are emotionally all-consuming. Or at least that's how they show it in the movies. The movies that I am probably addicted to. "Hello, my name is..."

Oh, and for the record...in case you're as addicted to films as we are, Patton mentioned that his favorite noirs are as follows: "Phantom Lady," "I Wake Up Screaming," "Crime Wave," "The Prowler," and "Caged." Sadly, I've seen none of those films. But I plan to check them out. The fact is, I just can't help myself...

Misplaced criticism? Some thoughts on 'Selma'

Now that I've seen "Selma," I feel compelled to share my thoughts on the controversy swirling around its depiction of President Lyndon Johnson as a stubborn adversary to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., rather than his ally. Every year during awards season, a new film based upon historical events is subjected to the now-familiar scrutiny of being picked apart for accuracy. That these criticisms always occur during Oscar campaigning certainly feels like calculated attempts to discredit the merits of these films, though in fairness, they are rarely released outside of the narrow window of the holiday season, when "serious" films are paraded before award voters.

David Oyelowo. Photo source: Paramount Pictures

Many recent films have fallen under the scrutiny of fact checking, including our last two Best Picture winners, “Argo” and “12 Years a Slave.” And as a journalist, I am certainly a big fan of fact checking. But these are movies we are talking about, and as such, I believe that much of this current controversy surrounding “Selma” is misplaced energy that is taking us further away from a few key ideas that get lost every time these debates take place. So for those of you who are interested in reading my two cents on the issue, I’ve attempted here to focus my thoughts on three things that I believe get lost in the fray whenever we debate the historical accuracy of a film. 

1. Films are art.

As someone who has studied film as an academic pursuit for 25 years or so, I have a question I ask myself whenever I walk out of a theater, and that is: How well does the film accomplish what it seems to be attempting to accomplish? In my effort to talk about a movie, much less “rank” it by using some journalistic system of stars or letters, I find this to me the most fair way to assess it. Through the process of watching movies, I attempt to discern what I think the film’s creators were trying to accomplish, and I try to measure its success by that standard. It’s not a perfect system in that I often won’t know what a director was setting out to achieve. But it’s a far better system, I think, than measuring a comedy – for example – by the number of times I laughed. And it also prevents me from having to compare, say, "Some Like It Hot" to "Schindler's List," cinematic apples and oranges.

People seem to be forgetting that film is art. It’s not journalism. It’s not academic. And therefore, like a symphony or a painting or poem, its purest aim is to connect to something in our collective humanity. Art, when done well, informs our intellect. When the source that art draws upon is history, art attempts to enlighten those moments. But the primary aim of art is to visit us on emotional level. All art contains truth where the human experience is concerned, whether or not it's "based on a true story."

In the pursuit of emotional resonance, "Selma" is wildly successful. As Dr. King, actor David Oyelowo elicits the kind of visceral response that reading "Letter From Birmingham Jail" might not from those who can't transcend the limitations of the written word, however powerful. The film's director, Ava DuVernay, successfully recreates the intensity of the moments depicted in the film more frequently than she misfires. Watching “Selma” will cause you to gasp and cry, shut your eyes and shake your head, be filled with both hope and defeat – sometimes simultaneously. Does “Selma” accomplish what it sets out to accomplish? I think for the most part, the answer to that is “yes,” based largely on my next point.

2. Films have a point of view.

There are two different kinds of art: those created by a singular voice and vision, and those requiring a community of collaborators, though even with the latter, someone has to be in charge, which is why theatrical works like plays, films and movies have directors. The director is charged with the artistic vision and enlists a team with a shared belief in that vision to help him or her bring it to bear. But whether alone or as a part of a team, fiction or nonfiction, film, as with any other kind of art, is told from a point of view.

This includes films labeled as documentary or nonfiction. Even if “Selma” had been assembled from real footage and narrated by James Earl Jones, the assembly of that footage, the writing of that narration, and the choices over what to include and what not to include would pass through the gate keeping of the director and his or her vision for what story is trying to be told.

I am particularly amazed, time and again, by those who gnash their teeth over filmed versions of books. The author of a book is an artist, and the director of a film is a different artist. Unless the sole aim of the film director is to accurately recreate the book in moving images (which, I suppose, could be the case, though I’m not sure what would be in it for the filmmaker), how much does the film director truly owe the creator of the source material?

March on Selma. Photo source: Paramount Pictures

As for “Selma,” we have a film directed by, largely produced by, and largely starring African-American artists. The film, not surprisingly, reflects a particular point of view. I am not thrown to see aspects of this version of the story of the fight to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1965 differ from the way I’ve read about it and learned it in the past. And like it or not, I know exactly why. I have never been taught history by an African-American teacher, and most of the accounts I’ve read in textbooks were curated and edited by white editors at white scholastic publishing houses, who have to tell the version of history that is most palatable to financially profit from the sales of their textbooks. I have never met a person who marched in Selma or Washington, who sat defiantly at a diner counter or the front of a bus. Ms. DuVernay has met such people, so I can gladly defer to her recreation of their accounts for a few hours. I have neither the right nor the reason to believe that she, as this film's director, is doing any of them an injustice through her telling of these events. The film's point of view is clear, and I knew what it was walking into it just as clearly as I'd understand what I'd be getting if the director was Spike Lee or Quentin Tarantino.

Multiple sources are quoting DuVernay as having said at a recent event: “This is what I see, this is what we see…and that should be valid.” She also said that “everyone sees history through their own lens,” which is something I agree with. And I would go on to argue that good teachers in this world fight not to teach kids a particular version of history, but to assist kids in developing “their own lens.” And that leads to my third and final point.

3. Films are being misused.

As the recent terrorist attack on the satirical French publication Charlie Hebdo reminds us, we live in a world where people judge the commentary without taking the time to study what the commentary is commenting on. Young people in particular get their news straight from “The Daily Show”and its companions. They understand what is being made fun of but, with less frequency, why.

If this laziness in global citizenship is evident anywhere else, it’s certainly visible where movies are concerned, and that has been the case for years. Letting someone post the bullet points of a Supreme Court ruling on social media is far less work than reading the ruling ourselves, and rarely arrives without having passed through the filter of the poster’s interpretation of the ruling. Those who won’t take time to listen to our president speak feel adequately informed by the clips rebroadcast hours later on the nightly news. And, perhaps worst of all, films stand as satisfactory historical documents for far too many of us.

Schools use movies in history classes, and with good reason. They certainly enliven what can be a dry academic experience for any student not inherently intrigued by the past. But there is danger in allowing any film – and yes, I’m including documentary films here – in being the document of an historical event. So, for example, the problem is not that African-American leaders in New York City are working with Paramount Pictures to offer free screenings of “Selma” to junior high students. The problem would be if “Selma” became the sole statement on the events depicted in the film. How could any film be so accurate that we could show it to our children and simply say: “And that’s the way it was?”

When I watched “Selma,” I was a bit taken aback to see a President Johnson who was far more adversarial to the cause than I had once believed him to be, but my appreciation of the film was not diminished. Isn’t it perfectly reasonable to assume that this man was torn between his personal convictions and his political mandates? And before you vilify DuVernay, it’s worth taking a step back to notice that she does depict a president interested in the cause of civil rights – just one who disagrees about which steps should be taken and in which order to accomplish the goals that, on many levels, Johnson shared with King.  The film depicts the accurate end results but causes us to question the road leading up to them. I have no problem with that because I'm not relying on this movie or any one source as my sole provider of truth. I simply finished the film remembering the struggle anew, not taking for granted - at least in these moments - the sacrifices made by many to get our nation to where it is today.

I remember an uproar after walking out of Disney’s 1995 feature “Pocahontas” regarding the romanticizing of the girl’s relationship with Captain John Smith, when in reality she was known to have been much younger and was allegedly raped by Smith. It was right around that time that I started to come into a clearer understanding that while film has the power to illuminate aspects of our historical past, it is not a medium created without artistic diversions. You can call those diversions irresponsible and argue that filmmakers have a duty to get their facts straight exactly because so many of us will assume that directors have pursued their due diligence to the source material. But I think the problem is more our fault than theirs. That pursuit of the facts is incumbent on us. The filmmakers are creating art from their own personal perspectives. We’re the ones treating art as fact or complaining when it doesn’t rise to that standard. It seems to me that when we replace our historical documents, eye witnesses and carefully researched texts with movies, we're getting the history we deserve.

We need movies like “Selma” to keep the emotions of moments in our collective history alive for younger generations. And indeed, those in support of Dr. King’s mission are not going to gain any major enlightenment from the film or be so challenged by it as to question what they once believed. By and large, “Selma” is an experience in catharsis with the intellectual sidecar of a warning: are we really there yet? The film does exactly what you think it will do and largely covers exactly what you expect it to cover. I doubt many mature viewers will learn too much that they didn't already know, which in no way diminishes the power of reliving it though our viewing of the film.

Director Ava DuVernay. Photo source: Paramount Pictures

This returns us to the purpose of the art, and I think for Ava DuVernay, the purpose of her art was to remind us: of a struggle, of a feeling, and of a promise so shakily fulfilled in our country that in the closing credits’ song, “Glory,” John Legend and Common drop in references to Ferguson, Missouri without having to work hard to connect those dots.

Let us not forget that films are art; they are entertainment. I personally happen to have a greater appreciation for art that makes me think, moves me and challenges me. Others prefer that their art takes them away from their problems instead of amplifying or exploring them. But when a movie is "based on a true story," we can't forget the definition of the word "based." We are misusing films, repurposing materials that support our understanding of history as the history itself.

In his discussion on this controversy, film critic Brad Brevet, on his site Rope of Silicon, sums up my own feelings about this whole issue probably better than I managed to over the course of this long posting,when he wrote:  “The fact of the matter is, this is a movie called ‘Selma,’ not ‘LBJ,’ and if people are interested in the whole truth of history there are plenty of ways to find it. Movies evoke feelings and anyone who goes to them searching for the whole truth (even documentaries and perhaps especially documentaries) are looking in the wrong place.”

Ranking the Best Picture nominees

It seems that as the race to crown this year's Academy Award-winning film for Best Picture comes to its inevitable conclusion this evening, most people are debating among three films with the greatest likelihood of taking the top prize. What's most startling, perhaps, is any attempt to prioritize these particular films. One is a technically groundbreaking space opera, another a meticulously recreated look at our shameful past destined to be taught in schools around the country. The third is a scenery-chomping whirlwind of virtuoso acting and bad 70s fashion.

On the surface, these films would seem to prioritize themselves simply based on perceived importance, and indeed, if "12 Years a Slave" walks away the winner tonight, it will be a worthy choice but also the safest choice, as the Academy has a record of crowning films it deems "important" and almost never selects science fiction or comedy. It's one of the things I like the least about the Oscars - this assumption that movies that look and feel "important" are worth more than those that take us away from our own lives and problems or expertly navigate lighter topics.

I've seen all nine of the films nominated this year, and my ballot is filled out for this evening. I got so backlogged in watching films these past few months - some 25 movies in the past eight weeks, according to my estimation - that writing the kind of thoughtful reviews I aspire to for each of them was simply not an achievable task. So what I thought I would do is rank the nine Best Picture nominees in order, not in terms of how I suspect they will finish in the voting, but based on my own personal judgments of the films. I want to try to keep my reasons brief here, but I'll also throw in a little analysis, too.

So here's my rankings of the Best Picture nominees, interestingly enough beginning with the shortest of the nine and ending with the longest, and going from the most excitingly fresh and groundbreaking to the most familiar (though still exciting). Included next to each title is my original grade for each film. As you can see, I liked a lot of movies this year, and despite the fact that I would have liked to see a few other films make the list ("Blue Jasmine," "Fruitvale Station"), the nominees this year feel worthy.

1. "Gravity" (A+)
The list is growing of people who are seeing "Gravity" and saying that it feels slight or that it's not really about anything or that it's all tech and no soul. As the list grows, so too does the list of people I have to respectfully disagree with, because to me, all of the technological wizardry of the film - and yes, that's in every frame - acts in service of a story with deep humanity and profound spirituality, rather than overshadowing it.

Alfonso Cuaron's seemingly untethered camera not only helps to get us the closest most of us will ever get (or want to get) to what space is really like, but it symbolizes the spiritual homelessness of Sandra Bullock's Ryan Stone, an astronaut stranded in space with nothing to look forward to returning to Earth for except the possibility of her own rebirth. It's the year's most brilliant film not only because of how the production values serve the story, but because of how the film's brief running time and sparse script give viewers the opportunity to experience insane levels of dramatic and visual intensity as well as time to contemplate their own belief in themselves.

2. "Her" (A+)
People who don't like "Her" are stuck on the weirdness of the film's central plot conceit - that in the very near future, a man like Joaquin Phoenix's lonely Theodore would develop romantic feelings for the operating system that controls his smart phone or computer. And if that's all the film was really about, then I would be inclined to agree that "Her" is too odd and too creepy to be enjoyed. But I think people who dismiss the movie for those reasons are missing what I feel is the film's true purpose.

To me, "Her" is not a romantic comedy between a nerdy loner and his personal device. I believe that Spike Jones' haunting vision of the very-near future is, instead, a ringing of the death knell signaling the demise of interpersonal communication in a world where people text each other while sitting across the table from one another, one where society's greatest fear evolves from the fear of public speaking in the formal sense of presenting to an audience of many to a more primal and immediate version of glossophobia that finds us even more terrified of speaking to an audience of one.

One of the most brilliant aspects of the film, in fact, gets buried in the analysis of the film's odd romance; did anyone else notice that Theodore's job is to write letters for other people? They are fairly innocuous letters, too. It's a sad, lonely future where people can no longer express themselves if there's a chance that the person on the receiving end of that expression is made of flesh and blood. And while all of this sounds horribly depressing, it's Phoenix's fully human portrayal and Jones' observant script that turn the film into a movie that is also often sweet. So disarmingly so, in fact, that you start to like this man and his computer as a couple, thereby bringing the analysis of the film full-circle and back to the idea of how bizarre the whole concept was to begin with. I think, though, that we're wigged out by it not because it's creepy, but because it's so entirely possible.

3. "Nebraska" (A)
Alexander Payne is my go-to guy for grounded verite with lovingly comical edges, and he's firmly at the top of the list of directors whose films I look forward to.  Shot in gorgeous black and white, a decision that reflects the normalcy of the lives of the characters who inhabit its story, "Nebraska" sneaks up on you like no other film nominated here. The center of the story is Woody Grant, an elderly alcoholic from Montana trying to convince his family that a trip to Nebraska to retrieve a supposed sweepstakes prize received via a piece of junk mail is a worthy trip.

But for me, "Nebraska" is really the story of his family - and in particular his son David (Will Forte) - trying so desperately to afford a man who's suffered a string of disappointments in his life even the slightest shred of dignity near the end of it, a Herculean act of selflessness and love interrupted by real-world frustrations that most frequently surface in the form of barbs slung Woody's way via the acid-laced sarcasm of his weary wife, Kate.

"Nebraska" reminds us that life is truly about the journey, not the destination. Bruce Dern, June Squibb, Will Forte and Bob Odenkirk are all tremendous as the core of a family dealing with the anything but coincidental appearance of distant relatives and former friends who believe there's suddenly a substantial amount of money to borrow.

4. "Philomena" (A)
"Philomena" and "12 Years a Slave" are probably the most traditional kinds of films in terms of what is typically perceived as an Oscar-winner. But I found myself pleasantly surprised by the warm humor and effective pathos of this real-life story of an Irish woman who gives birth as a teenager and watches her son given away against her will to an American family for adoption, thereafter taking a vow of silence on the issue for 50 years, until a down-on-his-luck reporter looking for a subject for an attention-grabbing human interest story is placed in her path.

This is sincere, irony-free film making with an affecting script by co-star Steve Coogan and an unforgettable performance by Dame Judi Dench to add to her already lengthy list of unforgettable performances. It's a film that is modestly critical of the Catholic church without ever really offending it and a reminder for those in the journalism profession like myself that every human being has a story to tell that is worth hearing.

5. "12 Years a Slave" (A)
I'm sure you're wondering how I could place the most "important" movie of 2013 squarely in the middle of this year's nominees, especially when the film is the most likely to walk away with the prize. The answer, though, is actually fairly simple. More than that, I can give you multiple answers. For starters, you should take note that I very much liked most of the films on this list, giving "12 Years" the same rating as two films above this and the one following. To some extent, there's a bit of a tie atop my rankings. But I placed Steve McQueen's brutal slavery saga here almost solely based on re-watchability. And the fact is, I don't see myself wanting to fill up a few lazy hours on a day off with another viewing of this film, however masterful, powerful and affecting it is - because it is all of those things and more. I keep a list of movies that are "so powerful that I'm not sure I'd want to watch them again," and this movie certainly goes on that list for me.

I don't buy into the notion that "12 Years a Slave" is "torture porn," or a film made so that white audience could take pride in subjecting themselves to a few hours of cathartic white guilt. I've read words to that effect and am highly offended for my African American friends, some of whom say they have never seen an onscreen depiction of their difficult past so effectively rendered as it was here. And besides, this film was deftly directed by McQueen, a man who knows the power of a lingering shot as well as the power of the edit. There is no question that the moment when the mesmerizing Chiwitel Ejiofor is shown hanging from a tree in the foreground while plantation life continues - seemingly unaffected - behind him is the most chilling and cringe-worthy moment on film this year. And the performances, most memorably led by the gut-punching work of Oscar-nominated Lupita Nyong'o are stellar.

"12 Years a Slave" was not a "perfect" movie to me, though I would be far less critical of adding it to my Best Picture shelf than I was of last year's "Argo." But if I'm being perfectly honest, watching the movie feels a lot like eating your vegetables. They're good for you, and you need to eat them, but there are other things that taste better. That's the subject matter, of course. But it's also how I felt. Not that any of the movies I ranked higher will be taught in schools like "Schindler's List" for decades to come, as this one most certainly will.

6. "Captain Phillips" (A)
I believe that a botched ending can ruin a whole movie. The brilliance of "Captain Phillips" was an ending that actually elevated the entire film. For two hours, director Paul Greengrass gives you basically everything you expect, given his style as a director, the intense action synonymous with his work, and the well-known real-life story and now famous outcome of the ocean freighter boarded by Somali pirates in 2009. The film ratchets up in intensity on cue and Tom Hanks is the everyman you want him to be. The editing brilliantly shapes effective performances out of the band of amateurs Greengrass surrounds Hanks with, like the Oscar-nominated Barkhad Abdi, even as it accompanies the movie's pounding soundtrack to speed up the pace.

But in the film's final half-hour, Greengrass' nail-biter improves and improves with each passing minute, making it not only every bit as stress-inducing as "Gravity" but as emotionally impactful as anything I've seen this year. Perhaps the greatest coup of all is that in the film's final minutes, Hanks gives a performance that tops his storied career - and he wasn't even nominated for his efforts.

7. "Dallas Buyers Club" (B)
Taken as a whole, "Dallas Buyers Club" is as solid as a very good HBO original movie, which is no insult, but also an honest critique about a movie that is much more about acting and story than it ever is about a director's choices. But oh, those actors. Matthew McConaughey's brave work as a homophobic man diagnosed with AIDS in 1985 stands with Tom Hanks' work in "Philadelphia" as a physical on-screen embodiment of the disease at a time when effective treatments were fleeting and ignorance was rampant. And as Rayon, a fictional foil created to intensify the drama of the real-life Ron Woodroof, actor-turned-rocker-turned-back-to-actor Jared Leto is equally tough and sympathetic as a transvestite who partners with Woodroof to distribute then-experimental drugs to people (mostly men) living with AIDS.

Most of the tea leaves are predicting that both men will walk home tonight with golden statues in their hands, and I wouldn't have a bad word to say about either choice. One performance signals that a long-languishing romantic comedy actor is ready for the second act of his career. The other is equally a portrait of someone who might never been taken seriously in the past who must now be respected. The story is a little paint-by-numbers, but it's a story that burns itself into your brain.

8. "American Hustle" (B-)
To me, this was the most overrated film of the year, so lopsided in execution that this year's best performance ensemble on screen almost fully buries the film's plot as it cuts from one delightfully scenery-chomping interchange to the next. Christian Bale and Amy Adams are at the top of their games. Bradley Cooper erases doubts that last year's Oscar nomination for "Silver Linings Playbook" was no joke by following it up here with another, again at the hands of director/writer David O. Russell. And Jennifer Lawrence, who won Best Actress last year for the aforementioned "Playbook," is so damned good here that I honestly felt a pang of sadness whenever her character wasn't on the screen.

My biggest problem with "American Hustle" is that if you ask me what the movie was about, (the film is loosely based on a real-life scandal from the 70s), all I can recall are specific scenes and moments - exchanges between different combinations of actors that were darkly hilarious and/or emotionally riveting. But I felt no lasting impact with regards to the story as a whole, making "American Hustle" the kind of movie I tend to designate as a "brilliant mess." Any of the acting performances nominated would be worthy of their prizes, and indeed, the film joins a very short list of films nominated in all four acting categories. But aside from the costumes and production design, I can't think of any other awards the movie truly deserves. I certainly don't think it's Best Picture material.

9. "The Wolf of Wall Street" (C)
The hot debate is whether or not "The Wolf of Wall Street" is a successful or failed satire in terms of its depiction of the real-life Jordan Belfort, a coke-fueled stock broker who seemed to go up and up and up with few downs that money couldn't fix. I thought it was the latter, failing in that its protagonist never appeared to second-guess himself and his increasingly despicable practices.

But more than that, the film is B-grade Scorsese. Though it's constantly exciting to watch and Leonardo DiCaprio arguably gives the greatest performance of his career, the film makes its point quickly and then makes the same point over and over and over again - for three hours. The examples of Belfort's ostentatious lifestyle and limitless greed are fast established in one of the most consistently hilarious films of Martin Scorsese's storied career. But the film also devolves regularly to the edges of pornography and the story wanders around and repeats itself. In its worst moments, "The Wolf of Wall Street" feels like a cinematic circle jerk, an inside joke between the director, his new favorite leading man, and their band of frat brothers. And I don't see Scorsese doing anything here that he hasn't already done (and done better) in films like "Casino" and "Goodfellas."

Its production is so lavish and its tone so exuberant that I can't for the life of me see how anyone could watch the movie and see a condemnation of anything.  To me, its pure romanticism, and it glorifies Belfort's lifestyle with example after example, never taking the story to another place. But perhaps what's most maddening of all about the film is the fact that it is so damned entertaining and funny so frequently, that I can't simply dismiss it as a terrible film. Maybe the movie's lasting legacy is that it stands as proof of the auteur theory that the worst movies by an auteur director are still better than the best movies by others.

So that's how I see it. Feel free to post your reactions and comments. And now it's time for me to give my final predictions a final look before I settle in for what I hope is a great show. I'm not putting any money down this year, so I expect a lower number of correct responses as I take a few risks, just for the fun of it. I'll be weighing in, no doubt, on my Facebook page and on my Twitter, @Carlson451.

Dallas Buyers Club (2013)

B

While reflecting on some of the films I've seen so far this year, I've noticed an interesting trend, though I'd be naive to think that it's genuinely a "trend" and most certainly, it's nothing new. But I've been thinking about how many of this year's quality films succeed largely based on their ability to allow the masses to deeply comprehend what it's like to live the life of someone that most of us will never experience.

Call it the year of empathy building.

Four films spring instantly to mind. "Gravity," with its spare plot, left enough breathing room for us to contemplate true isolation and the stresses on an astronaut like no other film about space that preceded it. "12 Years a Slave" seems to be gaining stature as the greatest-ever filmed look at the ground-level atrocities of slavery, and I've spoken to a few African-American friends who have told me that though the stories of their families' past and their generational connections to slavery were always discussed and respected, this is the film that cracked open that experience on an emotional level.

The third film in my "empathy series" is the one I'm talking about here, "Dallas Buyers Club," which chronicles the struggle in the mid-1980s for those diagnosed with HIV/AIDS to navigate both the fledgling drug treatment bureaucracy and the fear-filled ignorance of an unenlightened public. The forth film, a sort of contemporary counterpart in some ways to "Dallas Buyers Club," is the excellent "Fruitvale Station," a film that anyone who is not black needs to watch to better understand just how the residue of racial injustice is still stuck on our fingers.

In my estimation, it's a great year when so many films have the real potential to generate true empathy in audiences. Perhaps this is even one of the measuring sticks we could use to define what makes a movie great. Alfred Hitchcock famous explained that a full quarter of the camera shots in his films were through the eyes of a character to draw the audience into the film as if they were a part of them. This year, the narratives themselves are, on some level, accomplishing the same thing.

"Dallas Buyers Club," if nothing else, will shock you into anger and sadness, thanks most of all to two brave and fantastic performances. Matthew McConaughey's shocking physical transformation and gut-level commitment to the role of real-life electrician Ron Woodroof is the cinematic yang to the yin of Tom Hanks' performance in Philadelphia. It is a primal performance, a fantastic achievement in a career so noticeably on the rise that McConaughey has to be a sure bet for an Oscar nomination in a year packed with fantastic leading male performances.

Of equal note here is the work of Jared Leto as Rayon, a drag queen with AIDS who strikes up a partnership with Woodroof to help distribute medications to treat the disease that have not been approved by the FDA. Perhaps best remembered for the TV series "My So-Called Life," Leto quietly accumulated a few solid performances but in recent years has put his most public efforts into his band 30 Seconds To Mars. This performance, however - if the award season tea leaves are any true indication - is starting to feel like a coronation. And Leto pulls off the feat of breathing a genuine humanity into the kind of character that would otherwise shock and scare the filmgoers of middle America.

The plot of "Dallas Buyers Club" - based on real events - is probably the reason why the film works as well as it does. This is no "gay film." In fact, though I'm sure that gay audiences have and will continue to support the movie with their ticket purchases and comments about the film, there is no doubt that this movie has got to be about as enjoyable for them to watch as "12 Years a Slave" or "Fruitvale Station" is to a black person in America. This is raw pain: angering, frustrating, defeating - so maddening that you wonder why you're spending you time watching because there isn't anything "enjoyable" about it, and catharsis shouldn't hurt this deeply.

Ron Woodroof is straight. In fact, he's downright homophobic, almost to the point of being a caricature of every homophobic, red state-living, beer-guzzling man in America. It's 1985, and the film opens with McConaughey's Woodroof banging two country girls backstage at a rodeo, just to make it clear to us from the get-go that this man ain't no pussy. So when the already-thin Woodroof suffers a few freak medical mishaps and is told he has HIV, he responds with an acid-spewing tirade of anti-gay slurs and indignant denials and retreats to his trailer to drink, do blow, and watch his buddy bang two local girls (or hookers?) while he watches from the couch.

Woodroof refuses to accept the doctors' diagnosis of 30 days left to live, but eventually faces it as he must, struggling all the while to comprehend how he could have contracted a gay man's disease as his friends start to learn of his situation and abandon him. He begs the benevolent Dr. Eve Saks (Jennifer Garner) to allow him to participate in a study to test out AZT, a new drug to combat HIV. He quickly becomes as infuriated as any of us would be that someone with such a finite timeline on Earth would run a 50 percent chance of being given a placebo instead of the actual drug, just because that's how studies are conducted if drugs are to receive FDA approval. He starts looking for another way to score the potentially dangerous drugs, knowing that he has nothing at all at this point to lose.

The chance encounter that alters the course of the rest of Woodroof's life occurs during one particular hospitalization when he discovers that he is sharing a room with Rayon (Leto), a drag queen who reveals that he is taking part in a drug study and sharing his medication with a friend for a high payout. After suffering through Woodroof's obligatory homophobic tirade, Rayon and Woodroof strike up a partnership to expand Rayon's scheme into something bigger. Before long, Woodroof is making trips to Mexico to purchase cases of unapproved drugs and supplements to sell to men suffering with HIV and AIDS at home. Through his research and the help of a clever but disbarred doctor now living in Mexico and operating out of a ramshackle clinic, Woodroof comes to see AZT as a poison and a threat to improving the health of people living with AIDS.

Woodroof and Rayon rent hotel rooms and begin a "buyers club," modeled on groups that have sprung up in other major cities. The concept is that people pay a monthly fee and then have access to the drugs that they need, which allows those who run the clubs to avoid - on a technicality - the status of being someone who is selling unapproved drugs illegally. Their patrons are buying "club memberships." A central conflict of the film is Woodroof's constant run-ins with Dr. Saks' supervisor, Dr. Sevard (Denis O'Hare) and the authorities both local and federal, particularly those from the slow-moving FDA.

As expected, "Dallas Buyers Club" makes the Food and Drug Administration into a one-dimensional villain, an institutional bureaucracy of a government enforcing ridiculous policies that cost lives and wield power over groups of people they don't like. And frankly, when you come to empathize with what it might have been like to have HIV in the mid-to-late 1980s, it seems unlikely that there would be any other reasonable way to view the FDA. This insight provides viewers with the film's emotional motor, which is an underlying sense of anger and injustice at the least and, for some viewers, most likely a full-blown sense of rage.

We also get a moment similar to the one in "Philadelphia" where the straight man comes to respect - at least on some level - the gay man, though I must say that it's no less powerful or satisfying here just because you can see it coming. In fact, it's genuinely emotional here, in large part because the two men - for as profoundly different as they are - share the same disease. Some of the film's best moments come when the straight Woodroof is given the same public treatment as a gay man.

Where "Dallas Buyers Club" suffers a bit for me is in its direction, and Jean-Marc Vallee does not have an extensive filmography to suggest a rich history or clear style as a film maker. This film levels out on the same emotional plane for long periods of time. It relies heavily on cut transitions and jarring visual jumps. For lack of a better way to put it, it just feels like a movie that is working because of its performances and the nature of the true story being told, not because there is anything artistic being done by the production team to elevate the story to another level.

I feel confident that McConaughey and Leto will spend a lot of time in tuxedos in the coming weeks because "Dallas Buyers Club" is one of those award-bait actor's showcases. Many of Meryl Streep's nominations, for instance, come from average films. When the performance of the actor elevates the film to a higher level, a nomination is much more likely. There is no doubt that this film is elevated to another level by these two men. Aside from them, "Dallas Buyers Club" feels like a solid TV movie that would air on HBO.

For as much as "Dallas Buyers Club" is a film meant to help us understand what it would have been like to have HIV/AIDS during a time when no one understood the disease or its victims, I think the film generates a second topic of discussion that is equally challenging and perhaps even more far-reaching, which is the debate over to what extent our governmental, legal and medical systems should allow the terminally ill to control what they put into their bodies. It's a fierce debate that certainly resonates today, and watching the struggles of a man in the '80s, a reminder that the wheels of certain government agencies turn at a snail's pace.

Six By Sondheim (2013)

A-

Stephen Sondheim is one of my heroes. That has to be said right off the bat. The list of artists who have challenged me the most intellectually and moved me the most emotionally is an exclusive one, a personal sort of artistic Mount Rushmore that also includes Orson Welles, Woody Allen and John Irving. 

I don't have the time and space, much less the words, to effectively communicate how inspired I've been by Sondheim's use of language, how moved I've been by his gift for melody, or how threatened I've felt during any attempt to master a performance of one of his songs. As an artist, he's just at the peak of everything I could aspire to be. 

So in the moments during "Six by Sondheim," a new documentary focusing primarily on Sondheim's creative process, when he comes across as somewhat aloof, I remained enamored. I think we tend to forgive true geniuses of their occasional lapses in social graces and strays from humility. After all, they're just operating on an entirely different level. 

I was pleased that Sondheim's longtime collaborator James Lapine took up the task of attempting to piece together something out of four decades of Sondheim interviews to create this film. After all, Lapine understands as well as anyone how Sondheim works and wisely highlights the symbolism of Sondheim's belief that putting a show together is like assembling a puzzle. 

As Sondheim himself has famously said: "Art, in itself, is an attempt to bring order out of chaos." 

Lapine brings order out of this particular chaos by whittling down Sondheim's massive canon to six key songs, which he uses as a loose frame upon which to hang snippets of interviews and stories from Sondheim about everything from how to write a lyric to his career journey to anecdotes about particular collaborators. The songs chosen are perhaps relatively obvious but nonetheless effective. They are: "Something's Coming," "Opening Doors," "Send in the Clowns," "I'm Still Here," "Being Alive" and "Sunday." 

My biggest complaint about "Six by Sondheim" is that it's not long enough for fans like me. Its 86 minutes fly by and leave fans wanting more stories, more insights, more performances. What about "Children Will Listen"? How can you skip "Sweeney Todd"? 

But upon further reflection, what makes "Six by Sondheim" such a great documentary is in Lapine's ability to represent the core foundation of Stephen Sondheim in such a tight and organized manner. He simply grabs for some of the larger pieces of the Sondheim puzzle and uses them to illuminate some of the most vital factors that explain the man's artistry. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe less is more. And in choosing this method, I suspect that even viewers who do not know Sondheim well or don't obsess over him like so many of us theatre geeks do could watch this film and truly feel like they've taken an incredible dive into the nature of creating art. Through Lapine's inspired structure, we experience everything from where the author's personal life enters in to his lyrics to the dreaded (and cliche) which comes first...the lyrics or the music debate. 

To accent the documentary's structure, Lapine inserts nearly complete performances of each of the songs, mixing together vintage footage of original performances (as with "Something's Coming" and "Being Alive") with newly-staged clips shot by other filmmakers (like Todd Haynes' bizzare take on "I'm Still Here," reimagined as song performed by a man to an audience of women - and my least favorite part of this film). For "Send in the Clowns," arguably Sondheim's most famous individual song, Lapine even throws in a mashup of some of the many diverse artists who have covered the song over the past 40 years, an effective way of demonstrating the song's lasting power. 

Looking beyond the documentary film making itself, I find my respect for Stephen Sondheim ever deepening. It's hard for me to dislike a man who calls teaching "the sacred profession" and uses puzzle imagery to explain everything from putting on a show to life itself in a way that no one other than Orson Welles could do in "Citizen Kane." There were some ideas about Sondheim I knew about already from my time spent reading about him and studying him, and still some fresh surprises, particularly in how he uses an idea for a song title to guide his work, or how he approaches songwriting from the position of being an actor, rather than being autobiographical. (In fact, "Opening Doors" is included here because Sondheim says it is his only fully autobiographical song.) 

A lack of knowledge of Stephen Sondheim will likely keep many away from even being aware of the existence of "Six by Sondheim," which is currently airing on HBO and available on demand. And I'm saddened that the film was not shortlisted to compete for the Academy Award, though I don't know whether or not it was submitted. What I do know is that if you are someone who values art and music and ideas in your life - if you're someone like me who cannot go a day without a song or the passion music brings in terms of deepening our plights as human beings - you should seek out "Six by Sondheim" and be inspired by this man's ability to explain the necessity of art in our lives.  

Frozen (2013)

B+

They're calling it the greatest Disney animated musical since "The Lion King." I had to look up that list to see if I agreed. Do you know that Disney and its affiliated studios (like Pixar) have released over 50 feature-length animated films since 1994? Is "Frozen" really THAT good?

I filtered through the list of Disney releases and first eliminated the Pixar films, because most of them were made prior to the studio formally merging with Disney, and because those films are not traditionally-made animated features in that they are digitally produced and the music is incidental, rather than integral to the story in Disney's time-honored musical format. Then, I got rid of the non-musicals, straight-to-video releases and sequels, films made in partnership with other studios, and the amazing Miyazaki films distributed by Disney. And for the record, I just eliminated a half dozen films that are better than "Frozen."

Here's what you're left with: "Pocahontas" (1995), "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" (1996), "Hercules" (1997), "Mulan" (1998), "Tarzan" (1999), "The Emperor's New Groove" (2000), "Brother Bear" (2003), "Home on the Range" (2004), "The Princess and the Frog" (2009), and "Tangled" (2010). 

Some of the best songs from the Disney musical canon were still coming from that '90s output, even if those films were inconsistent when compared to the studio's early '90s renaissance. "Go the Distance," "Reflection," "I'll Make a Man out of You" and most of Phil Collins' Oscar-winning "Tarzan" score are still memorable today. From the list of 2000s films, my favorite until now has to be "Tangled," a surprisingly charming addition to the stack that saw composer Alan Menken back to his fine form and accomplished the as-yet unfinished task of pilfering one of the last remaining princesses in children's literature (Rapunzel) and forever turning her into a Disney creation. 

I'm a huge Disney fan, so I apologize for this extended introduction to "Frozen," which I've apparently repurposed as a sort of history lesson. And so to get on with it, I'll answer my original question. For me, "Frozen" is the second-best Disney musical since "The Lion King," stubborn as I will remain to decrease in any way my devotion to "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," a film I know is not perfect but one that made me weep and feel deeply, a film that met me where I was as a recent college graduate and is admittedly elevated in stature in my mind due as much to circumstance as to quality. 

After that, however, comes "Frozen," a visual feast that manages to be simple and complex at the same time and, though focused on the lives of not one but two princesses, captivate a van full of 8-year-old boys just as easily as girls. And I did the field work to prove that last statement, having taken my son and his friends to see the film as a part of his birthday party, which is also why I apologize for anything I miss in this review because I was frequently focused on them. 

We're far enough into our Disney film history to point out that "Frozen" sticks firmly to the studio's time-tested tropes. It's up to the viewer to decide whether it's good or bad that virtually every plot element, character type and storytelling device is recycled from a previous work. Clearly, Disney is working harder to recapture the magic of "The Little Mermaid" and "Aladdin" than even Michael Jackson did in his efforts to top "Thriller." 

Sometimes the easiest way to explain the plot of a Disney film is to draw references from its time-tested past, so here's a plot summary for the Disney-literate:

The story is loosely based on a classic fairy tale ("Snow White," "Cinderella," "The Little Mermaid," "The Princess and the Frog," "Tangled"), Hans Christian Andersen's "The Snow Queen." Anna and Elsa are sisters, toddler best friends ("The Fox and the Hound"),  princesses being raised in a castle in Arendalle, where their father is king ("The Lion King"). The king and queen have growing concerns that one of their daughters, Anna, has the freakish power of freezing anything she touches or even feels anxiety toward. She's like an emo Scandinavian Midas with ice for gold. They decide that it wouldn't be too psychologically damaging to their much more naive and plain daughter Anna if they separate the two girls, like forever ("Cinderella"). There have been a few mishaps, including that one time Elsa damn near killed her sister and some magical trolls had to heal her ("Gnomeo & Juliet"? I'm reaching here...) And besides, you can't be too careful when it comes to keeping your children tucked away from the dangers of the world ("Dumbo," "Bambi," "The Little Mermaid," "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," "Finding Nemo," "Tangled"). Ah, sheltering children via parenting by fear...quite possibly Disney's longest standing tradition.

So Anna grows more and more resentful of her situation, yet never clever enough to understand it. She just wants to build a snowman (like they did in "Beauty and the Beast," and P.S.: Anna is basically Belle). It's a shame Facetime hasn't been invented yet, because they sing lovely duets separated by a huge, locked door (still stuck on "Beauty and the Beast," now with a touch of "Brave"). And Elsa heaves and sighs, locked in her bedroom ("Tangled," "Brave") until the untimely death of her parents ("Bambi," "The Lion King") forces her to assume the thrown as queen of Arendalle. 

Elsa is, like, mad crabby about being queen because she feels she's best left alone (um...Beast in "Beauty and the Beast"?) and plus, her sister is the object of a boy's affections and she's not ("Cinderella"). That boy, Hans, breaks from Disney tradition and skips the climactic pursuit of a princess and proposes in the film's opening reel. Anna accepts because she is naive to the ways of the world and the nature of true love, which she will later discover was in her all along (every Disney movie with a girl in it). Walt Disney's casket flies across the ice (just kidding on that one...). Elsa soon takes off into the snowy mountains to live alone in her self-constructed ice castle, not realizing that she's placed all of Arendalle in a deep freeze. She sings an incredible song about her conflicting contentment/ennui in isolation ("Snow White," "The Little Mermaid" "Pocahontas," "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," "Mulan").

Still confused as to what exactly is up with her sister, Anna sets out on a journey to find her, reason with her, and request some global warming. Along the way, she picks up a dumb but useful companion named Kristoff, his big-hearted sidekick, the reindeer Sven, and a wacky, talking snowman with limited courage named Olaf. Wait...is this "The Wizard of Oz"? While on their journey, Anna comes to understand some things about her sister and her fiance. And to keep us from getting bored, the talking inanimate object sings a hilariously entertaining, showstopping number ("Beauty and the Beast," "Hercules") and the magical creatures made of stone get a nifty song as well ("The Hunchback of Notre Dame"). 

Because this is a Disney movie, the final minutes of the film burst into compassion and love and shit-tons of glitter. But I won't spoil that here because - in all seriousness - there are actually a few surprise twists I didn't see coming. And if you can't tell from this plot summary, there isn't much that you can't see coming. 

Two key factors elevate "Frozen" to near-greatness. The first is that in spite of its adherence to just about every previously-used Disney tactic, the film manages to bring something fresh to the table - genuinely complicated relationships. The naive Anna's ditzy whirlwind of a romance with Hanz does not develop in the typical Disney way, and the relationship between Anna and Elsa is refreshingly far more central to the film's story than any romantic entanglements. 

The other reason why "Frozen" is so special is because its music is a return to the glories of films past. Both "The Princess and the Frog" and "Tangled" had a few good songs apiece, but "Frozen" is filled with memorable moments, thanks to the work of Robert and Kristen Anderson Lopez. For the Broadway illiterate, Robert Lopez wrote the songs for both "Avenue Q" and "The Book of Mormon," two of the most exciting shows of the past decade on the Great White Way. They are also, interestingly enough, two of the most profane and irreverent, but Lopez and his wife capture only the sweetness of his Broadway work here, perfectly marrying it to the Disney style but with some ear-catchingly modern lyrics (like, when's the last time you heard a princess question whether or not her excitement could just be gas?) 

The film follows the classic Disney musical traditions, opening with a choral number and providing everything from the main character's aria of self-conflict to the goofy sidekick's crowd-pleasing highlight to the obligatory love duet. But placed in the wind pipes of Broadway vets like the dazzling Idina Menzel and the now-hot Josh Gad (in addition to the woefully underused Jonathan Groff and the surprisingly good Kristin Bell), the songs combine the very familiar with the slightly fresh in exactly the same manner as the film's story, resulting in a work that, well, just works. "Do You Want to Build a Snowman" is a sincere tear-jerker. "For the First Time in Forever" falls squarely in the tradition of "West Side Story"'s "Something's Coming," that formulaic but successful early-in-the-story song that sets up the conflict. "In Summer" is memorably goofy. And "Let It Go" is a soaring anthem of empowerment. You are almost begging on the inside as you first hear it that, come early March, you will be a witness to Idina Menzel being flown to the rafters of the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles above Jack Nicholson and George Clooney, wearing an epic dress with a train that reaches all the way to the stage from the theatre's ceiling ("Wicked"). 

It's pretty clear that Disney has made it a goal with most of its recent films to evolve the decidedly non-feminist portrayals of its princesses. It's a cause they took up with "Mulan" but really poured their hearts into with "Tangled" and "Brave," and now "Frozen" stands as perhaps its most successful attempt to combine the classic Disney princess sweetness and merchandising potential with a more contemporary view of female empowerment. Those of us with little kids of our own now are, of course, the ones to blame for all of this. Somehow we were the ones to suddenly notice that Disney princesses are shockingly naive and dependent on magic for guidance. We don't want our little girls to have to rely on a kiss to save them! Oh, and "Pocahontas" is mad-racist! 

Now, for as much as I've used my space here to mock "Frozen," please know that I thoroughly enjoyed it, but was also objective enough to understand its flaws, which extend beyond its devotion to stealing bits from every Disney feature that's come before it. There was something disingenuous to me about the film's attempt to be both old-fashioned and fresh at the same time. There were moments when the two princess approach made it decidedly unclear as to where our allegiances should lie. And for as gorgeous as the animation was when it came to landscaping and sidekick creatures, what the hell is going on with Disney's choices in terms of animating people? Can't they refer back to their glory years for visual cues the way they do for everything else? Why are their eyes so big? Why do we want everything to purposefully look so digital? 

What will keep me coming back to "Frozen," though, will be the same thing that brings me back to all of the other Disney films I love: the heartwarming sidekick character and the endlessly singable songs. And, of course, the simple wisdom of a Disney classic, which in this case was actually first communicated by Madonna in her song with the same title as this film: "you're frozen/when your heart's not open."