Is the SAG Shake-Up An Oscar Signal?

The Social Network was clearly not in a position to win the Screen Actors Guild "Outstanding Cast" prize despite its glut of young new talent. It's simply not how the SAG awards work and simply not the way voting bodies recognize performances -- a band of young male stars is simply not how the cookie crumbles.

With a quick scan of the cast winners for the past dozen or so years, SAG has its specific taste -- it's either the best picture, or it's the smaller picture with the charming acting. The only two exceptions to this rule seem Traffic and Inglorious Basterds. But even with those exceptions, the only point of note seems their lack of charm. They are, after all, full of great performances and this is the acting award handed out by actors. The trophy itself is called "The Actor" for goodness sake. And the painstaking effort to say things like Female Actor and Male Actor! Is it controversial to use the word "actor" to signify that the person is a male? Has "actress" suddenly become the "male nurse" of the art world? It's not like Josh Duhamel was up there saying "And you're pick for most hip co-ed is..." Anyway... that's an entirely different conversation that's neither here nor there -- well, it's "there" I'm just not going to spend time going into it right now.

The point is that as much as a new crop of actors emerged with The Social Network, it is simply not going to win the SAG award in a room that gives best actress in a Comedy Series to Betty White. It's not going to take down any of its fellow nominees -- whether its The Kids Are All Right -- filled with former nominees and winners, The Black Swan -- same situation applies, or The Fighter -- which seemed the odds on favorite going into the night.

The problem for The Social Network is that the trophy went to The King's Speech -- much as it would have been to Fincher & Co's chagrin should the non-nominated True Grit have stalked in and Murkowski-ed the joint. Back in 1998, when the world was quietly awaiting Saving Private Ryan to storm the beach of Oscar victory, Harvey Weinstein and Ed Zwick's slick yoink  of the SAG Award seemed immaterial. Despite the great performances throughout Ryan (which should have won and I'll go ten rounds with anyone who thinks otherwise! Obviously these will be thumb wrestling rounds) was the world honestly going to say that Barry Pepper, Vin Diesel, and the gang were going to take the award over Judi Dench, Colin Firth, Joe Fiennes, Geoffrey Rush, and Gwyneth Paltrow? 

Cut to Oscar night 1998: was it a surprise when Judi Dench won the Oscar, followed by Gwyneth, followed by Tom Stoppard and Marc Norman -- if Steven Spielberg was still getting up there for Best Director -- after Ryan had already bagged Editing, Sound, Sound EFX Editing, and Cinematography? The Oscar still seemed in The Mission is a Man's favor. Sure, there were schmohawks like Sole down there on Wall Street betting "the field" against a Ryan victory. But even that wasn't a straight up assumption that Shakespeare would take it. No one thought so. No one. People were thrilled afterward and did ample revisionist emotional and predictive history, pointing out the signs -- but even the happy were shocked: it was a stunner. The icing on the stupefying cake was that the best picture presenter was Harrison Ford -- who else do you send out to give Spielberg his picture Oscar? It wasn't like Ben Affleck was doing the honors!

Here we are again 12 Award Seasons later -- Miramax has toppled -- and a charming little British film with Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush has steadily increased the mailings getting louder and louder in its victories on the road to Oscar. Last night it had the very same success Shakespeare had: Leading Role (only this time "Male Actor") and Cast.

Is Harvey doing it again?


- Matthew J. McCue

The Screen Actors Guild Awards: Will Tonight Settle Anything?

The voting bodies of the Screen Actors Guild and the Academy are about as close you're going to get. The odd thing has been the years of absolute parity and those of marked discrepancy.

Perhaps as a signal of this trophy's personality, the inaugural telecast saw immediate inconsistency with the Academy -- Jodie Foster's "Messa-tay, chicka-bay" win for Nell as opposed to Jessica Lange's Oscar for Blue Sky.

Most notably in this particular award season is that dear Annette Bening took the SAG for American Beauty but the Oscar got Swanked. Swan or not, will the SAG settle it? Frankly, I think this one goes right down to the envelope in far more Kidman vs. Zellweger fashion than any of the former Bening vs. Swank battles of yesteryear.

The SAGs also seems to do little to settle contentious supporting categories. Not only have off the wall people taken the SAG trophy -- Robert Duvall A Civil Action -- in years past, the Actor has gone to a slew of folks who didn't win at previous ceremonies -- Kate Winslet for Sense and Sensibility, Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow, Meryl Streep for Doubt. They've also had those years where people were mis-categorized and lost -- Jennifer Connelly for A Beautiful Mind -- and the years where people were mis-categorized and won -- Benicio del Toro for Traffic.

So what does tonight square? It seems the Actor only confirms consistency or corrects Globe wonky-ness. The categories are no longer separated, there are no runners-up. And if The Fighter takes ensemble, "Picture" will remain a mystery.... If it's The King's Speech, well, February 27th gets a bit of edge.

Annette -- my heart's with you.

- Matthew J. McCue

True Grit: Iceberg, Straight Ahead?

"Well, I'm sorry if the Coen Brothers don't direct the porn that I watch." - Superbad

When all is said and done and a feature film has it in the bag -- trophy after trophy -- time and again a Christmas release swoops in and nabs the gold. Shakespeare in Love and Million Dollar Baby being the most notable to pull off this specific feat in the past 15 years. There have been other upsets for sure, but usually they fall into the "everything was released Christmas week" category -- A Beautiful Mind... perhaps not so much an "upset" as "upsetting" -- or early releases that swoop back in and nab the gold, fittingly or not -- Silence of the Lambs, Braveheart, Crash.

Admittedly, Million Dollar Baby had the awards in the bag and coffin nailed on The Aviator by the Golden Globes. Shakespeare in Love's upsetting upset came at the peak of the Miramax campaign machine. This year's situation presents a particular conundrum because it involves a pair of American masters who have become such a brand-name of excellence, they can be referenced in Superbad with the guarantee that every teenager will know who it is. And yet, they didn't have a single Golden Globe nomination.

This makes the possibility of a True Grit win an unprecedented upset. A remarkably late arrival. A western -- only three have won before. The Coens just won an a mess of Oscars. Jeff Bridges just won an Oscar last year. Hailee Steinfeld is new on the scene. Damon isn't nominated. It's a remake. Oscar speaking, what most people remember about the original True Grit was that it was the film where John Wayne finally received recognition -- besting Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman for Midnight Cowboy, as well as Richard Burton -- who would never win -- and Peter O'Toole who never won either, he waited for a much deserved honorary award. Many wrote off the original True Grit seeing this as an award injustice worthy of active ignoring.

And yet -- this little locomotive is gaining remarkable momentum and may topple the Facebook Flick if The King's Speech or Toy Story 3 doesn't beat Grit to it. Perhaps this is the ramblings of a madman who so wants the 10 nominees to explode in the Academy's face bringing back the "True 5." Perhaps this is the equivalent of all those who heard the Hurt Locker whistle on the wind but held out hope for Avatar or even let their mind wander to a realm where a Tarantino victory via vote split was possible. Duh.

Obviously no one wants True Grit to undeservedly win against Fincher's all around great movie. That is not the case. Few things upset me more than Oscar injustice -- but perhaps the tectonic plates haven't settled just yet.

So what makes Grit so great?


Simply put: the quirky perfection of The Coen Brothers. Here, in the old west, under clearly stated circumstances every bit of bizzar-ity seemed nothing more than iron-clad sure-as-heck realism. Whether it was a body dangling from a noose or a fur-clad medicine man wandering through the a flurry it was all a continued part of the seamless world The Coens built that seemed nothing more than the actual old West.  All that can be said for this auteurist duo's stamp is that it had style -- but never got in the way of the material.

To see Jeff Bridges in the hands of the Coens once more in a part that could be no less Dude than Gabriel Byrne in Miller's Crossing is a true statement of the talent of all parties involved. Matt Damon's under-rated role as Texas Ranger LaBoeuf proves his continued sound judgement in role selection. After Clooney has become a Coen regular and Pitt seems poised to do the same, it seems only right that Ocean's Eleven number three should jump on-board. His lacking a supporting actor nomination is a true surprise -- if I haven't mentioned that ten times already.

But the story here is Hailee Steinfeld. Besides Colin Firth's absolute excellence as King George VI, Hailee Steinfeld's feature film debut is the acting story of the year. It only takes a little bit of listening to realize that the direct, clipped, honest gusto of Steinfeld's Mattie Ross -- on the road to avenge her father's death -- is a role penned for a teenage Frances McDormand. Short of a DeLorean and a chest of Libyan plutonium, the Coens will never have the chance to place Joel's wife and their "go to muse" in a such a role -- but it sure doesn't mean they can't write one.

Selling of ponies and then using the profits to buy one back -- stuffing her hat with newspaper so it will fit -- plunging into the river to call you on your bluff -- or smiling happily at the posse campfire, hoping to tell a bedtime story -- this was a Coen woman with Franny McD sauce: strong-willed, forthright, never wavering, always just, and never permitting the laziness of men to blow her off with a half-baked lazy half truth. Hailee's uninterrupted forward momentum and her tongue's tip-top tapdance across mouthful's of Coen dialogue gave her the immediate shine of a seasoned veteran -- not a young smiling newbie who is, simply put, thrilled.

Whether Hailee will be able to Paquinize the situation is a question of the Rudin/Weinstein boxing match held in the shadows of The Fighter's supporting trophy lock-up. Melissa Leo seems to have it in the bag -- we'll see tonight how that shakes out at the Screen Actors Guild Awards. But should Steinfeld or Bonham Carter win tonight -- anything's possible for this little lady who, at the end of the day, far more than the man with the eyepatch, seemed the one with True Grit. 


- Matthew J. McCue

Black Swan: You Are the Wind Beneath My (Paranoid, Self-Destructive, Homoerotic, Nail-Clipped) Wings!

A film with this much camp will hopefully prompt cocktail parties for years to come where Natalie dances herself to pieces and Liza Minnelli re-records her classic with lyrics that sing your praise...

"Pack up all my care and woe! Here I go! Full psycho! Bye! (BYE!) Bye! (BYE!) Black Swan! (Doodle-ee-doo-doo-doo!)"

"It's my turn!" - Nat the Swan.

Darren Aronofsky arrived in my final year of undergraduate film studies. Pi was nothing short of a phenomenon -- there were stickers, there was spray paint, there was a new dude who had made a black and white film about a symbol! A mathematical one, actually. Yes, this seemed to be the Eraserhead of ... well ... Jewish Math? It was unquestionably great. It was clearly the work of a director from the new generation -- one who was going to last. But it was also about ... well... a ratio?

I snarkily walked away from that film focusing on the protagonist's repetitive recounting of his days staring at the sun -- quipping to my friends that I preferred Dana Carvey's angry old man whose only pastime was staring at the sun until his eyes burst into flames and people were roasting chickens on his head. "That's the way it was and we liked it!" Yes, I was a jerk.

This was firmly proven by the film that had me out in the streets hollering "All aboard the Aronofsky express! 'board! All ABOARD!" -- Requiem for a Dream. I saw the film opening day at Lincoln Plaza and spent much of the screening with my eyes so firmly closed and so tightly covered that the gentleman next to me legitimately asked me if I was all right. I've often thought he may be the very same gent who asked me the very same question in the very same theater during a screening of Quills. No. I was not all right. I may still not be all right. Between Ellen Burstyn's desperation to be in the warmth of the sun, Jennifer Connelly's a**-to-a** mayhem, and Jared Leto's arm -- man you just knew that thing was going to have to come off -- I was a wreck. I've never seen Requiem for a Dream or Quills again. I never will. Why would I do that to myself?

The Fountain came and went. Mickey Rourke took all the credit for The Wrestler despite the steady handed unwavering commitment Aronofsky had as its director, bringing Mickey Rourke to near Oscar victory -- a feat most would deem impossible. This was a Tarantino-like triumph -- done on Darren's terms.

Now, here we are with Black Swan, the most improbably artistic achievement in a year of rampant straightforward narratives. Black Swan is the dark, shadow-ridden, internal indie psycho-thriller, happily yanging it up to Inception's yin. Where Inception has slick, Swan has jaunty, hand-held, sloppy control. Where Inception has careful navigators of a psychological world systematically and calculatedly imploding, the Swan is a maddening, self devouring, maniacally mixed-up batch of mayhem -- clawing itself to pieces from the inside out.

Darren Aronofsky has pulled off a masterwork of deliberate camp, embracing everything the ballet psycho-thriller tradition has held to -- from The Red Shoes to Suspiria -- in a Lynchian trip that gives the impression it was accidentally made with a couple of cheap-o cameras when it is in fact the most deliberate, precise, self-sufficient cinematic flip-out we've seen in years.

Just look at the man's casual archetypal casting...

Barbara Hershey -- genius.

Winona Ryder -- excellent (I deeply love Winona).

Vincent Cassel -- who else could it have been?

Mila Kunis -- the female snub of the year.

All perfectly balanced on the bruised toes of the diminutive Natalie Portman. 

Won't you just be nice to her?

Natalie has long proven herself as one of the strongest actresses of her generation. Whether it was her initial role in The Professional where she won the world's heart and men's inappropriate attention... Whether it was her Golden Globe winning turn in Closer... Whether it was her split second screen time in Cold Mountain... Whether it was Amidala, Queen of Naboo, mother of Luke Skywalker... Or the very many mediocre movies we've all taken the time to boost simply because they included Natalie... Since the start, she has been a highly valued Hollywood commodity -- a Trump card awaiting the correct play.

Who knew it would be as the timid, would-be Lincoln Center star who tore herself to homicidal shreds under the pressure of a lead ballet role in the sympathetic trippy lesbianic wake of Winona Ryder's forced retirement? Who would conceive such a project around this darling weeper? This mother of Leia? This Wal-Mart birther? The stripper with a heart? Furthermore -- who knew she would not only take the role -- but take the role to its limit? 

The Award Season question, of course, is whether Natalie has actress locked away. Will Annette once again lose front-runner award position to a far younger star? Natalie is to the Swan what Sean Penn was to Milk and what the Swank was to Boys Don't Cry: the one who can take the trophy and claim victory for the entire production. Swan's lack of nominations in other categories leaves one wondering -- as I mentioned Tuesday -- whether it is a signal that the film has lost its forward thrust or whether two specific people -- Aronofsky and Portman -- have been given full credit for the entire film's success. Is this the director and his muse raising a champagne glass to their ballet triumph while the company waits in the wings? It damn well may be the case.

This campy wonder has me chomping at the bit for Aronofsky's next. How I wish he would adapt a major piece of literature -- tackle a myth or even a superhero story, caution thrown to the wind. He's earned it -- even if he's decided to maintain the mustache.

Swan... as a man with "Swan Lake" as his ringtone this past two years (admittedly, it's because of Billy Elliot and my deep love of the ballet) I must admit your greatness. I skitter over your nail-biting neck and neck race with my dear Mrs. Beatty. But I croon your praises as only an E.B. White trumpet could. Fly, Swan. Fly.


- Matthew J. McCue

The King's Speech: Hush, Hush, Sweet Regent!

The marvel of all of this is how pitch perfect Colin Firth's performance was in last year's A Single Man.

Of course, you can't expect the world to run out and see the Tom Ford film based on the Isherwood story about the sad gay English professor who eventually collapses on a mat. There's a Ulee's Gold-ness to that sort of film that compartmentalizes it right into Away From Her-ville: "Oh, I hear that's great." Synonymous with, "Of course I didn't see it."

Well, I obviously did see it -- alone -- opening day -- at the Paris. I loved it. But I'm not going to lie about walking directly out of the Paris, hanging a hard left, and going directly to the bar at Landmarc. Heavenly Father can that Colin Firth put your heart in a vise and just keep cranking -- but in a good, non-Casino way.

Obviously, last year belonged to Jeff Bridges -- the long overdue understated, underrated veteran who turned in an excellent performance in Crazy Heart -- a near tailor-made Oscar vehicle where he hit every nail square on the head. Colin smiled at his losing table, ceremony after ceremony, simply happy to be nominated -- it was, after all, the first time the Academy nodded Mr. Firth's way.

So here we are, one year later, Jeff Bridges has once again nailed his performance -- this time with the Coen Brothers. And yet... there is King Colin.

The King's Speech is the most gloriously tiny, heartwarming, heart-wrenching, Brit-house wallop of the year. Of course this is the work of the Weinstein Company. It's almost infuriating to admit! This is precisely the type of film they have so masterfully delivered time and again, year after Oscar-nominated year, whether under their current banner, or back at the Max. And as Colin Firth so graciously pointed out during his Golden Globe acceptance speech, the marriage of his career with Harvey Weinstein has been a wise and rewarding one.

Take a look at the list:

The King's Speech
Bridget Jones x 2
The Importance of Being Earnest
Shakespeare in Love
The English Patient


This is Mr. Darcy, time and again. This is a man who had audiences wondering why Kristin Scott Thomas would go wandering off with that Hungarian in the desert. This is the man who asked the world the most soul searching question of all: wouldn't you rather give up your life and be his Portuguese maid? And we answered with a resounding, "Yes!"

And now he is the King who "bloody well" stammers -- for so many tiny little human reasons, left with the throne after his proud brother abdicates, stuck staring Hitler eye to eye through the meshy web of a microphone. He's King Darcy now: apologetic, warm, grateful, proper to a fault, in need of a hug, honest with children, and a knock out in a tux.

And he's only a third of this perfect triad of performances.

I've spoken time and again in recent years about Helena Bonham Carter's deliberate decision to grab hold of the steering wheel and take a hard turn down crazy lane. This former belle of the Merchant Ivory ball was the smiling pre-Winslet of the early '90s-- the Ophelia before Kate -- happily strolling from A Room With a View to Baby Bast In the Oven (or what is more commonly called Howards End). Then -- somewhere after she and Kenneth Branagh decided to explore The Theory of Flight, Ms. Bonham Carter (Burton) warmly embraced on-screen lunacy. The Queen of Hearts! Lady Lovett! And in case she didn't mention it once or twice before she "KILLED SIRIUS BLACK!" So she returns without having missed a period piece beat, into the role of that most of us know as the Queen Mother -- seeking a speech therapist for her charming husband with such grace. How I wish an Oscar for you, madam.

Finally there is Geoffrey Rush -- the tippy top of top-shelf. After bursting onto the American radar with Shine there has been nothing but stellar work from Mr. Rush -- Shakespeare in Love, Elizabeth, Peter Sellers, Pirates of the Carribean, Munich, Exit the King -- and here he is again.  Here Rush is the understated genius who sees the King within the man and in graceful Dickensian fashion doesn't need a parade, doesn't need a fortune -- a thank you will suffice -- or "Knighthood" but only said in a way that shows how this Aussie can encapsulate a performance in a witticism. Supporting actor is a brutal category, it always is. Don't believe me? Take a look at the nominees for 1993 -- or any other year for that matter. For some insane reason the odds seem stacked against Mr. Rush in this year. Perhaps  a Weinstein campaign will straighten that out.

I shall say no more.

I so love this film. I demand you all see it.

- Matthew J. McCue

The (Particularly) Left Out.

There are plenty of folks who woke far too early this morning and waited for the phone to ring. Some expecting it far too much, like Steven Spielberg who was rumored to have an entire camera crew at his home, ready for the Jaws directing nomination he didn't receive. Others simply hopeful, waiting for the phone to ring, bringing with it the sound of a career change. To those folks, I offer my condolences.

I've already pointed out my surprise over the lack of Christopher Nolan's directorial nomination -- I'm sure being nominated as writer and producer served as some form of consolation. The same goes for Mark Wahlberg. Despite its multitude of nominations, Roderick Jaynes -- the Coen Brothers' editorial alias -- was omitted, as well. A stunner considering nearly every best picture winner in the history of film has at least been nominated in this category and at the moment (at least according to the buzz I'm generating) True Grit is at least neck and neck with The King's Speech if not gaining considerable ground of The Social Network.

I didn't have the chance to comb through the technical nominations thoroughly until this evening and it's surprising to see the various mini-scandals in these often overlooked categories.

The Black Swan is surprisingly under-nominated. I wonder about the ears of those who nominate in the sound editing and mixing categories. That film was nothing if not soundtracked to the max. Perhaps the fluttering Natalie Portman or the visuals of Darren Aronofsky caught too much of the audience's attention -- even if that audience consisted of qualified Academy voters. But for those of us who spent a good lot of the film with eyes covered, the soundscape was something else. I'm truly stunned.

I am also stunned by the lack of Kunis, despite what JAG may have to say about it. I'm hoping to see far more of Mila and a nomination in the next few years.

Andrew Garfield rests comfortably with a Spiderman contract. Matt Damon with a happy family and an Oscar. Both were true omissions.

But perhaps the biggest stunner to me is Waiting for Superman. Is there a documentary rule I know nothing about that barred this particular pic from making it into the elite five? Did it play on television? Did it miss a festival? Did it somehow botch its awards run technically? We can all love Bansky and Sebastian Junger as much as we like -- the former obviously being far more important than the latter. But Waiting for Superman seemed the non-fiction film we were all required to see this year. And yet it ends its run without the ability to say "Academy Award Nominee" -- that seems impossible.

Up until the awards I'll attack the picture nominees -- except 127 Hours...  I'm not joking, I won't see it. I'll go after the awards category by category. I'll lay out what pictures won my heart, my mind, and which I think will take home Golden Boys.

I thank those of you who have been reading and commenting. I'm looking forward to you all watching me completely miscalculate the winners -- wishful thinking always gets in the way. Hopefully you'll recall how well I did picking the noms! Can't that count for something?

- Matthew J. McCue

That Actual Nominees Are In!

Horn blares: Check. President of the Academy: Check. Supporting Actress Winner: Check.

The Picture Nominees:


Folks, I just went 10 for 10 on the pic noms. Needless to say -- I'm a little impressed with myself on this snowy January morning. Take that, Seasonal Affected Disorder!

Best Director:


So you're telling me Christopher Nolan doesn't deserve a nomination for Inception. If I may borrow some words from Anthony Hopkins turn in Legends of the Fall, "Damn and blast you!" This is nothing short of absurd. For some reason, Nolan is not in the in-crowd of Oscar-ville despite film after high-grossing film.

I knew the Coens would be here. I suppose I knew somehow David O. Russel had to fit into the mix -- despite my lack of enthusiasm for all things Fighter. I must say I'm blind-sided (and not in the be-wigged Sandy Bullock sense) that it was at Nolan's expense.

Best Actress:

That's 5 for 5, McCue.

Best Actor:


Well hello, Mr. Bardem I did not expect to see you here. You are a former winner and you are fantastic. Thus, this should come as no surprise. But, it is definitely the most surprising nom of the lot. I did not expect you to take out Mark Wahlberg if there weren't also going to be an appearance by Leo or (more probably) Ryan Gosling. I suppose Leo can rest comfortably in the fact that he is the bee's knees the world over. Ryan Gosling may dream of these moments to channel into his next deeply depressing feature film.

Mr. Wahlberg, on the other hand, is seeing his work as a producer pay off. Yes, everyone is going to simply keep talking about this -- but this is a major shift for an actor. It was one thing to be one of the producers of "Entourage." In some ways it was a fluke hit -- in others a slam dunk. But walking out of The Departed as the co-producer of Scorsese's new HBO series rather than the star of his next project shows the way Mark has carved his own path away from Leo. Is he taking the Warren route to Leo's Jack? Interesting.

Best Supporting Actress:


4 out of 5 ain't bad in this category either.

While I don't think Mila Kunis had a chance of winning -- I do feel for her this morning as Jacki Weaver slides back into the mix along with the no-surprise nomination of True Grit's Hailee Steinfeld. Weaver was winning awards throughout the opening of the season bagging multiple critic's trophies. Hailee, on the other hand, is what I would consider the story of the year -- even more than wee Natalie. Steinfeld truly carried the entirety of True Grit, putting up her dukes against two Oscar winners.

Steinfeld could damn well walk in the back door and pull a Paquin.

Best Supporting Actor:


4 out of 5 again.

Not Matt Damon, but the SAG nominated John Hawkes who slid in to knock Andrew Garfield out of the running. Hawkes is one of the many examples of the "much love" given to Winter's Bone by the Academy this year. He's an actor I know best from "Deadwood" where he was superb. I'm happy to see him get recognition here.

Adapted Screenplay:

And so the two most vulnerable of my picks fell directly to the two scripts I said could knock them. In my loose-grading teacher ways, I'm calling that a 5 for 5.

I'm just going to James Cagney it up, look back at my predictions and say, "There's only two ways this can go down, see?"

So the morning after my predictions, the Academy went Plan B: No Rabbit Hole. No Town. We'll take Toy Story 3 and Winter's Bone instead.

Sorkin still seems a dead-lock. But being in a screenplay category with the late in the game arrival of the Coen Brothers and the sentimental favorite Toy Story 3 -- the ol' button-hole cocktail party confessional film where your close Hollywood chums have had to say, "You know what's actually the best movie this year..." -- well it has to give that West Winger pause.

By the way, do you think Debra Winger would ever be daring enough to name a kid "West" or even "Wes"? Something to think about.

Best Original Screenplay:

So here is where Nolan gets his love -- and I wonder if this means it shall also be the place where he will get his award. He could well tumble to Cholodenko or Seidler. But finger's crossed.

As predicted the thickly bearded head of Mike Leigh did in fact poke itself on into the category. But who knew that Brit would punch his way through with enough buckshot to take out the Swan?!

No Kunis? No Script? This gives the Academy very few opportunities to recognize Swan with a collective trophy to acknowldege the pic in one shot. At the same time, it makes one wonder how much folks were blown away by Black Swan beyond Darren and Nat. An interesting turn of events both in this and the supporting actress category.

So What's the Story?


Glancing at the nominees across the board, it seems the clearest story here is that the Academy likes its own. With the exception of Jacki Weaver and John Hawkes -- both welcome new editions to the slate of nominees -- each time there was a slight surprise in a category, it was by a former winner or a nominated regular -- a good midday to you, Mike Leigh.

Look at the love for 127 Hours. I shall never see that movie, so expect neither a review nor a perspective. It may well be a masterpiece. I'll happily live in the dark on this one. But it comes as no surprise that Danny Boyle's Slumdog follow-up should get nominations straight down the line. Particularly when it includes the screenplay winner and a formerly nominated actor.

Javier Bardem -- surprising as his appearance may be -- is no stranger to the Kodak: a multi-nominee and former winner.

Michelle Williams and Nicole Kidman holding tough -- not a surprise when it's a former winner and a former nominee.

Much as it seems like wishful thinking in what may prove to be one of the more benignly non-dramatic award seasons in recent years -- I wonder what The Social Network team thinks of the amount of attention True Grit and Toy Story 3 received this morning. If there were an additional Damon nomination I would say we truly have a horse race on our hands. I wonder if the lack of Andrew Garfield is the "six of one, half dozen of the other" flip-side of that coin.  If The Fighter takes best ensemble at this weekend's SAG Awards -- that will remain a mystery.

Good stuff!

- Matthew J. McCue

Nomination Eve

Tomorrow trumpets blare, ten flat screen televisions alight -- that's right, TEN -- and the head of the Academy strolls out with some Oscar winner -- usually a supporting actress -- and then we're off to the races. But who will it be? So. Many. Possibilities.

The Ten Best Picture Nominees:


The Social Network
True Grit
Toy Story 3
Black Swan
The Kids Are All Right
Inception
The King's Speech
The Fighter
Winter's Bone
127 Hours

Thats seems like what it's going to be, right? I wonder about Shutter Island and Another Year.

There's always some film that gets left out for absolutely no reason despite a strong showing throughout the year -- 500 Days of Summer, Dreamgirls, Walk the Line -- and there's always some picture that finds its way to the dance based on cast performance -- The Reader, An Education, The Blind Side. So, I wonder what on earth will happen.

I also wonder -- since these things are alphabetical -- whether we'll all be stunned right off the bat when we hear the nomination of Alice in Wonderland. But I'll stick to my list.

Best Director:
David Fincher, The Social Network
Joel and Ethan Coen, True Grit
Darren Aronofsky, Black Swan
Christopher Nolan, Inception
Tom Hooper, The King's Speech


David O. Russel could bump someone here considering he's a DGA nominee. But I don't see this year being a "5 to 5" nominee match. As much as I wouldn't necessarily be "shocked" if the Coens weren't nominated -- they seem like this year's late arrival. And True Grit is nothing short of bad-ass.

Best Actress:
Annette Bening, The Kids Are All Right
Natalie Portman, Black Swan
Nicole Kidman, Rabbit Hole
Michelle Williams, Blue Valentine
Jennifer Lawrence, Winter's Bone

I wonder about Julianne Moore most of all. Halle Berry and Hillary Swank less so. Those seem to be the five. If Jennifer Lawrence isn't nominated in this category, I'd be stunned to see Winter's Bone in the picture category. Perhaps Michelle Williams -- but if she's out, I'd be surprised to see Ryan Gosling, much as he seems to be gaining momentum as this generation's Sean Penn.

Best Actor:
Jesse Eisenberg, The Social Network
Colin Firth, The King's Speech
Mark Wahlberg, The Fighter
James Franco, 127 Hours
Jeff Bridges, True Grit

Get Low has people wondering. I don't know about this. The field is very tight this year and I would be surprised to see an actor as out of this generation and spotlight as Robert Duvall get a nomination. But the Academy does love the old. For some reason, this year's old seems to be Jeff Bridges.

Frankly, what I'm wondering is whether Leo or Gosling bumps someone and who that someone would be. I have a hard time thinking that a year with this much Fighter hype would leave Wahlberg out of the mix. I could see Franco being bumped if only because he's also the host for the evening. But the man seems like he's the only thing at the bottom of that Grand Canyon crease. Thus -- I wonder where Leo or  Gos goes.

Supporting Actress:
Amy Adams, The Fighter
Melissa Leo, The Fighter
Helena Bonham Carter, The King's Speech
Hailee Steinfeld, True Grit
Mila Kunis, Black Swan

This category seems pretty locked up nation-wide. I wonder if Julianne Moore could somehow slide into the supporting slot here? Is she being considered as "Lead" on the various "For Your Consideration" materials? A supporting stab would have been her best chess move.

Supporting Actor:
Christian Bale, The Fighter
Jeremy Renner, The Town
Geoffrey Rush, The King's Speech
Mark Ruffalo, The Kids Are All Right
Andrew Garfield, The Social Network


I wonder if Damon can slide into this category. I also realize banking on a Garfield nomination may seem improbable -- but besides Geoffrey Rush, he's the most deserving of a nod. So one must give the boy the cosmic benefit of the doubt including him on this molecule sized blog gives.

Adapted Screenplay:
The Social Network
True Grit
Rabbit Hole
The Town
127 Hours


My question is whether Toy Story 3 fits into this category because it includes pre-existing characters. Whichever category includes it, I could easily see Michael Arndt bumping a nom.

I could also see Winter's Bone finding a happy home in this category. The most vulnerable two up there seem to be The Town -- which at least on this coast seems to have lost its award momentum --  and Rabbit Hole -- much as I would love David Lindsay-Abaire to be an Oscar nominee.

Original Screenplay:
Inception
The Kids Are All Right
The King's Speech
Black Swan
The Fighter


If Oscar History has demonstrated anything, it's that this is the category where the smiling -- never winning -- Mike Leigh's bearded little head pops up time and time again. Another Year could well slide in as a nod to the entire picture. But who does that bump? This year's race may be too strong to nominate an oft-nominated writer who is soon definite for an honorary award when it's clear he won't be victorious. Thus, I omit him here.

We'll see tomorrow!

- Matthew J. McCue

Inception: Nickelodeon's Oddest "Pinwheel" Episode Is My Favorite Film of the Year

BWOMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPP!!!!! BWOOOOMMMMMMMPPPPPPPP!!!!


Simply realizing the fact that that particular sound effect is the slowed down horn blares from the start of Edith Piaf's "Non, Je Regrette Rien" is enough to have me hooked on Inception peeling away its many layers viewing after viewing (after viewing).

I am a true dyed in the wool Nolan junkie. Admittedly, only since the "cage rattling" Batman Begins. For some odd reason, in 2001 -- the fateful year of Memento and Nolan's MTV Best New Film Maker Award (whatever happened to that category... it was good!) -- I became oddly angry with Nolan. Obviously I don't know the man, have no say in what is nominated for Academy Awards, and my anger actually had nothing to do with him but with, well, ballot categorization. When Nolan's Memento screenplay nomination came in the original category despite countless articles throughout the year saying it was based on a short story written by his brother -- well, I knew that meant Akiva was getting an Oscar and Wes Anderson wasn't. Mr. Nolan took the heat for that during my Award Season frenzy. This is what I do. My prediction, of course, came true. Akiva won. Wes Anderson lost. Ah! But so did Nolan.


Gosford Park took Original Screenplay: frankly, who can argue with that? My anger subsided.

Then came Insomnia and interesting remake. Then came Batman Begins -- excellent. Then the highly under-rated The Prestige -- whose fate was sadly befuddled by the simultaneous release of the far lesser Illusionist. Both films seem to have fused into an odd set of disliked magical siamese twins that have thrown down a hate filled well never to be rescued. But The Prestige is excellent.

The Prestige was not the work of some random director who had been tapped to take over a major comic book franchise. It was an announcement of epic greatness and a career that would be filled with twists and turns -- all of which we could assume would be filmed with the utmost precision, starring Michael Caine, and hopefully the occasional Bowie appearance. Honestly, people, Christian Bale, Hugh Jackman, Rebecca Hall, Michael Caine, Andy Serkis, David Bowie, and magic? You think I didn't go hog wild?

The Dark Knight will get its own essay at some point -- if only to talk about how Heath Ledger's sexiest moment on film may have been in a nurse's outfit. It needs to be addressed.

And then...

BWOOOMMMMMMMPPPPPPP!!! BWOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPP!!!!


Yes, Leonardo DiCaprio starred in two films this year where he may have been losing his mind due to the fact that his now dead wife had lost hers. Amazingly, the Scorsese film proved the lesser of the two.

Waking on the shores of deep subconscious finding the man you'd lost in dreamland so many psychic years -- but so few minutes ago. Diving directly into a dream within a dream. Marion Cotillard is already dead. Joseph Gordon-Levitt (just give me a break over how much I love this guy) is already skeptical. Lukas Haas is barely keeping it together one layer up as the riotous subconscious battles through the streets, tearing the streets on the way to Ken Watanabe's love den to shreds. And then...

Splash! And in that splash the Stanley Kubrick-ness of this film was immediately revealed. Show me the difference between the torrents of blood pouring from the Overlook's elevator bank and the water sloshing around the betubbed DiCaprio. This was no Kubrick film -- of course not. But the approach to the rattling and shattering was pure Shining. History will prove that any time you use the Jack Nicholson solution to a DiCaprio dilemma, you are making the right choice. Hell, Leo's doing it himself. Why not iron out the film in precisely the same way?

The layers, intricacies, explanations, self-explanatory phenomenon, and ultimate mystery are those of an epic masterpiece. Throw in Tom Hardy (heavens), Cillian Murphy, and perhaps the only woman in the world -- besides Kate Winslet -- who can hold her own against Leo and you've got yourself a deal. What man wouldn't rip his mind to pieces over Marion Cotillard and the possibility that he might -- even if only in a dream -- be able to reunite with her? Oh, and the man is the dream expert? Sold.

It's a hard sell to many: I know. I completely understand those who consider it flimsy, ludicrous, deserving of a "South Park" parody. I'm on the other side of the coin, folks. I think it deserves the Academy Award for best Original Screenplay -- which, as anyone who knows me knows, is what I consider the award.

"I hate trains." You enter the dreamland -- train crashes into you.

"My wife jumped off a ledge." Oh really? I didn't see her hit the ground.

You visited a man who blends the smoothest sleep narcotics in the world -- and I never get to see your totem complete it's spin.

You battle through the tundra better than the greatest episode of G.I. Joe to land at a safe with the world's simplest contents.

Joseph Gordon Levitt dances through zero gravity mayhem neatly tucking The Matrix into the action sequences of yesteryear all while a truck takes an excruciatingly slow Kubrickian tumble from a bridge.

And then the top never topples -- and isn't that Moll's, anyway?

Mr. Nolan -- you had me at bwomp. (Sniff!) You had me at BWOMP!!!!

Nerds and fanboys alike (is there a difference?) will debate forever -- with ample evidence on all sides -- whether DiCaprio was in the dream the whole time. Whether he got stuck in the final dream. Whether he got trapped halfway through the movie. Whether his wife is dead. Whether she was right and is at home waiting for him. It's all possible. All the material is there.

There will be Batman films. We know that. But honestly, folks... what the heck else is this guy going to do? He's just getting started!

- Matthew J. McCue

Toy Story 3: It's Now or... Never?

I legendarily fell asleep during the 1991 Academy Awards for about 25 minutes only to wake up and find out that Silence of the Lambs was in the midst of pulling off a One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest / It Happened One Night sweep. What the hell happened to Bugsy?! And more shockingly to my 15 year old self -- was that the most impressive cinematic achievement of the year, animation's one shot at Oscar glory, Beauty and the Beast would not win. (Obviously.)

Was it that the vast majority of Academy voters are actors who were frankly not interested in being drawn out of the business? That same argument proves why neither a documentary nor a foreign film has ever won. The Oscar is, after all, the award bestowed by a select group. They don't float down from above accompanied by the Cats score -- distributed by some divinity. They're voted on by a group of people with a vested interest in film making, their personal careers, and with a distinct opinion of the product. And I don't say that with negativity. That's just how it is. I'd imagine that's what Doug Fairbanks would say, too. And let's not forget -- this was Silence of the Lambs, the gold standard of serial killer pics -- masterfully acted, directed, and written. It wasn't well -- we know which movie I mean.

However, if you look at the Disney stranglehold from 1989 to 1995-ish on certain Oscar categories, it's amazing to watch the dance that took place to avoid simply becoming voice actors. Alan Menken won 8 Academy Awards! Elton John, Tim Rice, and Hans Zimmer stepped in to win for The Lion King. The Best Original Score Category was eventually split in two for a couple of years -- probably due to the fact that all the other composers were sick of the Disney monopoly. Uproar surrounded the fact that Robin Williams couldn't be nominated for his work in Aladdin. Menken took Beauty and the Beast to Broadway where it was a fantastic show. The Lion King is still running. (One wonders what they will open next.) They shut down Central Park's Great Lawn to hold an outdoor screening of Pocahontas sponsored in part by Mix 105! MIX 105!!!!!

And then, finally, John Lasseter made Toy Story.

Lasseter not only became the new hit on the scene, he became one of the few men in our lifetime to receive an honorary Oscar that was presented during the telecast. Toy Story was a legitimate "stop the presses" moment at the Shrine Auditorium. This man needed to be awarded. This film needed to be recognized. They certainly weren't going to give it best picture, but something had to be done.

Soon, the "best animated feature" category was created. Look what it has done for the amount of children's films released each year -- how much money it has brought to the industry -- and how many statues it has passed on to Pixar.

And here we are at Toy Story 3 -- the Michael Arndt written "Return of the King Woody" of animated films. This is after The Incredibles, after Nemo, after the heart-wrenching masterpiece that is Wall-E, after last year's nominated (in the "ten" so... "asterisk") Up, and long after my personal favorite Monsters, Inc. The amount of "story" in this particular Toy Story proved precisely what unwavering masters the folks at Pixar are. There is no one of any age who could watch that film without laughing, crying, reflecting, and worrying -- even if they had an extra-mini Grinch sized heart -- about the well-being of the toys they owned as a kid. Come on! This was no mere comedy. This was a film of joy.

But does it have a place at the Oscars? Will it ever?

All you need to do is scroll down to see that even I, lover of Toy Story 3, fearer of that damn baby-doll, have to admit that the folks over at The Social Network have it all tied up. But if there is an upset to be had -- and a fitting one at that -- Toy Story 3 is it. What other animated film will we (ever) award instead?

Wouldn't it be amazing if The Social Network took directing, screenplay, editing, score -- and then Toy Story 3 walked in and Driving Miss Daisy-ed the joint?

It may not be now or ... well... never. But it's clear this one should be the first.

- Matthew J. McCue

Social Network, The

Barring an enormous upset of (at least) Shakespeare in Love proportions, The Social Network has a slew of Oscars in the bag. Fittingly so.

So, fittingly, it is the first of 2010's award contenders I shall address.

To firmly understand my personal reaction to The Social Network one must take into account my age (34) my profession (screenwriter) and the man behind the camera (David Fincher).

I am not one of those film people who was in touch enough with young film-makers before the age of 18 to have known that "the awesome guy who was making some of the best music videos you've ever seen, and made Alien 3" was named David Fincher. He was nowhere on my radar until the autumn of my Freshman year of college when I went to see Se7en. This was a movie unlike anything I had seen before. It scared me to death. I hate the "sloth" sequence more than I hate the visual unpleasantness of say Slumdog Millionaire or Quills. But Fincher had me on the line. I was hooked. "What's in the box?" I say it on a daily.

This guy found a way to use Brad Pitt better than Redford, Zwick, Jordan, you name it. If he's not teaching me how to rob a convenient store with a hair-dryer, folks, this was the Pitt we wanted.  It helped, of course, that Morgan Freeman was on-hand and that Brad and Gwyneth were the new super couple -- Kenneth Brannagh and Emma Thompson having parted ways within weeks of Se7en's release. It also didn't hurt that they were psychotically beautiful and sporting matching aryan haircuts.

Nor did it hurt that we all came home to a winter-break where we Regians who attended the college JUG night sprinted to the Beekman for 12 Monkeys. That 1995 Brad Pitt one-two punch could not have helped Fincher more -- even though he was only the director of one of the pictures.

I went through college and was shipped off to Munich to conduct a relatively soul-devouring depressing research project -- the likes of which one would imagine takes place in the German Alps. But lo and behold I had discovered the English Language movie theater -- right across the street from Lowenbrau. Here I could forget my troubles and just hear English -- my native tongue -- pouring from the mouths of the Hollywood elite. What rapture it was. Especially the night I sat amongst a pack of Scandinavian exchange students and Munich's hip youth to see Fight Club. There's no point in writing an entire Fight Club treatise here. But let it be known that I routinely returned to the theater to listen to the dialogue, to avert my eyes from Jared Leto's post-pummel punim, and to rest easy in the notion that I would return to America to make movies -- not just study dead people who already had.

I also rested easily in the assurance that this David Fincher character wasn't just some brainiac who'd wandered off the set of "Janie's Got A Gun" to lens a one hit wonder. This man -- nearly the exact same age as Brad Pitt -- might well be the director of a generation.

And one must forgive the director of a generation for attempting a cookie-cutter Oscar slam-dunk like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I happened to like the film and have little to say about its endless comparisons to Forrest Gump or the questioning of its choice to embed its tale in Katrina. In hindsight, audiences will be far more forgiving and Brad Pitt's legacy with both Fincher and the city of New Orleans will justify that. I needn't do so here.

So it brings us to the "best picture" of 2010. The critic sweeper. The circuit savior. The Globe grabber. The Odds-on Oscar-owner.

Before Jesse Eisenberg made it back to his dormitory we all knew it was a done deal.

Hell, J.R. knew during the ad-campaign before the film was even released.

But all we needed was a Sorkin dump scene -- a trot through the green-hued shadow ridden world of David Fincher -- and a couple of piano key plunks from Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross -- and that was it. Anyone who felt otherwise missed this generational juggernaut when it pulled out of the station -- or was a Harvard grad with an oddly defensive kneejerk reaction.

What can you hold against the film? Is it wrong to "attack" a public figure because he is young (though a legal adult)? Judging by the "60 Minutes" footage I've seen, Jesse Eisenberg wasn't as prickly as Mr. Zuckerberg often seems. And didn't the film make that point clear -- multiple times -- that this was an enormous case of perception becoming reality? And isn't that the most fitting (and obvious) leit motif to bang like a set of bongos in a film about Facebook?

I'm all for hating a front-runner. It's part of what makes America great. Hell, it's a pastime of mine. But I readily admit when I'm doing it. I'd encourage any folks not on The Social Network express to give it another view. It's there, folks. It's bloody stalwart.

No, it is not my favorite picture of the year. I'll get to that when I write about it. No, it is not the film that I think was the best made film of the year. I'll get to that one, too. But this is the winner, plain and simple. It's got winner written all over it and it's a deserving laureate.

What makes me so happy about The Social Network win is that it is finally a best picture by a member of the '90s class of directors -- that group that hailed the '70s as the greatest era in film history -- that followed through with one of the essential ingredients that made '70s films great: YOUNG ACTORS.

Young actors can act. Coppola knows this. Spielberg knows this. Hal Ashby knew it. Scorsese knows it. Woody Allen knows it. And the list goes on.

There are important stories to tell about young people with young people. The only other film to hand the reins over to young actors so completely and take a true run at the '70s windmill was Brokeback Mountain and well... Crash! Nicholson's face said it all on that one.

But we have literally wandered through 30 years of cinema where the same stars from the 70s have anchored nearly every "important" film to come down the pike. I can already see people running at me with Adrien Brody -- did you honestly see that coming? Do you think the fact that he was nominated against four actors from the previous generation (all of whom had Oscars) had nothing to do with it? And what other blow can be thrown? Sean Penn? Daniel Day Lewis? These men aren't young. And say what you will -- even The Departed needed Sheen, Baldwin, and Jack.

So cast the pop star of the generation and let the story roll. You've got a deal. How else would you like to have bank-rolled the movie? Robert Duvall in the role of Sean Parker? Perhaps it could have been the story of the drunk attorney who took the Facebook case and we could follow Russel Crowe home to find out that while his wealthy client was lining his pockets, social networks were making his daughter an "at risk teen." That's how you narratively compromise yourself around youth. It's either that, be a drug addict, or be British. The Social Network refused.

I salute the brave star-less casting of a major generational tale -- beyond the masterful directing, writing, photography, music, editing, and pacing. You can put the boxing gloves down, set your crystal meth aside, hang up your spurs, and blast the Piaf: this is the ensemble of the year.

I'll gladly watch it collect its statuettes that fateful Sunday night. 15 years later, Mr. Se7en has his day.

(It also doesn't hurt that DeLuca will round out the award decade he started pink-slipped for having greenlit The Lord of the Rings with a Rudin-shared golden boy. Huzzah.)

- Matthew J. McCue

Yes.

There are typos. I'll do my best.

Happy Birthday, David Lynch

This was a year without ironing bunnies. No, Jingle Dell didn't have fun with cockroaches and make his lunch -- twenty sandwiches high. No one had a nervous breakdown and won the civil war for the South -- all in the privacy of his hotel room. No ears were found on shortcuts. No worms were strung from noses. There was no death by coffee table. No arguments over grabbers. No random Australian actress' career was launched by a dreamscape. And no, that gum you like did not come back in style.

Instead, Mr. Lynch has become the grand-pappy of Transcendental Meditation -- partying with the likes of Russel Brand and showing all Americans, even David Byrne, that his hair still reigneth proud.

Being a Lynch lover is tough. The current gap between feature films seems endless. As much as it always seems to prove worth it, in the words of Mr. Petty, "the waiting is the hardest part."

At the moment, Mr. Lynch seems more the weirdo emeritus than king of the surreal -- though slipping on the crown is purely his choice. How would there be a Black Swan without you? And would Winter's Bone suffered if Daddy weren't just behind the destruction of a meth-lab, but somehow blasted his soul into another dwarf filled dimension? Of course not. I'd run that movie on a loop.

However, on his birthday, I must credit this director -- who has meant more to my psyche than most things I've encountered in my life -- with the dawn of long form cable (and the occasional daring network) television series. Where would any show on FX, AMC, HBO, or Showtime be without "Twin Peaks." One girl, one murder, one nutty band of characters. To feel the true impact, picture the situation reversed. Imagine "Twin Peaks" in a post "Lost" world. Imagine "Twin Peaks" in a post "True Blood" world. Imagine "Twin Peaks" after "Damages," "Dexter," "Carnivale." Obviously that "Twin Peaks" would have been the greatest media event the world had ever witnessed. This would be a land be a place where its series finale would be the grandest of all and we wouldn't have to endure endless references to -- oh, I don't know... MASH?! Thus it's clear none of these series could have endured without the artistic risk and foresight of David Lynch 20 years ago.

I, for one, thank you. I wish you a happy birthday. And considering this is supposed to be an awards season blog that converts into a film review site -- I await your next feature and your eventual Oscar.

Now, if you'll pardon me, I need a damn fine cup of coffee.

- Matthew J. McCue

Rick-Lash Follow-Up

According to the Huffington Post (which got its information from PopEater which I am hoping got its information from Bob Woodward) a member of the Hollywood Foreign Press is quoted as having said the following:

"Ricky will not be invited back to host the show next year, for sure," the HFPA member said. "For sure any movie he makes he can forget about getting nominated. He humiliated the organization last night and went too far with several celebrities whose representatives have already called to complain"


Honestly? Even the head of the HFPA -- while being a bit guarded and not fully endorsing all of Ricky's humor -- admits it was a great show. Obviously the man can't slam Scientologists who weren't in the room for the current ceremony but may well be nominated in the future. Nor can he knock a major television star who may recover and land in the room with a nomination for his unending CBS success. His point of view makes perfect sense. But this other, unnamed HFPA member must be joking.


Firstly, there is the double use of "For sure" which has me wondering whether Kimmy Gibler, Soleil Moon Frye, or Harriet Brindle (Hi-eeee!) has suddenly enlisted in the ranks of the foreign press. Secondly, to outright state that any comedian shall be barred from future nominations due to off-color jokes -- which he was hired to tell by your organization -- immediately compromises the validity of your awards. Sarandon and Robbins have Oscars. Dustin Hoffman has two. Brando sent an actress dressed as a Native American. Julie Andrews wasn't even allowed to refuse her Tony nomination. And someone in GG land thinks this talk is going to fly?


No, no, no.


Ricky is going to be just fine. If Dick Clark Productions is going to maintain its relationship with NBC -- and NBC is going to maintain its relationship with Ricky Gervais -- the only person deciding whether or not he hosts again will be the man himself.

Rick-Lash

Today's entry shall be brief for the only movie I have rewatched since the Globes -- which I had the joy of watching in full with Joanne last night -- has been The King's Speech. As we all know from previous posts, I consider that a tenuous ship and I dare not rock it. Furthermore, tomorrow is the first day of the semester and I have to rally dang early and head it to Dobbs Ferry for my English classes. Thus, there is a time cap on what I am going to permit myself to say. I'm already violating my Deepak Chopra sleep rules!

I would simply like to say that the negative reaction to Ricky Gervais' off-color remarks is nothing short of laughable. These criticisms have me wondering -- no offense to Steve Martin -- whether people were actual laughing at his "Bringin' Down The House" jokes. Could it be?

This is Hollywood, ladies and germs. These folks are far cooler than all of us or the entire mirage of show business is shattered. He made fun of Charlie Sheen, Scientology, and made a couple of digs at the head of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. And?

The big joke was, "I had to pull him off the toilet and put his teeth in." Who on earth -- including those who need to be removed from the commode and supplied with teeth -- find that off-color? The reaction is nothing short of Rob Reiner's deus ex machina overreaction in Ed TV. That's right, folks: I have been compelled to make an accurate Ed TV reference. Ed TV. This is where I am. This is the only equation I am able to make.

Ricky Gervais has done so much for the Golden Globes they have the Oscars wondering if they need to shift their telecast to JANUARY! The Oscars -- the trophy of choice for all performers -- has been dancing this way and that while the Golden Globes have become admittedly more fun, have let their presenters speak their minds, have booked the best comedian we've got, and literally have all the other awards dancing around their schedule.

Lighten up, world.

The Golden Globes (The Missiles Are Flying.)

A Brief Introduction to the evening...

"Like many of you, we recall back when Ricky Gervais was a slightly chubby but very kind comedian."

-Tom Hanks

Beyond the fact that we truly have to give me some credit for nailing a chunk of the winners with my predictions, the most enjoyable portion of the Globes was the no holds barred cocktail party atmosphere that only the Hollywood Foreign Press, The Beverly Hilton Ballroom, and Ricky Gervais can provide.

The entire telecast can be encapsulated in Mr. Gervais' introducing Robert Downey, Jr. as a porn-star who is best known for his stints in rehab and prison -- only to have Robert Downey, Jr. (who we know is a borderline messianic figure for me) introduce the Actress - Comedy/Musical nominees as women he has slept with. A true delight. The kind of barb-ish humor that let's a man forget he's trapped amidst the deep cold horror of January with only February and March in sight. Oh, Golden Globes, you're like a warm Caribbean breeze on a night who's low temperature was clocking in at 9 Degrees.  That's Fahrenheit, friends.

I was lucky enough to be at the closing performance of Next to Normal and conducted a successful media lock-out despite the endless texts from dear friends and the unbelievable amount of smartphone updating and searching in a room full of entertainment folk. And even despite J.R. doing his best to force me to cave and at least let him tell me a few winners. But no, I made it back to the steam-spitting rapture of my studio where my blessed DVR let me enjoy the broadcast in the wee hours.

The (actual) Globes...

McCue Gets No Support

I wonder if my tumbling through the snowdrifts of the non-plowed New York City streets and surmounting the treacherously icy steps to meet L.P. at The AMC nee Loews nee Sony Lincoln Square is what has tainted my opinion of The Fighter. I'm willing to believe my mood was set by the Cold Mountain-esque journey to a theater of wheezy cold-havers.

But it's just not there for me, folks. I wonder if I should see it again -- but I frankly don't feel the need. The horribly cruel part of me wonders if Christian Bale and Melissa Leo are starting to pick up awards momentum simply because they are actors who deserve awards more than these being performances that demand recognition. But everywhere I look and everything I read places me in the remarkable minority. My dubious nature toward their supporting wins is nigh on a party of one: everyone loves them. I suppose there is something about their playing unlikable people that has left me at an arm's length. This has always been the case with me. It's what I have dubbed my "Scorcese Dilemma" (look for it in paperback wherever imaginary books are sold). Christian Bale is obviously fantastic and I have adored him since Empire of the Sun. Melissa Leo was great in this film and in Frozen River. I suppose I'm supposed to hate them but wasn't given the handle folks like Louise Fletcher and Javier Bardem so happily provided. That... and I'm so jonesing for a King's Speech actor trifecta that we'll have to excuse my lame reaction.

M'Lady Annette vs. The Little Bird That Could

I could stream of conscious a Biskind-size salute to Annette Bening, but I shall rein it in. It is my hope -- given my crazed ways -- that the Oscar Actress category is the prime source of my anxiety from now until the February 27th telecast. 20 years past The Grifters and in a year where Annette's award nemesis Hillary Swank isn't in the picture -- the question becomes whether Mrs. Beatty can convert her Globe into Oscar Glory. Obviously, this is my deep hope. The woman has class. The woman has charm. The woman gave a great performance. And what a classy speech. Annette, you still got it.

But will she sell this house today?

Perhaps because Annette's still got it, it can scare the bejesus out of a Beatty household lover like myself that the fine feathered friend embodied by my dear little Natalie Portman could end up the Oscar winner. Maybe Hollywood thinks that Annette is far from finished and will turn in other great performances -- she obviously will -- and so they don't need to award her for the independent film with a heart that was released during the summer and was chuck full of Oscar buzz when the rest of the country was trying to maximize beach weekends. This is, after all, Natalie Portman -- a girl the world has loved since she weepily befriended a milk-drinking mafia hitman.

I once remarked that I would "'turn' and abandon Jesus for Natalie Portman." I meant it. An Academy with even a sliver of that love could well snub Annette again -- much like Warren's sister, Shirley -- and land Ms. Bening with a trophy for some distant performance instead. Oh ramparts!!!!!

Comedy Actor


What can be said about this category? I have not seen Mr. Giammati's movie, though I know he is a wonderful actor. However, his winning over Kevin Spacey has me wondering who rounds out the fifth slot in the Academy category for actor. I truly thought Spacey would cross in -- if only to acknowledge the passing of Hickenlooper. Much as I love P.G., I doubt he'll be there for the big dance.

Firth, Bridges, Eisenberg, Wahlberg, DiCaprio? There's two names I'm deliberately leaving off this list because there's one name on it I refuse to jinx. I'll make that confession next Tuesday after the noms.

A Brief Remark about DeNiro's DeMille...


My love for Matt Damon knows no limits. Thank heavens the Globes tapped the under-used hilarious side of Damon who has the earned respect and the grinning to summarize one of the greatest screen acting careers with comedy rather than prostrate praise:

"He was literally unrecognizable as a blonde thirteen year-old hooker. He just disappears."

And my congrats to DeNiro for quipping away himself. "Thank you Matt, I loved you in The Fighter." And "You hope the films gross enough to keep your kids in private school." This from the Letterman interview mute.

Look at you, Globes! Being one of the few rare Hollywood Moments to star Pacino and DeNiro.

The Lovely Mr. Firth


"Right now this is all that stands between me and a Harley Davidson." - Colin Firth


To watch Colin Firth play this King of England this way and for it to have swept the world off its feet so completely is hands down my favorite (quiet) media frenzy of recent years. But shush! Let this steady sailing ship coast ever onward across its lovely wake-less sea toward glory! (I gave an extensive speech last night as to why I consider it so damn "lovely" and shall continue to use that word and that word only.) Something about this forward-mover seems so Jenga-like that I am hesitant to say too much. I shall leave it at that and expound on Mr. Firth once the Oscar winner is revealed.

Network Sweep


Fincher. Sorkin. Reznor. Picture.

There's no surprise in The Social Network's unending string of victories. But the uniform sweep of Critics' Circles needs to be hammered home by a Globe win.

You take the director of Se7en, add a subdued score from Nine Inch Nails frontman Trent Reznor, combine with one of the best living screenwriters and the most powerful producers in Hollywood. And what do you expect? Frankly, I don't think this is what people expected -- hence the unending accolades.

We'll see what happens when True Grit is in the Oscar mix. But one wonders if it will be anymore than an L.A. Confidential to a Timely Techie Titanic.

Do it Colfer? Do it Danes?


Well, they damn well done did. Double Huzzahs.

Do I get funnier?

Perhaps the most hilarious thing about this Blog is that I planned to write regular reviews in October -- when this blog began. Then I got caught up in 10 other things and didn't do it.

This time, however, I am going to do it.

When the Golden Globes end, I am going to write my reviews of all the big movies from the year. I am also going to talk about the jockeying and positioning for Oscar noms and we (whether I'm speaking in the editorial or there is actually a reader beyond myself remains to be seen) watch me get hooked onto cheering on the movie that doesn't have a chance of winning -- a pastime I've enjoyed since The Piano.

Before any of this happens I am going to very simply state my Top 10 (in alphabetical order) for the year and I am going to then lay down my who will win who should win predictions for the Globes. Then Monday I'll check in and start the Oscar watch since the noms are January 25th.

My dream, obviously, is that this becomes a Nora Ephron movie wherein I'm married to the adorable Chris Messina (as long as it's not Towelhead Messina because that was gross).

McCue's Top Ten for 2010

Black Swan
The Ghost Writer
Hereafter
Inception
The King's Speech
Shutter Island
The Social Network
Toy Story 3
True Grit

And then it's killing me whether I put in Scott Pilgrim (because I laughed my ass off), Easy A (because Emma Stone nailed it), The Kids Are All Right (because I adored it despite its flaws), or the lovely Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Thus, I believe I'll have to leave it as a Top Nine.

GOLDEN GLOBE PREDICTIONS


Best Picture Drama:      The Social Network
Best Picture Comedy:    The Kids Are All Right
Best Director:                 David Fincher
Best Screenplay:            Aaron Sorkin (Though we know I want Nolan.)
Actor Drama:                 Colin Firth
Actress Drama:              Natalie Portman
Actor Comedy:              Kevin Spacey (Though this category is insane. Double Depp?)
Actress Comedy:           Annette Bening (Though watch the crazy HFPA give it to Emma Stone!)
Supporting Actor:          Geoffrey Rush (But this one is honestly a true HFPA toss-up)
Supporting Actress:       Helena Bonham Carter (Though I could see Mila Kunis winning. Those Euros LOVE a pretty girl.)
Score:                            Alexandre Desplat
Song:                             Give me a freakin' break on this category! I refuse to type any of these song titles!
Best Animated Film:     Toy Story 3

I'm not going to go through the television awards as the point of this future Ephron optioned blog is Oscar lead up. Bob Hope called The Oscars "Passover" (best joke ever). I call the lead up "McAdvent."

But about TV let me just say that I hope an honorary award is bestowed upon Sally Draper while the entire ballroom takes to its feet for the most intense standing ovation in recent history. One of those ones where you hear the odd whistle and just the "Vo!" of the "Bravos."

Do it Colfer. Do it Clare Danes.