Oscar Prognostication 2023

BEST PICTURE:

SHOULD WIN: Everything Everywhere All at Once

WILL WIN: Everything Everywhere All at Once

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Empire of Light

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Glass Onion

I thought this day would never come: The movie that I think is the best movie of the year is going to win Best Picture. That film, improbably, is Everything Everywhere All at Once. The concept of this movie winning the big prize last spring was laughable, but it's steadily gained steam, and is now the heavy favorite. I couldn't be happier, or more surprised. Sure, there have been years where the film that I thought Should Win did in fact win; but those were limited to just the nominees -- and usually, my favorite film is not nominated. We can finally all rejoice and celebrate the fact that the Academy got this one right. (Well, let's not congratulate ourselves too much. There's plenty of other things the Academy will get wrong this year.) Everything Everywhere isn't just the best film of the year, it's the one that you feel the most. That's its superpower. Somewhere in the overstuffed cocktail of alternate realities, genre mash-ups, laundromats, and tax returns, it's infused with basic, grounded emotions, which shine through in every single scene. Even a scene with two rocks is emotional. But more than that, the sentimental swells don't feel manipulative. The film somehow manages deal with so many different themes and dovetail them in without feeling forced, by hiding them inside subverted genre set-pieces. Trying to overexplain why I love the movie will only serve to undermine it. What's great is that no two viewers have the same experience; everyone hones in on different aspects and themes that resonate with them. Each person finds different things to love about it. Fanny-pack bludgeonings are not your thing? Then maybe you'll like a toy-poodle-whip attack. Or a vengeful robo-grandpa. Or flapping hotdog fingers. (See? I shouldn't overexplain it.) The best I can do is say is that it's simply a modern masterpiece.

I love Top Gun: Maverick, but let's get this out of the way right off the bat: It is not better than the original Top Gun. It isn't. So just stop. (I swear -- while choking back tears for Goose -- this isn't just the nostalgia talking.) But the real question: Can it win Best Picture? You know, the Academy Award for the most prestigious movie of the year, joining the upper echelon as One of the Greatest Films Ever Made, with the likes of The Godfather, Schindler's List, Lawrence of Arabia, Casablanca, and Gone with the Wind? Well, if you had told me back in June that it would be nominated for this award, I would have said you were crazy. Yet here we are. And yes, there is a decent chance it will win. Why? One: It's awesome. Two: It has the benefit of being a movie that everyone has loved, and you can't say that about any of the other nominees. (Even people who dislike action movies, fighter jets, or men with mustaches like this movie.) Three: It may not be any voter's #1 choice, but it will probably be #2 on almost every preferential ballot, and if there's no other clear favorite, that could be enough to win. Four: It's a sneaky way to give Tom Cruise an Oscar without giving him one for acting; the self-perpetuated, self-serving narrative that Tom Cruise Saved Hollywood -- Nay, Saved Democracy! -- is oddly pervasive and shamefully compelling. Five: It's okay to hate the bad guys in the movie! Because they're… well… nameless and faceless and country-less. If we can all agree to hate the same generic enemies, then everyone is happy and everyone wins… especially Tom Cruise.

I’m a little leery of directors making semi-autobiographical 'this is why I became a filmmaker' movies -- especially ones that have a variation of the word “fable” right in the title. The risk is that it's going to be effusive and self-indulgent. And The Fabelmans, from Steven Spielberg, is those things, frankly. (Though, thankfully, not as indulgent or unnecessary as his West Side Story remake -- now that was a movie I didn’t need in my life.) But The Fabelmans is an enjoyable peek into the maestro's psyche, and it's been a huge hit with critics, audiences, creatives, and people with crazy uncles named Boris. (And the cameo encounter at the end is inspired, and apparently 100% true.) However, I can't help but be underwhelmed. Maybe it's because, for me, coming-of-age stories either resonate or they don't. Or maybe that it's a fairly trite, low-stakes movie, lacking the gee-whiz-ness that we've come to expect (unfairly, perhaps) from the master of spectacle. Either way, for a Spielberg film, it somehow feels pedestrian. (Though I think many will argue that's the point -- identifying the humanity in the filmmaker we've all built up as being super-human.) As for the film's Oscar chances, in the fall, it was a slam-dunk to claim Best Picture. It's been slipping back over the past couple months, and is now considered a long-shot, but can't be counted out completely.

Surprising as it may seem, I was not yet writing my annual Oscar article when the original version of All Quiet on the Western Front won Best Picture in 1930. With a new version nominated this year, could it be the first title to win Best Picture twice? The film won the top prize at the BAFTAs (British film awards), has nine total Oscar nominations, and has the muscle of Netflix behind it, so it's not out of the realm of possibility. The easy comparison is 1917 -- same war, same horrors, similar lone-soldier perspective, but different side of the battlefield (1917 also had most of the same nominations as All Quiet). But they have different trajectories: 1917 was an early front-runner that faded late in the race (eventually losing to Parasite), while All Quiet was a bit of a surprise on nomination day, but has been surging since then. Ultimately, war films these days are a tough sell for Best Picture (looking at you, Saving Private Ryan), in part because they tend to be bombastic testosterone overload, and in part because of the argument that any depiction of war glorifies it (which I don't understand; I doubt anyone that's watched All Quiet or 1917 can be anything but horrified). I expect All Quiet will make some, ahem, noise (sorry, couldn't resist) in other technical categories, but won't threaten Everything Everywhere for Best Picture.

If you've ever been to the Aran Islands off the western coast of Ireland, you know the deal: beautiful land and lovely people, but cold, rainy, and bleak (not to mention terrible cell coverage). And after visiting, it might not surprise you that boredom on those remote isles could drive people to: harbor grudges against lifelong friends, make irresponsible predictions about neighbors dying, talk about horse shite for two hours, or cut off their own fingers and throw them at someone's front door. Welcome to The Banshees of Inisherin. There is a lot of support for this film with critics, but with the Academy, I don't think it will be enough to sway a victory. The film, set in a fictional part of those islands, seems like should be a fun, chatty little film about fellas repairing a fractured friendship in the Irish countryside during a bygone era. It is not. It certainly starts out charmingly enough, but devolves into an increasingly spiteful contest of acrimony and one-upmanship. There's a distinct sense that the filmmaker isn't just being cruel to the characters, but also has disdain for the viewer. And most irritatingly, the ending feels like a slap, because the whole movie seems to be driving toward some kind of finality (absurd as it may be), but it just… doesn't. Thematically, I suppose it makes sense. Writer/director Martin McDonagh has talked about this being an allegory for the Irish Civil War in the 1920s (which is happening over on the mainland, where the characters are barely aware of it), so he's clearly not aiming for a simple or definite resolution. 'What was the point of all that?' might just be the point. Though personally, I think the overall story (ceaseless frustration, confounding escalation, and taking drastic, irrational measures which ultimately have no effect) is a better allegory for parenting: "Please don't poke your brother." Poke. "I'm telling you, don't poke your brother." Poke. "This is your last warning, don't poke your brother." Poke. "There will be consequences if you poke your brother again." Poke. "FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I WILL CUT OFF ALL MY FINGERS IF YOU POKE YOUR BROTHER ONE MORE TIME." (Guess what happens next.)

I feel bad for not loving Tár -- a film about a world-famous conductor, played by Cate Blanchett, slowly (then quickly) unraveling -- partly because it's gotten the highest critics scores of any nominated film, but mostly because I've been shamed by my favorite podcasters, who have unanimously declared this the best film of the year. Why don't I adore this film? What am I missing? What's wrong with me? Ahh… that last question -- that's probably the one that writer/director Todd Field wants you to ask, as he squeezes his protagonist through a crisis of the soul. It's potent stuff, so why didn't it fully connect with me? Don't get me wrong, despite my lack of enthusiasm, I want movies like this to exist, and continue to get made. I guess I just want them to be more accessible, or feel like they've actually gone somewhere with the story. There are a dozen things are dropped into the story, that remain too vague to really put a finger on, or that completely disappear altogether. Without saying too much, I felt like I was curiously watching every corner of the frame, catching fleeting glimpses of things that never return. (I never thought I'd compare this film to Three Men and a Baby, but I'll be damned if I wasn't searching for the boy in the curtains.) Trying to explain this all to my wife, she skeptically asked, "Is this movie like Black Swan?" "No! I mean… okay, it's a little like Black Swan." But where that film has a tangible payoff, Tár, for me, does not. (To be fair, acolytes claim that you need to watch the film twice, perhaps three times, to fully appreciate it -- which is great if you have six or nine hours on your hands.) Tár will be the top choice for some Academy voters, but for most, it's too cold and bewildering to contend for the big prize.

For a few months, a big argument for giving Best Picture to Top Gun: Maverick was that it was the highest grossing movie of the year, and therefore the most beloved. Well, people shut up about that pretty quick as soon as Avatar: The Way of Water passed it at the box office. Yes, it's brought in the most money, but it's far from the most loved film of the year. In theory, there should be plenty about it to love; after all, it's basically a collection of director James Cameron's greatest hits: take the previous movie (Avatar), mix in more deadly creatures from another planet (Aliens), add mysterious underwater things (The Abyss), blow up a bridge (True Lies), throw in Kate Winslet (Titanic), and -- I wish I was making this up -- trap our heroes on a gigantic sinking boat. Voila! Avatar 2: Even More Stuff. (I assume we can expect killer cyborgs, flesh-eating piranhas, and Tom Arnold in next three sequels.) To be fair, the movie is a fun ride, and the technical advances are admirable. But when you combine the computer graphics, the jerky 3D, the high frame-rate, the questionable acting, and the basic plot from an episode of The Smurfs, it often just looks like one long video game cutscene. But on the plus side, all parents are happy to see that even with a different species on an alien planet in another galaxy, kids are still disobedient back-talkers. P.S. -- My kids thought the movie was called Avatar: The Wave of Water… and now I think that would be a much more logical title.

The story of Elvis Presley has been told on-screen ad nauseum, especially his early rise when his gyrations sent many schoolgirls (and a few schoolboys) swooning in the aisles. And the latest adaption got the blessing of his family, which means he'd have to come off as fairly saintly and misunderstood. So Elvis needed something extra to make it a unique experience. Enter notoriously bombastic director Baz Luhrmann. What he gives us is a movie that is more of a visual spectacle than an accurate representation. The film is a series of impossibly-heightened life-altering decisions, intercut with soaring musical numbers so dizzying that we quickly forget that the facts presented may be muddled with fiction. We can't really take anything at face value; but then again, the music is so good, we don't really care. It's also the kind of rags-to-riches-to-Vegas story that's easy to make fun of. (I mean, the preposterously bag wigs alone. And Tom Hanks… oooo, Lordy… we'll get to him later.) At its best, it's fascinating and sad. But ultimately, it's an average movie gussied up in glitz and glamour -- a bloated Vegas act meant to charm the masses. Colonel Tom Parker, for better or worse, would be proud.

Women Talking is certainly the most accurate movie title of the year. The film, written and directed by Sarah Polley (adapted from the book of the same name, and inspired by a real event), tells the story of women living in a remote Mennonite colony who band together to discuss how to collectively handle a series of rapes by men in the village. It's tricky, delicate, abhorrent subject matter. But the film focuses not on the horrifying events, nor on the response, but instead shows the decision-making process in between -- frankly, the part that most movies would skip over. In doing so, the film becomes a story of how to survive, how to come together, and how to thrive. Once upon a time, this film was a leading contender across most categories; there was even talk of it sweeping the Supporting Actress category (on the strength of performances by two former Girls with Dragon Tattoos). But critical and audience responses were tepid (for the few that actually saw the film), so it only ended up with a couple nominations. It won't factor into the Best Picture race, but with its other nomination for Adapted Screenplay, there's a chance Polley won't go home empty handed.

How would you like to be trapped in a life-or-death situation with the dumbest, most selfish people from around the globe? That's Triangle of Sadness. It's a fun satire, to be sure, but its aggressive eat-the-rich (or is it throw-the-rich-to-the-pirates?) rhetoric is also preachy, unoriginal, tiresome, intentionally frustrating, and simply too long. (Not surprisingly, it's the worst-reviewed film up for Best Picture. Also not surprisingly, it won the Palm d'Or at Cannes.) To give you an idea of what you're getting into, one sequence includes both a spirited discussion of American Communism versus Russian Capitalism, and a barf-o-rama that would make Lardass from Stand By Me proud. It aims to please the Parasite crowd, but does so with the subtlety of a sledgehammer (or, literally, a hand grenade). What it boils down to is this: rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly, left or right -- stupidity trumps all.

I'm still a little surprised that Glass Onion didn't make the cut here. (But obviously having more than two "fun" movies would be too many.) I also would have put The Woman King, The Whale, and maybe The Menu into the ten contenders.

One transparent awards-bait film that everyone agrees shouldn't have made the cut is Empire of Light. I don't know what the film is trying to say, other than going to the movies is the best way to cure vague mental illness.

Because nobody asked for it, here's my list of the Best Picture nominees in order from best to worst. (Consider this my preferential ballot, since the Academy for some reason won't accept mine.)

1. Everything Everywhere All at Once

2. Top Gun: Maverick

3. All Quiet on the Western Front

4. Tár

5. Triangle of Sadness

6. Women Talking

7. Avatar: The Way of Water

8. The Fabelmans

9. The Banshees of Inisherin

10. Elvis

BEST ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Brendan Fraser (The Whale)

WILL WIN: Brendan Fraser (The Whale)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Will Smith (Emancipation)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Felix Kammerer (All Quiet on the Western Front)

I realize that picking Brendan Fraser for the best male lead performance is no longer cool. It's a very 2022 opinion. Since then, Fraser's performance in The Whale has gone out of style, replaced by Austin Butler. And then replaced by Colin Farrell. And then replaced by Butler again. And then came Paul Mescal. And now Butler again. But I'm sticking by my choice for Should Win (and Will Win). This roller coaster is nothing new to Fraser. Over the course of this Oscar season -- and over the course of his career -- he has been cool and uncool, popular and unpopular, in demand and out of luck. There's been backlash, and backlash to backlash, and reclamation, and re-examination, multiple times over. So while it's completely surprising, maybe it shouldn't be surprising at all, that he's at the center of the Best Actor race. For my money, I think he gives an overwhelmingly powerful performance, one that would come through even without all the prosthetics and makeup. And I like the movie a lot too, which almost feels like a hot take these days. I prefer it to most of the Best Picture nominees. This latest Darren Aronofsky film is the kind of "dark" movie that works better for me than The Banshees of Inisherin or Tár or even frankly Elvis; it has a tenderness that I find missing in those films (and missing from most Aronofsky movies, actually). The Whale is challenging, that's for sure; it's full of contradictions and paradoxes, that are difficult to articulate and even more difficult to reconcile. But there's also something beautifully simplistic about it, and that stems directly from Fraser's performance. Whether you think Aronofsky has compassion for the character has been hotly debated (I think he does); but it's clear that Fraser -- the man and the actor -- definitely does. And that compassion is what I think voters will respond to the most, giving him the edge.

But only a slight edge. In fact, if you're betting, you should probably pick Austin Butler, for the oh-so-creatively-titled film Elvis. He's the one more oddsmakers are picking. Butler is the first person to be Oscar-nominated for playing Elvis Presley. But is he the best ever? The coolest? The smoothest? The most inspired? I'm not sure he can lay claim to any superlative. A small sampling of former Elvi includes: Kurt Russell, Don Johnson, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Ron Livingston, Val Kilmer (!), Jack White (!!), Frank Stallone (!!!), and of course, probably the most superlative of all, Bruce Campbell. (For my money, the best may have been lesser-known Drake Milligan.) Butler is good, but he's not Oscar good. Especially early on, his impersonation is more John Travolta than Elvis Presley. But his performance really takes off in the second half of the movie, during Elvis's decline (though he can never quite summon the deep baritone that Presley had during the Vegas years). We will debate the 'Best Elvis' forever (actually, other people will debate it; I don't really care). But there's no disputing the 'Most Intense Elvis': Michael Shannon in Elvis & Nixon. Disagree and he'll put his blue suede shoe right up your a--.

Maybe for the intelligence-impaired like me, they should have called it "The Wailing-Spirits-that-Foretell-Death-in-Irish-Folklore of Inisherin". Take my advice: If you go see a movie with the word 'banshee' in the title, make sure you know what it means ahead of time; the movie will make a lot more sense. We're talking, of course, about The Banshees of Inisherin, and the lead, Colin Farrell, has a strong case for taking the Best Actor prize. While he may not have the genuine goodwill or performative audacity of Brendan Fraser, his boyish likability has gone a long way with voters, and unlike Fraser, he's headlining a widely acclaimed film (both he and Austin Butler have the advantage of anchoring films up for Best Picture). Farrell has found another gear, doing the best work of his career recently (The Lobster comes to mind; Dumbo does not). In Banshees, he wields an effervescent charm, comfortable with the unnaturally lyrical, playful dialogue, (mostly) tempering what could be an annoyingly theatrical role. He treads the line between lamentable and pitiful. He's the naïve voice of reason; he is all of us in recent times, just trying to ignore bad news and get through by having a beer. That said, this performance is not quite my cup of tea -- or my pint of Guinness -- especially when paired with a flawless seasoned pro like Brendan Gleeson, so Farrell wouldn't get my vote. There are plenty of far-fetched things in the film, but Farrell effortlessly lifting a 350-pound dead animal like it's a pillow takes the cake.

Many people think Bill Nighy's nomination for Living is a make-up for Love Actually. Those people are wrong.

I'm not seeing what the Academy is seeing in Paul Mescal's performance in Aftersun, a film that's long on subtext but short on actual text. I would describe his performance -- as a doting (and mysteriously troubled) dad on a vacation with his pre-teen daughter -- as capable, even tender, but not necessarily award-worthy. I can see why people are praising the film (which ambitiously attempts to capture the undefinable moment when kids start to see their parents as real people, especially their flaws) but it just doesn't reverberate with me. (That's probably because, as a parent, I have no flaws. I also don't allow my 11-year-old to hang out unsupervised with drunken, horny young adults late at night.) Frankly, the most relatable part for most parents is when another dad carts off his screaming child from the water park, chiding the boy for "ruining everything for everyone as usual". And, is it just me, or when the daughter starts talking about being under the same sun as her distant father, is she ripping off the song lyrics from An American Tail?

There are several other actors that I'd slot into this category ahead of Mescal, chiefly Felix Kammerer (in All Quiet on the Western Front); but also Gabriel LaBelle (as the young Spielberg stand-in from The Fabelmans), Ralph Fiennes (in The Menu), or even Adam Sandler (in Hustle). (The prospect of Sandler doing another acceptance speech in his Bobby Boucher voice would be reason enough to nominate him.)

Tom Cruise is a very strong second place for Gloriously Omitted. (For a hot minute, everyone was certain that he would actually score an acting nomination for Top Gun: Maverick. We dodged a bullet there.) But in an absolute shocker, Will Smith is the top choice, for Emancipation. Of course, Smith was never going to get a nomination this year. Obviously. Right? I mean… is it obvious? Let's think about this for a minute. (Why are we still talking about him? Hear me out.) Pretend, if you will, that last year's ceremony didn't have all the hullabaloo. (I'm trying to figure out how to write about Smith without using the word "slap", so I settled on the word "hullabaloo". You're welcome.) In the months following, Smith would have been riding high, the reigning king of Hollywood, with several high-profile projects making headlines (starring in Bad Boys 4, producing Cobra Kai and Bel-Air, unwillingly appearing in Jada's never-ending social media feed). Then late in the year, Emancipation would have been released, a dramatic opus with massive prestige appeal, featuring Smith attempting a superfecta: portraying a real-life figure rebelling against slavery, playing a pivotal role in the American Civil War, taking on a difficult (iffy?) Haitian Creole accent, and -- the pièce de résistance -- wrestling an alligator underwater. In other words, textbook Oscar fare. Honestly, it's not hard to imagine a world where Smith would have gotten another nomination for this role, and maybe -- I truly believe this -- a second consecutive Oscar. The real shame is, Smith's specter overshadows the fact that Emancipation is a legitimately good film, with quality work done by many people. Why oh why couldn't Smith have just taken a year off?? So close to the fallout, the film was tainted, and nobody was going to vote for this film on principle alone. But a year from now, with a little more distance (and Smith tucked away out of the spotlight), the film could have realistically been recognized for, say, Antoine Fuqua for Best Director. Or cinematography. Or production design. Or any of a number of craft categories. But by releasing the film this season, any chance of Oscar attention was torpedoed.

Also, I can't help but call this out… In case you're wondering how many people Will Smith needs around on set to help him try to win an Oscar, here's a sampling of his entourage on Emancipation (and these are just the ones with official credits in the film): Assistant to Mr. Smith, Executive Assistant to Mr. Smith, Production Assistant to Mr. Smith, Acting Coach to Mr. Smith, Acting Coach Assistant to Mr. Smith, Dialect Coach to Mr. Smith, Hair Stylist to Mr. Smith, Assistant Hair Stylist to Mr. Smith, Makeup Artist to Mr. Smith, Special Effects Makeup Artist to Mr. Smith, Makeup Production Assistant to Mr. Smith, Costumer to Mr. Smith, Trainer to Mr. Smith, Driver to Mr. Smith, Security Guard to Mr. Smith (x2), Historian to Mr. Smith, Chef to Mr. Smith, Chef Assistant to Mr. Smith, Religious Consultant to Mr. Smith, and of course, Wilderness Survival Expert to Mr. Smith. (I swear, I did not make any of these up.) Maybe these are the people that really deserve the Oscars.

BEST ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN: Michelle Yeoh (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

WILL WIN: Michelle Yeoh (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Natalie Portman (Thor: Love and Thunder)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Viola Davis (The Woman King)

Michelle Yeoh and Cate Blanchett have been trading the lead back and forth, based mostly on the insights of "experts" who don't actually know anything. (Hey, don't look at me.) As the precursor awards (the most accurate predictors) roll in, Michelle Yeoh is emerging as the favorite, but not by much. It's still up for grabs, but I think the Screen Actors Guild award tips things in Yeoh's favor. Personally, I don't have a strong preference; they both do incredible work in very different roles.

But since I have to pick one, Michelle Yeoh is my Should Win pick by a narrow margin; she's also clearly who I'm rooting for. In Everything Everywhere All at Once, Yeoh is doing more than we (uncultured Americans) have seen her do -- especially comedy. She plays somewhere between six and six hundred roles in the film, and even within a single role, she tackles sci-fi, romance, action, adventure, slapstick, gross-out, martial arts, fantasy, superhero, and drama, as well as comedy. She quite literally does everything everywhere. Maybe Yeoh will compare notes with fellow nominee Ana de Armas, both having played ass-kicking allies of a certain martini-drinking superspy. Will they debate which co-star was a better James Bond -- Brosnan or Craig? (Hopefully they both say Connery.)

One of Cate Blanchett's biggest hurdles is herself -- or more accurately, her Oscar history. Having won twice already, voters will take a long look before giving her a third one, which would put her in the company of only seven other actors. (Even Blanchett herself seems to be suggesting that she doesn't need another trophy, instead talking up others actresses while on the publicity tour.) Victory or not, her role in Tár will go down as one of her best. Say what you want about the movie (I probably would have been very underwhelmed were it not for her), it's Blanchett doing what she does best -- cold, wiry, in command (with a haughty accent to boot) -- in every single scene. As an orchestra conductor, her expertise is sound, and she's obsessed with things that don't sound right (real or imagined). It's weirdly relatable: I zero in on every stupid little creak and hum in my house and assume the ceiling is falling down or an appliance is breaking or a pipe is leaking (and I'm right more often than I care to be). Her austerity is an organic extension of the movie itself, and her paranoia makes it difficult to tell where the real world ends and her mind begins. In a movie that probably won't win any other awards (compared to Yeoh's Everything Everywhere All at Once, which is a heavy favorite across the board), will Blanchett's performance be enough to win? One more thing in her favor: She also voiced Spazzatura the monkey in the animated nominee Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio.

What to make of Andrea Riseborough's nomination for To Leslie, a tiny film very few people had heard of, let alone seen, that made only $27,000? (That's literally one theater for one week. If you saw the movie before the nominations were announced, and you are not Riseborough's cousin, I am officially impressed.) If you want hot takes, Twitter has mountains of them. And if you want all the tawdry details of exactly how this happened, there are plenty of online articles out there. But basically, her indie film had no publicity budget, so instead a no-cost social media campaign was launched on her behalf, and it shockingly resulted in an Oscar nomination. Personally, I'm conflicted. On one hand, it's impressive to see a tiny film get rewarded without spending millions on a slick campaign like the studios do. It's like the ultimate grass-roots, word-of-mouth success story. Wouldn't it be nice if all nominees had to do it on their own, without the corporations and publicity machines pumping endless dollars into what is essentially a shamefully political popularity contest? Imagine a performance being recognized -- gasp! -- based solely on its own merit. It's remarkably refreshing. On the other hand, this wasn't exactly organic. People didn't just happen to stumble upon this film and good-naturedly recommend it to their friends. This was much more calculated (and yes, publicists were heavily orchestrating this plan, too). Basically, the filmmakers and the "team" (I'm not singling out Riseborough, because I don't know how much she actually had to do with it) figured out that with roughly 1300 people in the Actors' branch of the Academy, you only need about 200 votes to secure an acting nomination. And so they enlisted some famous friends to host screenings and throw parties and post about it (all using lazy copy/pasted text) -- and effectively wrangle a couple hundred of their colleagues to vote. Looking at the number of recognizable faces they got to post about it, it was probably very easy to get 200 votes. If influential, Academy-friendly celebs like Gwyneth Paltrow, Charlize Theron, Edward Norton, Jennifer Aniston, and Kate Winslet each get 20 people, they're half way there. If you're a pessimist, it's nothing more than Tinseltown cronyism. It's basically the same (but weirdly inverted) tactic employed so successfully by Miramax years ago, with social media instead of advertising dollars. Is it better or worse than the big-studio tactics? Debatable. But it does show that in a post-Harvey, new-media, international Hollywood, a few powerful people can still move the needle. And A-Listers can essentially pick their friends. Now, are we reading into this too much? Probably. Sure, it's neat that a little indie movie can muster the support to get the awards recognition that it (may) deserve, but ultimately, I don't think I want Paltrow, Norton, and Winslet manipulating the Oscars and handing nominations to their pals. (By the way, the Academy loves this stuff, despite the fact that they say they don't. Controversy generates conversation, which generates interest, which keeps them relevant. If everyone agreed on everything, and nobody ever freaked out (and nobody wrote long, tedious prediction articles ever year), the Academy would become unnecessary.) As for the film and the performance themselves: The film is not great, but Riseborough is. As an addict and a mother trying to get her life on track, her character feels very familiar and very real; she's like someone we've all interacted with, tried to help, or relied on -- for better or worse. But is it worthy of an Oscar? The performance doesn't strike me as that much different from similar roles in other movies, so I'm not sure I would single her out. And the backlash won't help her in the voting (unless… there's a backlash to the backlash… which is probably inevitable). For Riseborough's sake in the long term, I hope she's remembered for the performance, and not the noise that's overshadowed it.

Michelle Williams is another great example of the chaos and unpredictability that is the race for Oscar nominations. If you're smart, unlike me, you'll ignore all the drama and wildly inaccurate predictions until the nominations are announced. For her work in The Fabelmans, Williams raised a few eyebrows when she campaigned for Leading Actress instead of Supporting Actress (it's not a trivial decision; establishing yourself as a Lead instead of Supporting, whether you win or not, is extremely important in future casting and contract negotiations, especially for actors over 40). Regardless, she was a front-runner early in the season (Spielberg + drama + eccentricity + four previous noms + a striking haircut + Dawson's Creek cred). As Michelle Yeoh and Cate Blanchett emerged as critic and fan favorites, the buzz on Williams died down. Then, after precursor awards and other strong performances, word was that she had fallen out completely. Finally, when nominations were announced, Williams had somehow avoided the Andrea Riseborough shrapnel and claimed a spot. (Viola Davis and Danielle Deadwyler were not so lucky.) For me, the film is melodramatic, and the characters (Williams's in particular) largely serve to amplify that, probably to their detriment. For voters, her competition is extremely strong (and she has the added obstacle of viewers not really liking her character), so it's clear she won't win. But… could she have won in Supporting Actress? Yes, I think she probably would have. On the other hand, did you see the scene of her buttering the toast?? The worst toast-buttering I've ever seen. I can't endorse an award for that.

Ana de Armas is probably the most polarizing nominee in any category, for her searing portrayal of Marilyn Monroe in Blonde (which was supposed to be Netflix's big Best Picture show pony). Reviews for de Armas have been positive, but reviews for the film itself have been… decidedly not. Personally, I'm not sure this film says anything that Elton John hasn't said already. As a historical document, this movie is probably a waste of time. But as an exploration of the anguish of a mental prison, exacerbated by being on public display and exploited by countless stakeholders, suitors, husbands, and hangers-on (not to mention a President of the United States of America), the film can be quite compelling. But, for most of us, probably not enjoyable. Marilyn learns early in acting class to picture herself outside her body, and uses that tool to externalize and dissociate trauma. And there's plenty of trauma. If the movie is successful, it is mostly due to the fervid performance by de Armas. She's fantastic in the film -- and not just her ankles, as Colin Farrell would have you believe. Trying to judge how "realistically" she portrays Marilyn falls apart pretty quickly; plenty of impersonators have had a closer physical resemblance, and the voice becomes less believable as the movie goes on. But that's beside the point. She's going for a hyper-stylized version of Marilyn, a play on what we've seen and how she might have felt -- a composition of imagery and memory, not reality. It's a commentary on the enigmatic nature of Norma Jeane Mortenson and the cult of Marilyn Monroe. And it's effective… the way a root canal is effective. (If you're looking for a good time at the movies, you should probably stick to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.) de Armas was an early front-runner in the fall, but as reviews shredded the film, she seemed to slide out of contention altogether. But after some late awards attention, I was happy to see her sneak in as a bit of a surprise. But don't expect her to contend for the prize.

So if the ploy hadn't worked for Andrea Riseborough, who would I like to see here? I'd vote for Viola Davis, who anchors The Woman King as a fierce and compassionate warrior, which features fight choreography as good as any Marvel movie (and whose real-life soldiers helped inspire the Dora Milaje in Black Panther). I would also mention Zoe Kazan in She Said, who hasn't gotten the same attention as her co-star Carey Mulligan, but is very much the emotional driver of the film. And Olivia Colman is one of the few bright spots in Empire of Light (but she's had plenty of recent awards attention, so she can afford to take a year off).

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Brendan Gleeson (The Banshees of Inisherin)

WILL WIN: Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Tom Hanks (Elvis)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Paul Dano (The Fabelmans)

When Ke Huy Quan wins Best Supporting Actor Everything Everywhere All at Once, it will probably be the feel-good moment of the night. When the film came out last spring, there was plenty of buzz about his welcomed return to the screen, his youthful buoyancy still shining through. (His last Hollywood role had been Encino Man (!) 20 years ago.) Any awards chatter was for co-star Michelle Yeoh; an Oscar nomination for his quirky performance seemed like an impossibility. As the year wore on, and the film remained in the conversation, his nomination felt possible, then realistic, and then inevitable. Now he's the heavy favorite to win, against seemingly the longest odds. It's the kind of underdog story we all love, and is practically the plot of the movie itself. And he's not just trading on nostalgia; initially his performance hits us with the familiar (he still sounds a bit like Shorty and Data), but soon it shifts as the role expands, and the brilliance of his casting becomes apparent. As the emotional center of the film, he's clearly the one I want to win the most. But I admit he's actually not my pick for Should Win (though it's very nearly a toss-up). Which brings me to…

Has there ever been anyone more perfectly suited for a role than Brendan Gleeson in The Banshees of Inisherin? (Other than perhaps Shelley Duvall as Olive Oyl in Popeye.) Instead of being cast, it's as if he existed fully-formed, sipping a pint in the Irish countryside (woolly vests and all), and the movie was created and filmed around him. (That may not be much of an exaggeration -- writer/director Martin McDonagh wrote the part specifically for him.) He seems to simply live this performance, my personal pick in this category. A consummate character actor for decades -- while also playing roles as varied as Winston Churchill, Mad-Eye Moody, and Donald Trump -- this is, in my humble (yet correct) opinion, a career best. He effortlessly conveys a lifetime of baggage that he doesn't need to (and refuses to) explain to us. His character is confounding and selfish; his motivations that are inscrutable and illogical at best, cruel and dangerous at worst. Like the landscape around him, he is harsh and unforgiving. And yet we still want to spend time with him, just as his puppy-like best friend does. (Gleeson gets extra credit for actually playing fiddle, and even composing the titular song.) Unfortunately for me, his brilliance gets overshadowed by the muck of the final act of the movie. As the story becomes repellant, his character almost literally cuts off his nose to spite his face. (Maybe 'cut off your fingers to spite your frenemy' was a common phrase in 1920s Ireland, I'm not sure.) As playwrights are often wont to do, McDonagh doesn't go easy on his metaphors. Gleeson's biggest hurdle in claiming Oscar gold isn't, however, the unpleasantness of this movie, nor is it front-runner Ke Huy Quan; it's his costar, Barry Keoghan. While voters adore this movie and its performances, Gleeson and Keoghan will inevitably cannibalize each other's votes, each boasting vocal supporters. As much as I adore the performance, when it comes to the film itself, I can't help but channel Gleeson's plainspoken character: "I just don't like it."

So what to make of Barry Keoghan as Dominic, who's repeatedly dismissed as the "dim" one on the island in The Banshees of Inisherin? Well, much has been made of his performance, by critics and moviegoers alike, but I'm not totally on board. By way of comparison, Keoghan amps up the affectations and mannerisms, while Brendan Gleeson gives a much more naturalistic (and for my money, impactful) performance. On my first viewing, I thought Keoghan was aggressively hammy, leaving no line of dialogue un-goosed, whose presence I felt was a little manipulative and mostly unnecessary. Without question, he was taking an awfully big swing. (I also spent a disproportionate amount of the run-time trying to determine if he has eyelids.) But I'll admit, upon a second viewing, I saw there was more to it; not nuance exactly, but an additional layer. Much of that is in the writing, but Keoghan taps into it in unexpected ways; he knows where he's going, and he doesn't necessarily care if the viewer goes there with him or not. It's the fate of the character -- and of the performance -- to be misunderstood, at least initially. But when you see that Dominic possesses a sort of invisible, simplistic wisdom, and is feeling things he can't express, the performance comes alive. (It doesn't hurt that he has the most acrobatic dialogue in the film.) That said, he's near the bottom of this category for me. He has no shot of winning of course, but he'll do plenty to wreck Gleeson's chances. Feckin' Dominic.

Brian Tyree Henry was a bit of a surprise nominee for his role in Causeway, an Apple+ movie very few people have seen, and even fewer have been talking about. Its lack of notoriety is a bit of a shame; for talky character dramas, I'd take this film over The Banshees of Inisherin any day. And Henry is a significant part of why it stands out. Not unlike Brendan Gleeson's, it's a comfortable, lived-in performance that doesn't call a lot of attention to itself. Unfortunately for Henry, he doesn't benefit from having the One Big Scene he'd need to truly contend for the prize. Oddly, that's probably the film's biggest strength: its measured, realistic feel. In a story that could easily drive straight into the melodramatic, the film remains restrained. (Jennifer Lawrence plays the main character, home after a severe injury in the military in Afghanistan, who meets Henry, a local mechanic, and they go on a journey of physical and mental healing together.) It's a slow burn. There aren't otherworldly stakes; sure, the characters have health issues, but the real stakes are friendship. (To which the marketing team undoubtedly said, "Are you kidding me?" I'm sure the filmmakers had to fight off all kinds of pressure to juice up the drama.) Unfortunately, it's a double-edged sword: The ending is probably too restrained; the final act doesn't quite come together, and the film feels largely unresolved.

How often do you hear someone say, "This movie could use more Judd Hirsch?" Well, that's the most definitive thing I can say about The Fabelmans. As someone who saw every episode of Dear John during its original run on TV, and counts Ordinary People as one of his favorite films, I'm definitely cheering for Hirsch. But he's only in two scenes! Dammit, Steven Spielberg, let the man cook! It would be a gas to see 87-year-old Hirsch collect the award (notably, he's the only former nominee in the group), but if I'm being honest, this is not an Oscar-worthy performance. I mean, he's in the movie for all of five minutes, and mostly yells and stomps around and dispenses unrealistic and irresponsible life advice. (And might be… a ghost?) It's a little silly. But also, I wanted more of it. And the best part of it is, supposedly the hallowed movie that made the legendary director think of Hirsch for the role was… Independence Day. Simply incredible. (Meanwhile, erstwhile fugitive Randy Quaid is still waiting for his Spielberg call.)

But as much as I dig Judd Hirsch, they nominated the wrong guy from The Fabelmans! Did they see the same movie I did? Paul Dano is clearly the more meaningful performance. With an understated performance (especially when compared to his other 2022 role, as the Riddler -- who's actually more of a yeller than a riddler), he moors the film emotionally and narratively, a welcome counterbalance to the louder performances in the film. Other standouts this year include: Eddie Redmayne (The Good Nurse), Micheal Ward (Empire of Light), Adrien Brody (Blonde), and Zlatko "The Croatian Burt Young" Buric (Triangle of Sadness).

In Elvis, Tom Hanks does a fantastic impersonation of Jiminy Glick; but of Colonel Tom Parker? Not so much. Other Glorious Omissions include Ray Stevenson in RRR, Ben Foster (who's trying to corner the market on adversarial sh-theels) in Emancipation and Hustle, and Miles Teller (or pretty much any of the lifeless clowns playing fighter pilots) in Top Gun: Maverick.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN: Kerry Condon (The Banshees of Inisherin)

WILL WIN: Angela Bassett (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Alison Doody (RRR)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Janelle Monáe (Glass Onion)

But how will Martin Scorsese feel? That's a question that nobody is asking, regarding the Best Supporting Actress race. Angela Bassett is the favorite to win for her performance in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, and if she does, she'll be the first person to win an Oscar for acting in a Marvel movie. (As it stands, she's the first acting nominee.) I only bring up Marty because someone inevitably will, after the much-ado-about-nothing feud that he unwittingly sparked a few years ago when he off-handedly opined that comic book movies were not cinema. (The controversy is so stupid that it makes me nauseous, but on the other hand, I do like stirring the pot.) Bassett is certainly the fan favorite here, not just for the comic-book devotees, but for movie-goers in general. The only previous nominee in the group (for What's Love Got to Do with It almost 30 years ago), she's been doing undeniable work for decades. In Wakanda Forever, she achieves many of the hallmarks of an Oscar-winning performance, nailing a pivotal role in acclaimed movie that has significant heft and poignance, where she is largely the emotional center. If I'm being honest, it's not a career-best performance, but I'll be more than happy to see her claim the prize.

Speaking of fan favorites and venerable veterans, Jamie Lee Curtis scored her first nomination for Everything Everywhere All at Once. It's probably a bit of a career achievement recognition, but not an unwelcome one. She's clearly having a blast, both in the movie (as a ridiculous, curmudgeonly, dragged-up tax auditor slash alternate-universe mutant love interest), and on the press/awards tour (whooping it up as her co-stars rake in the accolades). She even has the year's most fun character name, Deirdre Beaubeirdre. In terms of winning, it's never a good thing to compete against someone from the same movie; it's even worse when your competition is as unforgettable as Stephanie Hsu. Fortunately, Curtis isn't here to win, she's here to party.

Somehow, Stephanie Hsu's character in Everything Everywhere All at Once is even more ridiculous than Jamie Lee Curtis's, but much more of the film's central conceit and emotional heft revolve around her. She's the beneficiary of some of the film's most gonzo gambits, and steals every scene that Michelle Yeoh and Ke Huy Quan don't. When she's not using sex toys as deadly weapons (a certain pair of clubs comes to mind), she's tapping into a heart-wrenching ennui that feels very grounded and real. Despite being the least known of any of the nominated actors prior to this film, her versatility, costumes, and choice of breakfast food have made her one of the most memorable. I expect her first nomination is just the beginning.

My personal pick is Kerry Condon, the put-upon (but decidedly not dull, despite her reputation) sister in The Banshees of Inisherin. Critically, she's our proxy, our way into the confounding quarrel between men and the idiosyncratic goings-on in the town. The film, via Brendan Gleeson's character, explores the themes of legacy (creating art, late-life crises, having purpose in one's life, leaving something that will last, etc.) in an inelegant way, which by the end hinders the viewing experience. Condon's character, on the other hand, explores the same themes in a much more elegant (and subtle) way; and as such, Condon makes great strides toward (almost) rescuing the film. Her character, unlike so much of the film, has clarity of purpose. I credit the story for that, of course, but Condon's performance is also largely responsible. It makes her scenes, which are too few, immensely refreshing. It doesn't hurt that she's the only sane one on the island. And the only wise one. Her wisdom is never more evident than when she exits the film well before the ending -- a valuable lesson for all of us.

There are plenty of things about The Whale that have been criticized: the story, the casting of Brendan Fraser, the performances of minor characters, the melodrama, the believability, and the ending. But the one thing everyone praises is Hong Chau, who plays Fraser's nurse and confidant. She brings a strong sense of humanity to the story -- not just kindness, but anger, frustration, humor, resentment, and heartbreak, too. She's not exactly the audience's avatar, but she enables us to tap into the many conflicting feelings from scene to scene, and the film is much better for it. She's also gotten a boost from double-dipping -- playing a fun, pivotal role in The Menu as well. She has a lot of supporters, but in this stacked category, she was probably the last one to make the cut.

One actress I would have liked to see make the cut is Janelle Monáe, for her sneaky performance in Glass Onion. Another standout this year was Thuso Mbedu in The Woman King. And what about Kelly McGillis and Meg Ryan for Top Gun: Maverick?? They should be the top choices as Ingloriously Snubbed -- not from the Oscar race, but from the movie completely! #JusticeForKellyAndMeg

Alison Doody's cringeworthy performance in RRR just makes me nostalgic for her character Elsa in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Sigh.

BEST DIRECTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

WILL WIN: Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Baz Luhrmann (Elvis)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Joseph Kosinski (Top Gun: Maverick)

The unlikeliest prestige film of the year is helmed by the unlikeliest directing duo. Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (often credited as the single entity "Daniels"), bring an usual sensibility and playful DIY aesthetic to their brilliant opus Everything Everywhere All at Once. I can't tell if they share the same brain, or if they each bring completely different and unique sets of perspectives that somehow mesh into a cohesive (yet deliriously messy) vision. However they do it (and I don't think even they can explain it), it works. (For a primer, watch their early music videos and short films, like Pockets and Dogboarding, most of which are under three minutes long.) Emotional absurdity -- or is it absurd emotionality? -- is their specialty. With Everything Everywhere, by far their most ambitious undertaking to date, they make the preposterous relatable, endearing, intimate, and sentimental. In doing so, they craft the best movie of the year, with the best directorial effort of the year. And so the unlikeliest directing duo will soon be known as the unlikeliest Oscar winners.

The Fabelmans is, in part, Steven Spielberg's apology to his father, who he blamed for his parents' divorce for many years -- which is why the father in so many of his early films is absent, irresponsible, or a child-eating shark. Which begs the question: Had he known the truth, would Spielberg have been a lesser, perhaps terrible, director? Maybe E.T. would have stayed home; maybe Richard Dreyfuss would have just eaten his mashed potatoes; maybe the Ark would have remained unraided; maybe Jaws would have stuck to seafood. Thank goodness for childhood trauma, I guess? (Humorously, and tellingly, he said of making The Fabelmans, "This is like a 40 million dollar therapy session.") Until recently, giving Spielberg the Best Director Oscar seemed like a perfunctory exercise: A career-capping reward for his most personal movie (about making movies, no less) seemed like too good an opportunity for voters to pass up. But now, not only is he not the unanimous choice, he's not even the favorite. And I'm helping lead that charge -- I don't think this is even in Spielberg's top 10 directorial efforts. I realize that I sound like an underqualified a-hole troll trying to impress online idiots with a contrarian take: "Meh, Spielberg isn't that good". But the point is that he is that good, and this movie should be better. In this story, his avatar learns he can tell the truth with the camera; then he learns he can bend the truth with the camera; finally, he learns he can create magic with the camera. I just wish he had created magic when making this movie.

Many have viewed Tár as a commentary on the famous and the powerful -- using an orchestra conductor as the conduit to a world most of us know little about, but reflecting a hierarchy that feels disturbingly familiar. That's all valid, but I'm actually fascinated by the allegory to filmmaking itself -- the conductor as a stand-in for the director. (Not surprisingly, the director and the writer of the film are the same person, Todd Field.) In a profession where the credit "a film by" is often used in place of "directed by", the portrait of a megalomaniacal conductor is fairly apt comparison. Seen through that lens (pun partially intended), it's interesting to see Fields's thoughts (or fears?) on the matter. (As a filmmaker, the parallels must not be lost on him.) In the movie, the conductor is theoretically controlling everything -- at least she believes she is -- but the further we probe, the less we see she's actually in control of. The control is an illusion, an instrument of a rigid but brittle power structure. Ultimately, the true lack of control is exposed, and all hell breaks loose. I'm guessing Field, or any director, could relate. (And we've all seen movies where that's clearly happened to the director.) Would Field suggest that this is a truism of directing any film? Or a cautionary tale of what could happen (and what has happened) to other directors? Or would he simply say, "It's about a conductor, you idiot"?

I'm out. I'm out on Martin McDonagh. I've tried, I really have. In Bruges. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. I even watched his 2006 Oscar-winning short film, Six Shooter. My reactions have ranged between unimpressed to downright repelled. I thought his latest, The Banshees of Inisherin, would turn it around for me. And for the first half of the film, it did; I was ready to repent and declare that McDonagh had finally won me over. But then the chopping began. And I realized it was all a trick. While the film is more palatable than Three Billboards, it's still mean-spirited and off-putting enough to make it official: I dislike his films. He's so deft at writing rich characters and compelling scenes; wouldn't it be grand if he just told a nice, pleasant story? Or if another director made a more conventional film out of one of his scripts? Of course, McDonagh has no interest in doing those things. I can only imagine that his mind is filled with the dark stuff, and the film would be impure if he filtered any of it out. Damn him and his artistic integrity. Critics are doing backflips for this guy, and I can't figure out why. I suppose it could be his ability to imbue his films with the sense of holding opposing opinions in one mind. More than likely, each viewer believes they identify with one of the main characters -- the one that values today, or the one that values tomorrow. Frustratingly, I think that McDonagh is saying that each of us is really both at the same time… and there's no painless way to reconcile that.

The increasing internationalization of voters in the Academy has resulted in more nominees from overseas, especially in the Director category. This year's big beneficiary is Ruben Östlund, a semi-surprise in this group for Triangle of Sadness (which also scored noms for Picture and Original Screenplay). He has a strong Nordic sensibility, but also takes lots of cues from American filmmaker Robert Altman. Much more popular abroad, Triangle of Sadness hasn't really struck a chord with North American audiences. Perhaps this is because Östlund largely treats his characters as generic stand-ins for classes and stereotypes, rather than treating them as individuals. By the same token, the film strikes me as less malicious than, say, The Banshees of Inisherin, because it is more blunt and broad, and takes aim at groups instead of unique people (and as a result, I find it a bit more palatable). His filmmaking style is often overtly combative, using techniques to restrict what the viewer is able to take in (scenes shot from a great distance, muffled dialogue, characters partially or completely out of frame). The general consensus is that Östlund's nomination is more of a reward for the culmination of his last three films (a trilogy of sorts) -- the previous two, Force Majeure and The Square, were much more highly regarded -- so don't expect a victory for him here.

Why no Best Director nomination for Joseph Kosinski, the technical force behind Top Gun: Maverick? If you ask me, he's the one we should credit with rescuing the theatrical movie experience. (And maybe his team of digital artists who magically de-aged Tom Cruise by 30 years.) Kosinski is my narrow Snubbed choice over All Quiet on the Western Front's Edward Berger (I had predicted Berger would grab the typical international director slot over Ruben Östlund). There are plenty of other directors worth mentioning, including Antoine Fuqua (Emancipation), Sarah Polley (Women Talking), and Robert Eggers (The Northman).

Can a movie be over-directed? Based on Baz Luhrmann's Elvis, the answer is a resounding yes. Baz never met a shot he couldn't muddle up by shaking the camera, zooming and whip-panning, superimposing junk on top of it, and generally loading it up with artifice. My hands down pick for Gloriously Omitted.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN: Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

WILL WIN: Daniel Kwan, Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Sam Mendes (Empire of Light)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Robert Eggers, Sjón (The Northman)

What a loaded category. In most other years, four of the nominated films would probably be the favorite. (Apologies to Triangle of Sadness.) This year, it will realistically come down to two films: Everything Everywhere All at Once and The Banshees of Inisherin.

Mystifyingly, the award that Everything Everywhere All at Once deserves the most is the one it's least likely to get. The screenplay categories are the ones that are often used to spread the hardware around -- especially if the Picture and Director winners are expected to align, and the directors are also the writers. So while Everything Everywhere (written by Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert) is the most original screenplay, and the best screenplay, and the most fun screenplay, and the most emotional screenplay, there's a strong chance The Banshees Of Inisherin will win here as a consolation prize. And that would be a goddam, low-down, filthy disgrace, I tell you. The films couldn't be more different, but they surprisingly take on some similar themes. Specifically, I think Everything Everywhere deals with midlife crisis more interestingly, complexly, and elegantly than Banshees. (Admittedly, the one thing Everything Everywhere is missing is a donkey.) Who will actually win? It's coming down to the wire, so it's pretty much anybody's guess. But I'll say that the Everything Everywhere's unique blend of reverence and irreverence will tip the scales.

I really don't know what to make of the script for The Banshees of Inisherin (written by Martin McDonagh). I can't say that it's bad, but I also can't get past the unpleasant experience of the final act (which is, of course, completely intended). McDonagh is undoubtedly a gifted scriptwriter; I've said before that while I don't like his films, his scenes are impeccably crafted, and his lyrical dialogue simply hums. This script in particular has a purity to it, as well as a commitment to themes that feel true to the author (even if the story's contours and destination don't suit me). But I don't know what he's trying to achieve. Sure, it's a war allegory. But there has to be more to it. Is it a grief metaphor? (I have some theories on the ending -- or non-ending -- that are a little far-fetched but seem logical to me; however, the Internet tells me I'm wrong. I won't do any spoiling of the ending here. But buy me a beer, and I'll give you an earful.) Is it saying that man can't escape his nature? (The characters on the island are literally and figuratively removed from the Irish Civil War on the mainland. But they’ve got their own little interpersonal civil wars, which seem just as important, just as trivial, and just as confounding. Their tiny haven seems like a deliberate microcosm of the greater population, despite being completely isolated. After all, Inisherin translates to "Ireland island".) Or simply that the Irish are drunkards that like to fight and swear? (The film doesn't exactly offer evidence to the contrary.) I just don't know. The best way I can reconcile it is to consider it a folktale, one that's been retold and exaggerated and reinterpreted over the course of 100 years, with an absurdist ending that can be customized to whatever the storyteller wants to convey. "Let me tell you the sad tale of the rowin' Irish lads and the Banshees of Inisherin…"

Todd Field has written three feature films in his lifetime (including In the Bedroom and Little Children), and all of them have been nominated for Best Screenplay. When he finally writes one that isn't, just imagine how disappointed his family will be with his failure. Like his previous nominations, this one for Tár won't result in a victory. But it won't be for lack of effort. Critics can't stop praising this screenplay, even if they can't agree on what it means or what it's saying. I'm not able to agree (or disagree) because I haven't got a clue what it means or what it's saying -- and that's perhaps my biggest problem with it. It's a mystery that remains a mystery (for reasons unknown, or maybe just unclear); instead of a reveal, we get shadows and ripples, mostly. It's a little frustrating. Despite the overarching narrative, to me it feels more like a series of essays than a complete story. It doesn't every really crescendo (at least, not in a way that feels earned); it feels like it's missing a critical coalescence in the final act. This is all completely intentional by the writer, no doubt. It's all there, I'm sure; he just doesn't want us to find it, at least not in the conventional way. Are the characters discussing music and composition, or sex and orgasms? Are we seeing things objectively, or from the main character's perspective, or someone else's? Will our conductor be haunted for the rest of her life, or has she paid her penance and will now be at peace (despite living in professional purgatory)? "You're just stupid," the fervent supporters would certainly tell me, right after Googling what the story really means. Despite my misgivings about this film, I loved Fields's previous films, and am eager to see what he tackles next. (I just hope he dumbs it down for me.)

They say 'Write what you know'. Maybe The Fabelmans, Steven Spielberg's autobiographical coming-of-age story, should be an argument against that. I can't help but question whether Spielberg is the right person to write and direct his own biopic. The script (co-written by frequent collaborator Tony Kushner) is, disappointingly, a very conventional drama; but it also gets too cute and corny when it shouldn't, and gives some very young characters some very unrealistic dialogue. It's like a long, mediocre episode of The Wonder Years (but with fewer uses of the word "butthead"). It's fictionalized, but not as much as you might expect. (Maybe it should have been more fictionalized.) Ultimately, I'm not sure what the script is saying, other than 'My parents got divorced so I became a filmmaker'. Believe it or not, it's Spielberg's first Oscar nomination for writing, but alas, it won't be his first win.

Reactions have been mixed to the script for Ruben Östlund's Triangle of Sadness. What the story seems to strive for and what it actually achieves are, unfortunately, very different. What it aspires to: a clever, incisive examination of class and classism -- society's inherent flaws laid bare, pitting capitalism, socialism, Marxism, sexism, elitism, and all the other -isms against each other, under contrasting sets of circumstances. What is actually is: White Lotus meets Below Deck -- with more arrogance, less subtlety, and the same amount of feces -- playing out in hyper-speed to a logical, imploding conclusion (which is, of course, Lord of the Flies).

My pick for Ingloriously Snubbed, the electric script for The Northman (written by Robert Eggers and Sjón), has a lot going for it: revenge, destiny, and naked sword-fighting inside a volcano… but mostly deadbeat dads.

My Gloriously Omitted choice: Sam Mendes usually doesn't write the movies he directs; Empire of Light is a good example of why.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN: Edward Berger, Lesley Paterson, and Ian Stokell (All Quiet on the Western Front)

WILL WIN: Sarah Polley (Women Talking)

GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Andrew Dominik (Blonde)

INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Dean Fleischer Camp, Nick Paley, Jenny Slate (Marcel the Shell with Shoes On)

Women Talking (written by Sarah Polley) is heavy, heady stuff, dealing with the philosophical, the theological, the moral, and the ideological… but not necessarily the practical. While the central deliberation is fascinating (it's like 12 Angry Men, but with characters deciding their own fate), I tend to focus on the logic in movies (always a dumb thing to do), so I'm very curious about what would happen next. Where will the women go? How will they live? Will they find income, or try to live off the land? How far could they possibly get before the men track them down? Will they get double-counted in the census?? (You know, important stuff.) Since the film is primarily dialogue, and the subject matter is so weighty, the film feels very "written", and as a result is getting a lot of attention for its screenplay. It's the favorite to win, but its lead is shrinking by the day. We'll see if it can hang onto the lead come Oscar night.

Spoiler, for those who have never heard of World War I: All is not quiet in All Quiet on the Western Front. The German film (written by director Edward Berger, Lesley Paterson, and Ian Stokell) is based on the classic novel of the same name, penned by a German combat vet. Some updates have been made to the new film version, making the tale of a young Central Powers soldier at the end of the war even more harrowing and heartbreaking. The attention to detail is captivating -- especially a remarkable sequence about the cycle of a soldier's uniform, hauntingly symbolic of the systematic, unending death. If anything has a chance of beating Women Talking in this category, it's this script; if you ask me the day before the ceremony, I might well predict this as the winner.

Let me get this straight: Top Gun: Maverick, a masterful and pioneering technical achievement in aerial filmmaking, is not nominated for Best Director or Best Cinematography, but despite banal characters and a wafer-thin plot, it is nominated for Best Screenplay? That's the Oscars for you. Maybe I'm not being fair. Maybe I'm holding screenwriter Christopher McQuarrie's pedigree against him -- after all, he won an Academy Award for writing The Usual Suspects, one of the best scripts of the last 30 years. (Alas, he wrote that solo; he teamed up with a cabal of writers for Maverick.) But then I think of how the Maverick script oh-so-subtly informs us about Rooster and who his father might be… while he's sporting a mustache, shades, Hawaiian shirt, and white t-shirt, using an avian call sign, literally playing 'Great Balls of Fire' on piano. We get it; they probably could have stopped at the mustache. And for those of us dummies who are still unclear, the script throws in flashbacks, old photos, and Maverick looking traumatized for several minutes. "Ohhh, I wonder if that guy is related to Goose…" Then there is the huge missed opportunity for fun dialogue. "I feel the need… the need for speed", "Take me to bed or lose me forever", "The Defense Department regrets to inform you that your sons are dead because they were stupid", "Negative Ghost Rider, the pattern is full", "Yeehaw, Jester's dead", and "Bullsh-t, you can be mine" are all fantastic lines that are not in this movie. And no dialogue in it comes close to the original film's. Forget about an all-time classic like, "Your ego is writing checks your body can't cash." (Though to be fair, I've spent years trying to figure exactly what that means.) I just don't think "I am good, I'm very good" is catching on. Oh also, the story manages to work in Penny Benjamin, the admiral's daughter that Maverick slept with years ago, mentioned in the first movie. Penny is now played by Jennifer Connolly, age 52. That means that she was 16 during their first romance in 1986. Congratulations screenwriters, you've made Maverick a pedophile.

Remember those times in college or early adulthood when you hang out in cheap bars with pals that you spend all your time with, bond with, confide in, make plans with, and share big dreams with? You know, the ones you're certain will be your best friends for life? And then you get a little older, and you realize that, in fact, those people have become pretty irritating and annoying? Like, it turns out they're just the worst? And you feel like you want to kill them in a highly premediated, theatrical, convoluted, yet somewhat comedic kind of way? Uh, no? Well, someone in Glass Onion does, so I'm officially not alone. Welcome to the confusing Adapted Screenplay category, where two original stories are officially considered "adapted" instead of "original" solely because they are sequels. This tale of treachery and murder (written by Rian Johnson) is one of those non-original original adapted screenplays. It might not be quite as dazzling as the predecessor, Knives Out (also a screenplay nominee, my snubbed choice for Picture and Director, and one of the best films of 2019), but it's a worthy heir, very clever and extremely fun. It's maybe not so much a mystery as, well, an onion, revealing layers and new information as the movie progresses. (Some argue that it irritatingly eschews the rules of a whodunnit by withholding necessary information from the viewer.) I just have one piece of advice for those who are fed up with their friends: If the world's greatest detective is with you, maybe wait until, you know, after he leaves before you murder one of them.

Living is an adaptation of a story that's already been told by Akira Kurosawa (in the film Ikiru) and Leo Tolstoy (in the novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich), so it has some pretty big shoes to fill. It doesn't hurt that the writer is Kazuo Ishiguro, who's no slouch himself (Nobel Prize winner, author of books like The Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go, and screenwriter of several movies). Living probably won't have quite the legacy that Ikiru does; but then again, that film didn't get any Oscar nominations. Take that, Kurosawa!

I'm picking Marcel the Shell with Shoes On (written by Dean Fleischer Camp, Nick Paley, and Jenny Slate) for my Snubbed slot. It's a wonderful, simple story about the wonders of simplicity, about connections past and present, about people loved and lost, and maybe -- just maybe -- the meaning of life. (Honorable Mention goes to the script for She Said, written by Rebecca Lenkiewicz. But honestly, I can't believe they didn't get Ben Affleck to do the voice of Harvey Weinstein; his impression -- which is not as much of a hit at parties anymore -- is uncanny.)

In 10 years' time, will Blonde (written and directed by Andrew Dominik) be considered shameless exploitation or high camp? Right now, it's really hard to tell. The harrowing portrait of Marilyn Monroe is very serious subject matter, but is also highly fictionalized and shellacked with glitzy flourishes. It has the schlock of a Russ Meyer film, but the prestige of being an adaptation of a revered Pulitzer-finalist book by Joyce Carol Oates. (It's actually not even the first adaptation of the book -- there was a barely-remembered CBS mini-series in 2001 starring Poppy Montgomery.) The film is leaden with symbolic imagery; the NC-17 content is meant to evoke the dizzying, gut-wrenching experience of being Ms. Monroe, but often comes off as either vile or silly, including (but not limited to): facial and genital body horror, drowning children, scary mommies, domestic abuse, living photographs, unabashed nudity, national monuments as giant phalluses, Hollywood as a literal burning hellscape, kneeling in the Oral -- ahem -- Oval Office, and of course, a talking fetus. Subtle, this script is not. (Dominik even said prior to its release, "There's something in it to offend everyone.") I'm sure there will be an online reclamation of this film at some point, but for now, it will have to live with my Glorious Omitted commendation.