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Perhaps I’m naïve, but responses to the Oscars, both nominees and winners, never cease to surprise me. Never mind within hours, within one hour of the nominees for the 87th Annual Academy Awards announcement (bit of a mouthful), the Internet was awash with ridicule, condemnation and insistence that the Academy had got it wrong yet again. Why do non-Academy members find it so hard to accept that the position of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is different but possibly just as valid to their own position? Why will we not accept that this is a bunch of films that AMPAS choose to honour, and that the Academy is allowed a different position to our own? Come the end of the year, many film fans post lists of their top films of the year, and these lists vary widely. We can disagree, but we do so respectfully, whether it is on online or in person. The level of vitriol and contempt directed against AMPAS every year seems excessive, dubious and downright arrogant. A Bunch of Dry Old Men? I am also irritated by the way the uninformed describe the award givers, referring to AMPAS as if it were a secret cabal or committee whose members meet, look over the films their friends made, puff their cigars and sip their whiskey, before voting for the films that made the most money. The Academy has over 5000 voting members, divided into 15 branches relating to the Academy’s various categories (acting, directing, cinematography, etc.). Each member of a particular branch picks nominees in their category from the films eligible for consideration, which can be any theatrical release that plays for seven days in Los Angeles between 1st January and 31st December of the previous year. Voting decisions can therefore be made individually and not necessarily because of others’ influence. This is not to say that personal and financial relationships do not influence decisions, or that no decisions are made by voters going “Eeny-meeny-miny-mo” on the list of candidates, but let’s have some perspective on the sheer size of the institution involved. To be fair, this institution is far from diverse. According to a report published in the Los Angeles Times, over 90% of the voting members of AMPAS are Caucasian, over 70% are male, and at least 50% are over the age of 60. Furthermore, over 30% of voting members are former nominees and winners. The stereotype of the Academy voter being an old white man does therefore have some validity. Nonetheless, while this demonstrates that women and people of colour are severely under-presented in the Academy, it does not mean that anyone else necessarily knows what these old white men enjoy, respect and reward. We can speculate about their preferences and whether they will be more swayed by a gold watch from Rolex or Chopard, but we do not ultimately know. Furthermore, what makes your opinion or mine more valid than theirs? Granted, the opinions of this largely homogenous institution do lead to a great deal of Hollywood hoopla and one of the grandest shows of the entertainment calendar. The fact that these are the film industry’s awards and that the manner of their presentation is so ostentatious can appear crass and excessive. If that is your reaction, that the actual institution of the Oscar ceremony is offensive, why take any interest in the awards at all? And if you do take an interest, consider this: if the resources were suddenly made available for the [insert your name here] Film Awards, would you not make a big fuss about it as well? And if you were suddenly appointed the arbiter of cinematic quality, able to dole out awards to the film artists that you deemed worthy, would you be so different from AMPAS? What performances, scripts, special effects, cinematography, editing, sound mixing, sound editing, costume design, production design, hair and make-up, directors and, oh yes, films overall, would I vote for to win? But then again, what do we know about cinematography, sound mixing, sound editing, costume design, production design, etc? Are the people who actually work in these areas not somewhat qualified at deciding on high quality work? Of course, strong reactions tend to relate to particular categories, mainly Best Picture. This leads me to what I would like to see: a reasoned response to Oscar nominations that respectfully disagrees and does not declare that a few thousand total strangers are idiots. I may not agree that the films nominated each year are the finest examples of cinematic art that the previous twelve months have produced, but that does not mean my opinion is more valid than anyone else. Were I a member of AMPAS, and nothing I voted for was nominated simply due to number of votes, it would make my opinion a minority. The demographics may be narrow, but it is a democratic process rather than the dictatorship that negative responses infer: “the Academy members are wrong and I, the arbiter of all that is quality, am right”. It sounds different that way, doesn’t it?
My question, therefore, is why is the opinion of anyone who derides the Oscar nomination decisions more valid than those of the combined beliefs of the members of AMPAS? Who is really qualified to give awards for filmmaking? Perhaps the people that spend the most time actually watching and assessing films, i.e. critics. Critics are among the first to give awards, presented before the Golden Globes, BAFTAs and Oscars take place. Indeed, the films honoured by the National Board of Review, the New York Film Critics Circle and other such organisations often go on to receive awards from the industry as well, which suggests that the Academy voters may take some guidance from the critics. Of course, if you don’t value reviews either, then you’re still going to be annoyed, perhaps by the type of films that are honoured. I will return to this in my next post.
I’ve been posting recently on my top and bottom films of 2012, and realised I had been remiss earlier in the year. Two films in particular impressed me in their own ways and are contenders for my top ten, so I thought it only fair to give them mention. Both are smaller films, rather than the major blockbusters I’ve discussed recently. I enjoy the mainstream, and seeing the full facility of cinema through big budget blockbusters and studio prestige films are among my favourite movie experiences. The division between “mainstream” and “independent” is vague and indeterminate, and sometimes used nonsensically, not to mention inaccurately. I have heard references to Clint Eastwood as an independent filmmaker, which is absurd as he is a Hollywood institution, whose films are always funded and distributed by major studios, usually Warner Bros. Similarly, the world’s most successful independent filmmaker is George Lucas, who could also be regarded as the epitome of Hollywood. If considered from a more analytical industrial perspective, the distributors of the films under discussion here are still related to major studios, so the division is unclear.
Not that it matters, as the quality of a film and one’s appreciation of it is not determined by who funded or distributed it, but by what is in the film itself. Speaking from an auteurist position, as I do, one of the giants of New Hollywood back in the 1970s was responsible for my favourite comedy of the year, Killer Joe. William Friedkin won the Directing Oscar for The French Connection in 1971, and went on to direct The Exorcist two years later. He has never come close to the heights of that double whammy in the last forty years, but continued to make striking and interesting films (Bug), as well as some turkeys (Rules of Engagement). Killer Joe is one of his successes, a pitch black comedy that is funny if you are prepared to laugh at its unflinching depravity. Complaints about Killer Joe focus on all the characters being unsympathetic if not downright repulsive, which they are. I question though whether being nasty is reason to criticise, as horrible characters can still be well-rounded and compelling. To call the central family of Killer Joe white trash would be a compliment, as they are more the vermin that feed upon trash, but I was nonetheless intrigued to see what they did next.
My interest was held largely by commitment, from the script, the direction and some very fine performances. Emile Hirsch and Thomas Haden Church convince as a couple of idiot rednecks, Gina Gershon balances sultry with embittered, and Juno Temple conveys sweet naivety and disturbing sexuality. 2012 was the year of Matthew McConaughey’s renaissance, with acclaimed performances in Killer Joe, Magic Mike and Bernie, receiving an award from the New York Film Critics Circle for Best Supporting Actor for his performances in the latter two. I did not see those, but found his performance as the titular polite psychopath in Killer Joe to be both chilling and amusing. McConaughey’s stony expression and slow Texan drawl lend themselves well to perfectly controlled menace. As with other characters in 2012, the sound of the voice is central to the dangerous aura of the character. Tom Hardy demonstrated the menace of his voice twice, famously as Bane in The Dark Knight Rises (although his voice was clearly altered in post-production, so maybe that shouldn’t count) and then in the lower profile Lawless, in which he pulled off the remarkable feat of appearing dangerous while wearing a grey woollen cardigan. A key element of Hardy’s menace was in his voice, a low, indistinct mumble that nonetheless conveyed clear authority and willingness to do harm. In Skyfall, Javier Bardem’s almost liquid tones emphasised his relaxed attitude towards his murderous enterprises. McConaughey’s sardonic vocalisations were perpetually chilling, especially as he spoke in much the same tone whether discussing his assassination fee or about serving tuna casserole.
Killer Joe is based on Tracy Lett’s play of the same name, and its final scene especially retains the script’s stage origin. The escalating horror of this scene demonstrates the script’s conviction to deep levels of depravity, and Friedkin’s commitment to the story is demonstrated by the maintenance of the scene’s length. Films based upon modern plays often shorten scene length, either through outright cutting of the script or fast editing. When the length is retained, as in Killer Joe and also Doubt, the scenes are noticeably longer than those written specifically for the screen. The maintenance of the final scene’s length increases the tension and indeed the horror of what may be the worst family dinner ever. The commitment to the revolting events that unfold aids the power of the scene, and yet a twisted sense of humour is still present. This is integral to Killer Joe’s success as a piece of cinema: the film presents humiliation and abuse, but with just the right level of wit. Not laugh out loud funny, but still amusing if you have a strong stomach.
If Friedkin is a known if somewhat diminished directorial star, Gareth Evans is an utter unknown. This anonymity worked to his advantage in his contribution to cinema this year, the Indonesian The Raid. Having never heard of Evans until buzz about The Raid started, I was not sure what to expect. What I got was the most blistering, dizzying, dazzling, delirious action film I had seen in a long time. The combating characters flew as light as feathers yet struck with bone-crunching force – I lost count of the number of times I winced, ducked and said “Ow! Ow! Ow!”
I am not well-versed in martial arts cinema, The Raid being one of only a smattering of such films that make it into mainstream western cinemas. It was also the only foreign language film I saw at the cinema in 2012. I am keen on all films, but foreign language fare tends to be restricted to art house cinemas, and at least in Norwich, the art house cinema is more expensive than one of the multiplexes. Unfortunate but true. The upside is that a film like The Raid felt wonderfully fresh and different. This is not to disparage western action cinema, which can provide visceral thrills very well as The Avengers and Skyfall did this year, but The Raid added some variety. Whereas the wuxia genre of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Hero and House of Flying Daggers provide balletic myths of martial arts beauty, The Raid was down, dirty, brutal and unforgiving, combining physical stunts with blazing guns and swinging machetes, to create an immersive and enthralling experience.
The Raid’s power is a combination of martial arts choreography and filmmaking. I would describe the choreography as exquisitely channelled chaos: fists and feet flying in all directions could be chaotic and confusing (and in reality probably would be), but with the right choreography, it becomes a marvel of organisation. This can be presented as something elegant and even serene, especially if slowed down as in the films of Zhang Yimou. Evans, however, keeps the action fast and the cutting intimate, conveying a sense of velocity and impact. As I have discussed previously, tension is key to action sequences, and build-up is crucial to tension. Tension in The Raid comes in a variety of forms. At one point, the protagonist Rama (Iko Uwais) hides in a wall cavity with an injured comrade. The gangsters searching for them repeatedly stab a machete into the wall, only just missing our heroes. This scene is extremely tense, the tension exacerbated through extreme close ups of the characters’ faces as well as the massive blade. During actual fight sequences, the combat is continuous yet tension is increased as the violence escalates. Why punch your opponent once when you can do so seven times and slam their head into a wall, just to make sure they’re incapacitated? Several stand-out fight sequences are not only highly involving, but carry major stakes as these are important characters, particularly Mad Dog (Yayan Ruhian) VS Jaka (Joe Taslim) as well as Mad Dog VS Rama and Andi (Donny Alamsyah). These fights go on far longer than human endurance would actually allow, but realism is not on the agenda here. The agenda is to show people fighting in creative and elaborate ways, and make us feel every punch, kick, head-butt and blow from an improvised weapon (my personal favourite: a shattered strip light).
The Raid could be criticised for having a plot summed up in the tagline: “1 ruthless crime lord. 20 elite cops. 30 floors of chaos.” This is unfair, as The Raid also features betrayal, corruption, loyalty, abjection and duty. While its main selling point is incredibly talented practitioners of pencak silat, The Raid has the bonus of an engaging protagonist in Rama, some sympathetic characters, and a villain in Tama Riyada (Ray Sahetapy), complete with psychotic henchman Mad Dog, worthy of any Bond or superhero film. While many of the characters are cannon fodder, I nonetheless cared when the cops were hurt or killed, because Evans made sure to keep the PAIN on-screen. Visceral cinema can simply draw one along with the action, much as Joss Whedon does in his bravura long takes like the climactic battle in The Avengers. Evans’ approach is more brutal, as the impact of each blow is clear. Sound adds a great deal as well, and the smack of fists and feet, not to mention the burst of skin and the breaking of bones, aid the film’s immersive thrill. While 2012 featured many stunning sequences, nothing matched the sheer physical thwack of The Raid.