87th Academy Awards: My Picks (Ranked)

The 87th Academy Award nominations may be considered the most controversial this decade. Expected nominations lacking include The Lego Movie for Best Animated Feature, Nightcrawler for Best Feature and Best Actor, Selma in the Best Actor category and Gone Girl in pretty much every category. The disproportion of nominations for Selma is indeed puzzling and as usual, the Foreign Language Film category being as wide as is, can please no one.  

The ceremony, to be held on the 22nd of February, will mark the conclusion of the awards season. Below are my preferences for each category. 

Note: Unfortunately, a number of nominated documentaries, animated features and foreign films have not yet been released in Australia.  I also failed to see Unbroken, Inherent Vice (released next month) and The Judge. (Although I did suffer through Into the Woods for the stylistic categories)

P.S. The Imitation Game

The mundane, crowd-pleasing The Imitation Game is at best a well-organised, cliché-ridden feature, every narrative turn expected and each actor, playing caricatures rather than characters. The feature boasts a nuanced basis story, compelling events of military endeavours and stratagem, the secrets of a genius cryptologist, Alan Turing, prosecuted for his sexuality, and of course, his revolutionary method of decryption. But these elements are underplayed and the insignificant, petty emotional strings are pulled far too often. The film manages to diminish a complex, brilliant man down to a mere stereotype genius. What The Imitation Game presents is not a real person, hardened by discrimination and exclusion, layered, real and shaped by forward vision and intellect in a backward society. The Alan Turing of the feature is a grossly oversimplified being, capable of being digested in one phrase: a  socially-inept, well-meaning polymath. The Imitation Game is no more than lazy, unsatisfying filmmaking disguised as a refined biopic by enlisting Britain's finest actors and adding some dull, pseudo-intellectual dialogue. Cumberbatch prevails as the feature's single redeeming features (as well as the more than competent score by Alexandre Desplat) even Kiera Knightley falters in her role, perhaps due to the lack of inspiration supplied by her thin, prosaic character. The Imitation Game is a formulaic, substandard piece, positioned as a big red dart aimed straight for the Oscars, utterly forgettable and actually infuriating in its lack of insight and wasted potential. 

43/100

Birdman

In the realm of modern cinema, the gritty and unembellished, the ugly and brutal belong in the milieu of Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu. His "death trilogy" (Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel) is a study of tragedy, citing lost, wasted and harried love as its aggressors and exposing the debilitating grief which follows. Hence, his latest entry into the Oscar race may come as a thing of surprise. Birdman, whilst not so far removed from his usual angle of the unromanced and diselusioned, is an entirely novel form of realism. The characters of Birdman are complex, cynical creatures yet idealistically hopeful, the assurance of "it'll be fine" lingering blackly over their trained lips. The ambitious feature is also both a notable comedic effort, the dark humour casual yet indisputably clever, and a technical marvel, the entire flick filmed of one fluid, unbroken shot. A spirited creation to add to a resume of primarily dark works, Birdman is the perfect example of a director being rewarded for taking risks in his work and reaching for elements outside of his expected capacity. Birdman is that rare combination of both escapism and insight - whatever type of movie-going experience you desire, Birdman will fulfil it.  

Captured in seemingly, a singular shot, Birdman tells of former iconic movie superhero Riggan Thompson (Michael Keaton), who is attempting to stage a return to performance art via writing, directing and starring in his own Broadway production. The days leading up to the opening night of the show is nothing short of a mad struggle as his lead actor is injured and his neurotic, egomaniac of a replacement, Mike Shiner (Edward Norton), proves to be more of a challenge than a talent or saviour. His cynical fresh-out-of-rehab daughter, Sam (Emma Stone) offers up little help as his production assistant and notorious New York Times critic,  Tabitha Dickinson (Lindsay Duncan), has already blacklisted the show, even before the curtains are drawn on opening night.  

Film Location Expedition: The Piano

A few months back I created a new feature which explored the cinematography and the score of select films, a feature I dubbed my "Visual & Sound Diary". In one particular entry I delved into the world of Jane Champion's Palme d'Or-winning The Piano. I attempted to recreate the incredible, distinctively eerie atmosphere by putting together the iconic images, a brief interlude describing its allure, its magic and a clip of the piano piece "The Heart Asks Pleasure First". On a recent trip to the scenic, wildly beautiful north island of New Zealand, I had the opportunity to visit the very places where Champion shot this transcendent film, the isolated, ghostly Karekare Beach and the sunlit spectacle Piha. 

You can view my Visual & Sound Diary entry on The Piano here.

Two Days, One Night

Minimalistic and realistic, the films of Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne are noted for what they are not. The Belgium film-making duo employ only the simplest cinematic tools; absent are the slow-motion shots, the montages, the music, extravagant set designs and ensemble casts. Their films are beautifully stripped-down, the features feel as though they are created of a single camera man and actor engaging in intimate shoots. A true film of the Dardenne brothers is recognised for its unrelenting patience and their latest feature Two Days, One Night, starring the effervescent Marion Cottilard, is no exception. True to form, the flick is based purely on real life challenges ranging from financial difficulties to mental illness, insecurity and self-doubt to the constant challenge of maintaining human connection. I cannot note Two Days, One Night for its cinematography nor its score - the film is shot most simplistically with handheld cameras and as for its score - well its non-existent. Even Cottilard appears bare-faced for the cameras, her raw performance all that is needed to win over this audience. What this feature essentially reveals is the sad but hopeful truth that individuals survive by everyday triumphs and the enduring contentment which it accompanies. 

Two Days, One Night chronicles three days in the life of a young Belgian mother, Sandra (Marion Cottilard) who works as a labourer in a solar-panel factory. After taking a prolonged leave of absence after suffering a nervous breakdown, Sandra's colleagues are given the option to each receive a ¢1,000 bonus if they agree to make Sandra redundant. In the following few days, Sandra is persuaded by her husband to take a trip to individually visit each of her colleagues in hopes of convincing them to forgo the bonus so that she may remain employed. The significant issue at hand is that Sandra progressively begins to doubt not only her chances but her entitlement to the position.  

Force Majeure

"Compelling premise" is a phrase I use to describe many a film. In a competitive film industry, an interesting, provoking story arc is an invaluable selling point. Swedish flick, Force Majeure captivates and beguiles its audience like no film this year. Achingly uncomfortable, the feature incites unusual thought and discussion of the postmodern marital relationship and much like the Fincher's Gone Girl, it is laced with cynicism, spiked with realism and presented in a harrowing, perceptive glory. The film sustains beautifully with a dry, idiosyncratic humour, biting social commentary and dynamic, stylistic production and staging. This critique of Force Majeure will stand at an odd contrast from my last review on Testament of Youth where I insistently praised the traditional style of the film. Unlike the conventional vigour of Testament, Force Majeure profits continuously from its sheer originality, the perplexing, oddly confrontational tone of the film will twist through your mind and rest comfortably in its darkest corners. One question is guaranteed to linger on the lips of the audience as they exit the theatre- "what would you do?". 

Force Majeure, in its most literal sense, refers to an unavoidable incident, a "superior force", which is precisely the type of event which cleanly replaces the delicate balance of one swedish family with certain anarchy. When I refer to the "balance" of the family, I mean to cite its conceptual dynamics, more specifically the uneasy power play of its members. The film is no standard natural disaster flick. The disaster here wreaks ruin in the most unusual way. During a ski holiday in the French Alps, a family is enjoying a meal on a rooftop restaurant when they are graced with what initially appears to be nothing more than a natural spectacle, a small, "controlled" avalanche. But as the formidable mass of snow nears, panic rises and the dear father of the family, Tomas, reassuring his family only moments earlier, is nowhere to be seen. Reliable mother Ebba, clings desperately to her children and in many fruitless attempts, calls out persistently for her husband. But soon, the snow settles, the impending disaster never occurs, giving way to embarrassment and an ugly reality, as the sheepish father returns to the dining table and resumes his meal. 

Testament of Youth

If I were to attach a single descriptive word to the cinematic style of a country, for French cinema it would be realism, for American cinema innovation, Italian cinema extravagance and for British cinema tradition. The simple elegance of British film is matchless, its storytelling whilst rarely novel is consistently poised, impeccable and boasts flawless sophistication. This is the simplest way in which I can illustrate the astonishing potency of the poetic war feature Testament of Youth. The film is richly character-based, the development of each individual character is patiently, even artfully crafted with leading light Alicia Vikander a visionary figure. The young actress can only be described as a vessel of high calibre cinema, slowly coming into full form. She is continuously expressive, poignant and marvellously composed. The cinematography adopts an elementary beauty, each shot intricate and detailed but always naturally constructed. Ultimately, Testament of Youth proves a worthy, moving tribute to a lost generation and tells a compelling story of the struggles of those the soldiers left back home.

Testament of Youth captures the life of writer Vera Brittain (Alicia Vikander) at a pivotal point not only in her own existence, but in world history. The sweet balance of her somewhat privileged life is lost when warfare triggers the passion, patriotism and vigour of the young generation. Suddenly, every young man in the life of Brittain is dropped into immediate danger as dreams of honour and idealism drive them to enlistment. Her brother (Taron Egerton), her lover (Kit Harington) and her friend (Colin Morgan) are all pulled into the destructive force of the First World War, and whether they emerge at its end is anyone's guess and everyone's most desperate hope. 

Visual & Sound Diary: Three Colours: Blue (1993)

Visual & Sound Diary is a weekly feature where I explore a chosen film of distinctive cinematography and musical composition via the score, soundtrack and stills. This is how it works: click play on the link supplied of the selected music and scroll through the images. Be reminded and inspired of the cinematic splendour. 

Note: the last shot is my pick for the best shot.

Arguably the greatest trilogy of film history, Krzysztof Kieślowski's spectacular Three Colour series is a fine landmark of French cinema. The first instalment, Blue, is a sweeping look at grief as an aggressor of the human condition, carried by the sheer skill and veracity of ferocious talent Juliette Binoche. The film is patient and slow-moving, the story progresses in a wonderfully natural manner. The late Kieslowski's storytelling abilities can only be described as intuitive, wonderfully nuanced and rewarding throughout. The feature is also clearly distinguished by its innovative use of cinematography and music. A strange correlation exists between the visuals and the sounds for whilst the imagery is primarily mundane, the soundtrack is continuously dramatic and pronounced. Unlike the compositions I have selected previously which have been serene, tranquil and all primarily piano pieces, The Unification of France is extravagant and imposing.

Kieślowski''s trilogy is fundamentally based on the French Revolution ideals, represented by the three colours, Blue (liberty), White (equality) and Red (fraternity) as on the national flag. It is a retrospective, subtly patriotic look at the application of these values on France's modern society. The trilogy is a goldmine of material for a liberal arts student - it is continuously compelling, mysterious and philosophical - provoking endless discussion created of an ambiguity which cuts straight into poetry. Blue serves as the introduction to the series, presented as a melancholias tribute to the classic concept of "triumph over adversity". For Blue, the aesthetics are simple yet striking and ethereal, the story spirited, the central performance by Binoche transcendent and the payoff great.

Interstellar

An exhilarating synthesis of motion and melody, Interstellar falls just shy of  greatness. Save for some far-fetched sequences, thinly developed characters and unnecessary sentimentality, Interstellar still manages to come through as an artful wonder. Powered by a phenomenal score, courtesy of musical mastermind Hans Zimmer, and the transcendent cinematography of Hoyte van Hoytema, the entertainment meets the typical Nolan standard. The feature boasts the innovation of Inception, the smooth confidence and grace of The Dark Knight series and the fascination of Memento. The film, however, still leaves much to be desired, its intellectual stamina drawn more from fantasy notions than science, its improbability and fanciful concepts distracting from its true potential and insight. It's sheer scale and ambition is to be admired, aesthetically the film reaches new heights and whilst some will view the Interstellar odyssey as one absurdly constructed, others will revel in its compelling nature.  

Interstellar tells of an unspecified future where the earth has deteriorated and innovation is at a standstill. NASA physicist, Professor Brand (Michael Caine), recruits a team, including his own daughter, Amelia (Anne Hathaway), and former pilot, Cooper (Matthew McConaughey), in a mission to salvage the human race by locating a new inhabitable planet via a worm hole. It is Cooper who must determine whether to remain on earth with his family, including his young daughter Cooper (Mackenzie Foy), or to risk his life in hopes of keeping their future alive. 

Visual & Sound Diary: Pan's Labyrinth (2006)

Visual & Sound Diary is a weekly feature where I explore a chosen film of distinctive cinematography and musical composition via the score, soundtrack and stills. This is how it works: click play on the link supplied of the selected music and scroll through the images. Be reminded and inspired of the cinematic splendour. 

Note: the last shot is my pick for the best shot.

The twisted fantasy world of Pan's Labryinth is one widely admired: its darkness and complexity is portrayed as a haven against the horror and cold of the real world. Accompanied by startling imagery, original monsters of spectacular horror and an interesting premise, Pan's Labryinth is an icon of Spanish cinema. Director Guillermo del Toro, endeavoured to create a rich and compelling storyworld and in that he has succeeded. Set in rural Spain of 1944 during the civil war, the film tells the story of a young girl who is sent along with her pregnant mother to live with her new stepfather, a sadistic army captain. She escapes the violent and brutal reality and into a sinister, fantastical world co-existent with her own. There she meets an old faun who tells her of her origins as a lost princess but must prove her royalty by completing three challenges. 

Pan's Labryinth is the elaborate showcase of cinematographer Guillermo Navarro's formidable talent and is easily his best work. The film transcends a subtle, supernatural beauty and makes full use of its stunning art direction. The feature is a sublime collision of war story and fairytale, its diverse and strange fusion of characters is a awe-inspiring attraction of the feature. Rarely will you find fascist army captain, fairy and grotesque child-eating monster of one film. The original score crafted by notable film composer Javier Navarette is a worthy accompaniment of the stunning visuals. The chilling, classical Long, Long Time Ago is a potent lullaby, evoking the mystic quality so singular to Pan's Labyrinth.