BEST PICTURE
WINNER: Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis, 1994)
If you grew up during the
90’s, you could not escape Forrest Gump. It was inevitable. In my world, it was universally loved
and I confess I have been systematically predisposed to like this movie ever
since I saw it in the theater at age 11.
Maybe it is the desire to “get to my roots” through popular cinema
(boomer parents, small southern hometown), maybe its because the soundtrack was
on repeat for years in my room, maybe its because I related to Gump in a way I
related to few other movie characters.
Whatever the case, I have loved this film since childhood and when I
watch it today, I find I still love it and that it only deepens as I examine
the movie closer. Whatever the
major effect the film had on American culture at large, I see in the film a
unique skewering of American exceptionalism through the narrative of a
guileless individual who is shamelessly exploited by a variety of individuals
and social institutions yet maintains a loyalty to the handful of people who
have ever shown him interest, in spite of his low IQ and naïveté. The character of Forrest Gump is
essentially a blank slate that viewers project their own feelings and nostalgia
upon. To me, it is a glorious
picaresque that succeeds thanks to the charismatic humanism of Tom Hanks and the
over-arching relatability of Zemeckis’ cinematic techniques. Forrest is not without agency but he is
without cynicism. It is his
guileless loyalty and lack of cynicism that has made the film seem
sentimentalized when it fairly earns its emotional climaxes; likewise, Gump’s
accidental wealth and fame countered by Jenny’s failed endeavors have made
liberal critics spurn the movie for not being an ode to the 60’s
counterculture. It seems people
are still projecting their own objectives upon the life of Forrest Gump and the fact
that the film lets you do so is testament to its endearing greatness.
Four Weddings and a Funeral (Mike Newell, 1994)
A fun romantic comedy
built around a clever structuring device, Four Weddings and a Funeral builds its narrative thrust without ever
resorting to tired batches of exposition while genuinely relishing in the games
it can play with lingering questions and ellipses. It tells you in the title exactly what will happen. None of this is built around a great
conceptual purpose, but it is still entertaining and shows enough smarts to
raise it a head or two above the crowd of generic romantic comedies. Hugh Grant builds a whole career from
the charming awkwardness and humorous self-deprecation of this leading role,
while supporting players fill in the background with eccentricities and
countering points of interest (James Fleet and Simon Callow being the most
noteworthy). The biggest complaint is Andie McDowell. Her average girl look and clumsy charm is not quite enough to alleviate the love-at-first-sight skepticism, but Grant is charming enough and the gap in her teeth makes her close enough to British to cover the bet. What is most interesting about the movie is the way it uses
these public events as touchstones, proving both how little we know the people
we consider close friends and how easily we can still observe the basic reality
of individuals in overly formal environments.
Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
Cinematic
post-modernism: illustrated. Pulp
Fiction is a histrionic
collection of incidents and motifs that cover a generous swath of genres all
adding up to a self-referential conglomeration of cinematic interests. In other words, it is a movie nerd
movie, founded upon a superficial enjoyment of cinema and built to deliver, in
a heightened form, that same basic enjoyment to its audience. In that way, it is highly
successful. It is a fun,
entertaining, memorable and cool ride that ultimately doesn’t have any greater
purpose than to be a fun, entertaining, memorable and cool ride. But it is the phony appropriation of
artistic self-examination via the French New Wave that made it a darling of
critics, clouding the waters of reasonable discourse because it isn’t actually
an examination of anything at all.
Tarantino has basically taken some Band of Outsiders signifiers (pulpy genre subjects, comic
misdirection, a dance scene), filtered them through a crime/exploitation
sub-genre lens and combined it to good actors and a steady, unobtrusive visual
design. It is set in an amoral
universe of pop culture references, violence and drug use, a world where there
are no police, where “nigger” just rolls off the tongue of everyone and where
the only God is the one who wrote all the witty banter and shuffled the
chronology just to prove he is almighty.
It is a love it and hate it movie, in many ways, because it has all the
marks of serious, careful artistry that are fully in the service of serious,
careful self-aggrandizement. I
won’t deny that it is entertaining; I won’t deny that it is lastingly influential, but I
also won’t call it great art. And
maybe that’s the joke, defined at the beginning: “A soft, moist, shapeless mass
of matter.”
Quiz Show (Robert Redford, 1994)
Classical Hollywood
filmmaking that aspires to great heights thanks to some smart writing, Quiz
Show deals with the way mass
entertainment lightly exploits the social problems of the culture at large and
the way the machine of corporatism diffuses its culpability through a broad net
of fall guys, job offers and signed statements. Redford has an embarrassment of riches before him, but can’t
commit himself to explore any of them very thoroughly. He often confuses class divisions for
ethnic divisions (Connecticut vs. Queens) and finds himself conflicted by the
Van Doren/Stemple dichotomy (he allows Stemple to bring up allegations of
anti-semitism but tries to keep it -- as long as he can -- within the ambiguous realm
of Stemple’s instability, only to highlight it later as an apparent truth but
gives it no weight of implication, thereby leaving it as an interesting side
note in a story already stuffed full of them). The movie begins startlingly in a car showroom where a
salesman is giving a spiel for the Chrysler 300. The themes of showmanship, consumerism and the need of new
thrills are all played in this wonderful scene, but inexplicably, Redford
misses his chance to express greater thematic implications by giving us the
lawyer Goodwin in this scene rather than the more thematically potent Charles
Van Doren. It shows Redford’s
limited imagination: he sees this scene pragmatically as a chance to introduce
the audience to a major character that will play later in the story instead of
giving the audience a clearer expression of the themes and an early chance to
connect with the most dramatically compelling character and consequently, the
one hardest for the audience to love.
John Turturro turns in one of his best performances as the frenetic and
surprisingly charismatic Herb Stemple, while Rob Morrow finds the inner
struggle of Goodwin’s own prejudices, giving a performance that narrowly avoids
being a completely one-note expression of the supposedly objective
truth-searcher. In the end, Quiz
Show’s aspirations are bigger
than its implications, and the fact that Redford tries to tie up the whole thing
as some sort of collective loss of innocence is the most glaring misapplication
of all that came before.
The Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont, 1994)
In isolated pieces this
is nothing spectacular but if taken as a whole, the cumulative effect of its
grueling setting, New England dreariness, grandiose score, compelling story,
relatable themes and wonderfully rich central performances brings the whole
thing to a level that 90’s Hollywood often aspired to but rarely reached. Capital T themes of Love, Triumph, the Human Spirit, Imprisonment are treated honestly enough to be truly effecting. Old-fashioned in many respects yet full
of little things we would never see in a Hayes Code era picture, Darabont keeps
things paced and well-ordered, shifting attention slightly to build tension but
keeping a consistent point-of-view with his two main characters. Morgan Freeman got the nomination but
Tim Robbins is right there beside him and it is their chemistry that really
makes the story work: Robbins has just enough idealism in his eyes and Freeman
just enough pragmatism in his brow to keep the dueling themes of institutionalization
and the freedom of the human spirit alive. Despite an inherent simplicity, it is the grizzled commitment of the actors and the unobtrusiveness of Darabont that keep this from falling into the world of feel-good idiocy that became Darabont's stock-in-trade after this.
MY PICK: Forrest Gump
When I was younger and Pulp Fiction was my ideal, 1994 was one of the strongest of years. Now, on re-assessing Tarantino's film, I find it a bit weaker overall. As boring as it sounds, I have to claim Forrest Gump succeeds in accomplishing everything it set out to do and it is a movie I can easily return to. Seeing how old-fashioned the other four nominees are, no wonder Pulp Fiction stood out to people. I'm sure it would still win in a critics poll today, though general audiences would likely choose Shawshank as the timeless classic, perfectly fitting their ideal of both. I suppose we all have Ted Turner to thank for that.
BEST DIRECTOR
WINNER: Robert Zemeckis (Forrest Gump)
One of Zemeckis’ most
notable strengths is the ability to seamlessly merge cutting edge digital
effects within his narrative environments. This is clearly on display in Forrest Gump, with the digital removal of Gary Sinise’s legs,
the floating feather and the implanting of Hanks within archival footage. But what is often missed with Zemeckis
is how accomplished he is as a narrativist, using shot design to reinforce
emotional connection with character, maintaining point-of-view and building
dramatic tension. Because the
story is told from Gump’s point-of-view, the other characters are generally
underwritten yet Zemeckis has cast well and gives his actors enough room to
build lived-in performances, even if what we might see of them on paper appears
limited. The film does hinge on
Hanks’ performance, and he never disappoints. Though the film is humorous in many ways, it never devolves
into open comedy or pointed satire, mostly because Zemeckis has too much love
and admiration for Forrest while Hanks’ portrayal keeps the whole effort
balanced. The conceptual
playfulness of Zemeckis is one thing I particularly admire. Here, he uses themes of chance,
destiny, loyalty, and simplicity to explore the response of America to the
changing times. In the end, I find
Zemeckis has not so much crafted a troubling revisionist history of the boomer
era (as many critics claim), but found some of the roots of the discontentment of the
90’s, while at the same time questioning the misplaced hope in the abstract political ideals of
Americana.
Woody Allen (Bullets Over Broadway)
Woody Allen’s
too-cute-for-its-own-good film is easily his most overrated work and I’m
surprised the Academy passed it over for Best Picture with the
Weinstein’s backing it. Still, Woody gets recognized here for some pretty pedestrian work, dealing with his age old themes of High Art vs. pop culture and gets to throw
some stabs at the film industry along the way (oh so thinly veiled as Broadway
producers). It is full of broad,
funny-on-paper/flat-on-screen observations and doesn’t even give us the gallery
of great characters common to Allen’s films. Allen doesn’t even seem to like these characters all
that much, with Chazz Palminteri being the major exception. The best joke in the film, besides
Palminteri’s character, is Dianne Weist being significantly outshined by
Jennifer Tilly in every way. Even
John Cusack is clueless as Allen’s cinematic doppelganger and Allen seems to
get bored the further along he gets into the story and what begins as a tight
narrative unwinds significantly in the last act. Muddled and unfunny while trumpeting its ostentatious cleverness, for me, Bullets
Over Broadway is one of Woody
Allen’s worst films.
Krzysztof Kieslowski (Three Colors: Red)
Kieslowski’s favorite
themes of coincidence and fate are brought to bear on a story that appears so
slight yet is so full of texture, life and beautiful observation it's a shame his hand overturns it in the end. Kieslowski is a master of depicting isolation and
loneliness, finding some of the most devastating images to capture those ideas, whether they be closeups or wide shots. He explores the daily routines of people easily
connected by the technological advances of the day yet who are left without intimacy, seeking connection yet always failing somehow. The central relationship of the film
comes into existence by accident, yet the intriguing dueling characteristics of
the determined judge and quietly observant Valentine drive the narrative. Kieslowski has the perfect measures of patience and
confidence as he allows his story to unfold, not rushing things while also
unafraid of the ellipses that not only enable the viewer to engage with the
film but also provide the means for understanding it. In the end, Kieslowski’s exploration of technological
isolation and the triumph of human contact is at several points close to being the most interesting
treatise on Western life in the 90’s. Too bad he punctures the film's impact in the last scene with his particular brand of fatalism.
Robert Redford (Quiz Show)
A great script in hand
and a cast of wonderful character actors beside him, Redford does his best but
proves once again his indifference to intellectualism is a detriment to the
final impact of his film. It is
this shallow “its just such a great story” approach that keeps Quiz Show from reaching the heights it sets out to soar
above. Redford approaches the
technical proficiency of Spielberg or Zemeckis in some of his scene building,
but fails to utilize his techniques (here his most expressive yet) in service
of anything other than the pragmatic needs of narrative tension/release. His biggest misstep is in miscasting
Ralph Fiennes as Charles Van Doren, exposing Fiennes’ limitations as an actor
by refusing to give any life behind Van Doren’s television façade besides the
surface tensions of keeping up a lie or being found out. In the end, when the film turns,
becoming a song for the individuals churned up in the wake of corporatism and
the loss of innocence by the public at large, the audience is left to feel
abstractly sad for Van Doren but never connected with him deep enough to care
that his life and image are destroyed.
Redford can be quite good at building individual scenes (such as the Van
Doren vs. Stemple quiz show sequence) and getting dynamic performances out of
smaller roles (John Scofield, Hank Azaria, David Paymer), but putting multiple
scenes together with a greater thematic bent seems lacking. Though this is easily Redford’s best
directorial effort, he doesn’t explore the implications of the material as
thoroughly as he should and in an attempt to create the “great American movie,”
essentially acts as his own quiz show producer fixing the results.
Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction)
Though Pulp Fiction proved to be extremely influential, it was
primarily the writing that was copied while Tarantino’s restrained direction
went mostly unnoticed and uncopied (unfortunately). He had a
clear cinematic vision that was expressed in a good sense of visual design and
a solid layout of cinematic space, a consistent rhythm and overall unity. The highlight is the imaginative Jack
Rabbit Slim’s set piece, an expensive 50’s themed diner that gave him the
chance to incorporate dozens of other cultural references that had no home
elsewhere in the midst of a pseudo-90’s underworld L.A. Considering that most of the movie is a
conversation between two or three people, it is perhaps even more impressive
that he kept himself from adding a plethora of extra visual flourishes, camera
movements and reflexive edits, keeping the film squarely centered on his
characters, as far from real human beings as they may be. No speaking role is wasted as every
part is filled with actors chewing up their dialogue, even if they are only
there for a single scene. I
suppose this adds to what he created, considering Pulp Fiction is his cinematic compendium of everything he loves
about movies. When Christopher
Walken steps in to give a monologue, it is wonderful because Christopher Walken
is charismatic and interesting and cool, but it seems to live simply on some
meta-level of cinematic discourse, where the actors are themselves and the
embodiment of their past roles, saying cool things because its fun to hear cool
people say cool things. Samuel L.
Jackson and Bruce Willis fair the best beyond this meta-level, taking the
meatiest roles in the script and filling them out while still embracing the
bombast (Jackson) or the physicality (Willis) expected of them. Ultimately, it
is impossible to completely separate Tarantino the writer from Tarantino the
film director (and he likes it that way), so the same problems that are
inherent in the writing are also inherent in the direction. Everything is slick and polished, but
to what end?
MY PICK: Krzysztof Kieslowski
A particularly difficult choice, though I'll give Kieslowski the slight edge. Even though he overturns much of what I love about Three Colors: Red in the final scene, I am so taken by all that comes before it ends up feeling like a minor quibble. Zemeckis would be my next choice who, despite winning the Oscar, remains one of the most consistently overlooked major Hollywood film directors, always lurking as the lesser in shadowed comparisons with Spielberg. It would have been nice to see Frank Darabont nominated for his astonishing feature film debut, though I think I would still choose Zemeckis.
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