And The Loser Is... #9- There's Something About Marty

The latest film I watched for this project was the 1956 Best Picture winner, (the shortest best picture winner ever, for the record), Marty.

Marty Piletti is a heavy-set 34-year-old butcher, who lives with his mother, and has seemingly resigned himself to never finding a woman to settle down with and marry. This is in contrast to the rest of his large Italian family, and much to the disappointment of his mother, and seemingly everybody else in the neighbourhood. It isn't that the likeable Marty hasn't tried. As he tells us, he's been looking for a girl every Saturday night of his life, only to be disappointed time and again.

Then, one night, he meets Clara, a somewhat dowdy school teacher, who has been ditched by her date and is in need of some comforting. The two seem to hit it off, but Marty begins to have his doubts when friends and family try to convince him to look for something better.

This seems like a somewhat odd choice for the best picture award. It's in many respects a very slight film; 90 minutes long, and all taking place over a couple of days. To add to this, the film sets up a lot of obstacles for Marty and Clara's relationship, but doesn't really follow through on any of them. For example, Marty's mother is recruited by her nephew and his wife to step into a dispute they are having with her sister, Marty's aunt Catherine. Mrs Piletti agrees to let Catherine come and live with her and Marty, whcih is when Catherine puts the idea in her head that once Marty finds a wife, he will have no use left for his mother. This leads to Mrs Piletti trying to turn Marty off Clara ("she doesn't look Italian"). However, there is no resolution to this, as the film simply ends with Marty calling up Clara for a second date.

These aren't necessarily problems with the film. It's just odd to see a film from this time period introduce these elements of drama, and then not play them up. In some respects, this feels like a film from a much later period.

Betsy Blair in Marty: A dog?

Ernest Borgnine won the best actor award for his titular role, and is very impressive. Borgnine is probably better known for his character/supporting work in the likes of From Here To Eternity and The Wild Bunch, but here he is the perfect fit for the jovial, but self-conscious, Marty. Betsy Blair was nominated for best supporting actress for her performance as Clara, in many ways a thankless role, not least because she is constantly referred to as a dog throughout the film. I found her quite charming. Joe Mantell got a nomination for best supporting actor; he plays Marty's best pal, Angie, another loser in love, but lacking the sensitivity of his friend. Delbert Mann won the best director award, so it's clear to see the academy thought very highly of the film.

Borgnine excels particularly in scenes with his friends and family. He seems very comfortable in that setting, whereas there are times in his scenes with Blair where he seems to be reaching a little. That said, those are the more interesting scenes of the film, thanks to the thoughtful, and quite touching, dialogue. One example of this is Marty admitting that he has contemplated suicide in the past because of his loneliness- something that took me by surprise in a film which takes a gentle approach to its subject matter. Indeed, there are several moments throughout the film which really stand out as being quite honest, even brave, in their depiction of heartache and loneliness (Marty calling up a girl he met a few weeks previous and getting the brush-off, then later telling his mother that he'll always be alone because he's fat and ugly). It is to the director's credit that these moments stand out, but never feel jarring.

Some of the dialogue does feel a little dated (Marty tells Clara that she isn't 'such a dog', which is taken as a compliment), and the character arc of the mother feels somewhat disingenuous (she is presented as a very warm, encouraging person, but suddenly takes a dislike to Clara), but these criticisms never derail the film. This isn't one of the stronger best picture winners you'll see, but it is an interesting one to look at, an endearing look at a lonely man who just might have found the girl of his dreams. 4 stars.

In ATLI... #10, I'll be talking about 2 of the films that were this week announced as best picture contenders at the 2012 Academy Awards. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #8- Rural pains

There is a long history in American cinema of stories about the struggles of rural life. From classic films set against the back-drop of the Great Depression, to New Hollywood's treatment of the changing landscape, stories about poor rural folk have played a prevalent part in shaping American film. Over the last decade or so, it seems that a new rendering of the theme has emerged, one which takes the classic story of the struggle to survive off the land, and introduces the element of crime usually associated with films with an urban setting. The film that immediately springs to mind is Lance Hammer's excellent 2008 offering, Ballast, in which a black youth living on the Mississippi Delta turns to drugs after the death of his father. You could possibly trace the roots of this sub-genre to the Coen brothers, who have always had a fascination it seems with the merging of small-town mentalities with big city crime. No Country For Old Men is a classic example of this. British cinema even has their own version of this, Shane Meadows' haunting Dead Man's Shoes (2004), which tells the story of a soldier looking for revenge against a gang of drug-dealers, all set in a small town in the English countryside.

The film I'm talking about today may well go down as the canon example of this type of film- Debra Granik's Winter's Bone (2010).

Granik's second feature was nominated for the Best Picture Oscar at the 2011 awards, and is a great argument for the success of the return to 10 best picture nominees. It's hard to see a film like this breaking through under the old system of 5 nominees. Set in a poor town in the Ozark Mountains, this indie drama focuses on 17-year-old Ree Dolly, a girl who, with an absent father and clinically depressed mother, is the head of her family, which also includes her two much younger siblings. Ree is told at the beginning of the film that her father, Jessup, is due in court, and that if he doesn't make the hearing, the family will lose their land. Ree vows to find Jessup, despite knowing the dangers of digging too deeply into his world. Jessup, you see, is involved in the local drug trade, and is a manufacturer of crystal methamphetamine.

One of the most striking things about the film is the contrast between the male and female characters. It is very much made clear that this is man's world, and yet the men are generally on the periphery of the story, lurking in the shadows, voiceless, but extremely dangerous. In fact, the most important man in the film, Jessup, is never shown on camera.

For every man that Ree must visit in her quest to find her father, that is a woman that she must talk to first. The women are the go-betweens, doing a lot of the dirty work. But they do nothing without the express permission of their man. This is established early on, when Ree visits a friend to try to borrow her husband's truck. When her request is turned down, Ree asks why she always does what her husband tells her. Later on, Ree tries to get a meeting with the head of operations, Thump, but is met instead with his woman, who warns Ree not to get involved. When Ree returns determined to see Thump, the woman tells her that she was warned, and "puts a hurting on her".

Lawrence and Hawkes: Oscar-nominated.

Ree herself is free from the whims of men, because the only man in her life is her little brother. But it is clear that she had instilled in her the fighting spirit that goes along with her family's name and reputation. She confesses to having always been scared of many of the men that she must meet with, but she does it anyway in her quest for the truth. One of these men is Teardrop, her uncle, played with menace by John Hawkes, who was Oscar-nominated. Teardrop, like all the men in the film, is mysterious, soft-spoken, but capable of sudden fits of violence. However, he clearly also cares for his niece, and wants her to succeed in her mission. During their first meeting, he outright refuses to help her, lunging at her violently (while his wife passively watches on) when she continues to pester him. When he returns later, though, it is to get Ree out of a tough situation with Thump, and he pledges that he will take responsibility for any of Ree's future actions.

Jennifer Lawrence was also Oscar-nominated for her portrayal of Ree, and it is one of impressive skill. Dogged and proud, and with a sharp tongue that you fear will get her into serious trouble, Lawrence also inbues Ree with a vulnerable side, which adds pathos to her journey. In one scene, she tries to join the army for the signing on fee, but when she is told that the money wouldn't come straght-away, and that she wouldn't be able to take her family to training with her, we see her fighting back the tears, trying to finish the interview with dignity.

Apart from anything else, it is the setting which makes the film stand out, and the dichotomy between rural pursuits like cattle auctions, and wood-chopping, with talk about meth labs. The characters never lurch into hillbilly stereotype (although one scene featuring a bluegrass singalong at a birthday party pushes it), but the milieu makes things feel fresh and different to your typical crime thriller. Granik's naturalistic style also works well to accentuate characterisation and setting over action.

This is the first of the 2011 Best Picture nominees I've seen, so I can't speak for how it ranks alongside its competition. But, if the others show this quality, I'll be happy. 4 stars.

I have another new review coming in ATLI... #9. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #7- New Frontiers

In ATLI... #6, I looked at Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, the great silent film by German director F.W Murnau. To follow up on that, I decided this time to look at a couple more films made in America by European directors.
There is a long history of Europeans coming to Hollywood to make films, and, in fact, many of the men we consider great American filmmakers were actually immigrants from Europe (for example, Michael Curtiz, who directed one of themost famous American films, Casablanca, was really Austro-Hungarian, Mano Kertesz Kaminer, while Billy Wilder is really Samuel Wilder from what is now Poland). But today I want to focus on the film's of men who made their reputation in Europe, before being courted by Hollywood.

I'll start with a film by the controversial Polish director, Roman Polanski- 1968's Rosemary's Baby. This was Polanski's first American film, after gaining attention with his Polish thriller, Knife In The Water, and then making a trio of British films. It is based on a novel by Ira Levin, and tells the story of a pregnant women who comes to believe that her baby was conceived by Satan.

Mia Farrow and John Cassevetes star as Rosemary and Guy, a young couple who move into a New York City apartment building. They are welcomed to the building by their elderly neighbours (played by Sidney Blackmer and Ruth Gordon, who won the film's only Oscar- for Best Supporting Actress), but soon Rosemary begins to notice something strange about them. Her fears increase when she becomes mysteriously pregnant, and Guy begins to spend more and more time with the elderly couple.

Urban alienation in Rosemary's Baby.

A theme that runs constant throughout Polanski's work is that of the 'outsider', or someone who feels trapped or uncomfortable in new or strange surroundings. Polanski, himself, was an outsider, working in a foreign land, and he is able to translate those feelings and experiences to the screen. This is a horror film which is as much about Rosemary's experiences of being alienated within a strange place, as it is about devil worship. Mia Farrow was a great choice for the leading role, as she really conveys well Rosemary's increasing sense of hysteria, and Polanski's skill in finding horror and suspense in urban settings really comes to the fore. The film is able to walk the line between straight horror, and psychological thriller, suggesting that the things Rosemary feels and sees are just figments of her imagination, and it plays wonderfully with the idea of the enclosed living spaces of big city life. I give it 4 stars, and suggest as a companion piece, Polanski's '76 film, The Tenant, which deals with many of the same themes.

The trend of directors coming from overseas to try their hand at American cinema is still going strong today, of course. One of the more recent success stories is Michel Gondry, who actually came to prominence in Europe as a director of music videos (working with Bjork and Daft Punk amongst others). The transition from music videos to film is famously tricky to make work, but Gondry is a rare example of someone who was able to mix his keen visual style, with a strong understanding of what makes cinema work. It also helps to have one of modern American cinema's most inventive and acclaimed screenwriters working with you, as Gondry did when he collaborated with Charlie Kaufman on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004).

Oh my darling, Clementine.

Kate Winslet was Oscar-nominated for what I still think is her best performance (there'll be plenty of opportunity to talk more about Winslet's career in later blogs), as Clementine Kruczynski, the as magnetic as she is hard to handle object of Joel Barish's (an also very good Jim Carrey) affections. Winslet created one of the most interesting characters of the decade in Clementine, and is tremendous at capturing the contradictory nature of Clementine.

The film's premise is as creative as one would expect from Kaufman; Joel and Clementine have reached the end of their relationship, so Joel, unable to face a life without her, elects to undergo a procedure which will remove all traces of her from his memory. The film uses a fractured narrative to tell its story, and the technique works well to convey the scattered nature of Joel’s memories. Each scene, each remembrance, paints a beautiful picture of the highs and lows of love, and Gondry's sharp visuals combine well with the script to make a film which comes closer than most to capturing the ecstasy and heartbreak of relationships. I voted this as the 51st best film of the decade just ended, and give it 4 stars.

Finally today, and changing tack slightly, I want to talk about the latest film I watched for the project.

49th Parallel (Dir: Michael Powell, 1941)
The title, for those unaware (as I was), refers to the border between Canada and America, which, as the film explains, is the last undefended frontier in the world. The film was nominated for the best picture award at the 1943 Academy Awards (it lost out to Mrs Miniver), and has a fascinating production history. It was, you see, commissioned as a propaganda film, with its screenwriter, Emeric Pressburger, being charged with writing a film that would persuade the Americans to join World War 2. Pressburger boasted that he would show Goebbels a thing or two about propaganda, and, to his credit, he makes a fine case with this emotional anti-fascism film. On top of that, the film's major stars, Laurence Olivier, Leslie Howard and Raymond Massey all agreed to work for half their normal fees, such was their belief in the message of the film.

Propaganda done right.

Director, Powell, and screenwriter, Pressburger had worked together before, and would go on to form one fo Britain's most successful writer-director duos. Their films, such as The Red Shoes and Black Narcissus were known for their lush visuals and themes of restrained sexuality, but seem a world away from the Canadian setting of this film.

Beginning with a Nazi U-boat surfacing off the coast of Canada, the film tells the story of the 6 Nazi soldiers who make it to the shore, and must attempt to navigate their way to American soil, where by law they must be turned over to the German consulate. What stands out immiediately about the film, is that the 'heroes' of the film are these German soldiers; heroes in the sense that it is their journey we follow and their fates the film is interested in. There was criticism from the British press that the film was too sympathetic to the Germans, but Powell and Pressburger were unwilling to change things, stating that there must be reasonable Germans, as well as bad ones. In fact, the Nazis, for the most part, are portrayed as despicable people, killing without a second thought, and espousing the doctrines of the Third Reich.

They make their way across Canada, with their number gradually depleting, for various reasons, encountering along the way a series of different personalities and problems. The performances of the actors playing the soldiers are solid (with Eric Portman and Niall MacGinnis standing out), but the film really springs to life with the introductions of the various stars, all featuring for just a short time, but making a big impression. First up in Olivier, here playing French-Candian trapper, Johnny. While the French accent is a bit on the dodgy side, Olivier gives great presence and charisma to his scenes, and uses body language to captivating effect (as a side-note, in more controversy, Johnny's pro-Canada stance angered the Quebec authorities, who saw it as an attack on French-Canada).

Making the case for democracy: Anton Walbrook.

Next up is Anton Walbrook, who appears in the film's most emotional sequence. The remaining Nazis find themselves at a Christian commune, made up mostly of immigrant Germans, of which Walbrook's character, Peter, is the leader. They are taken in by the community (who are unaware that the men are Nazis), and it is there that one of the soldiers begins to reveal a different side to himself. He talks about his time back home before the war, and how he was happy living his simple life as a baker. This is certainly the character that the British press were speaking of when they talked about the Nazis appearing too sympathetic, and it is a character that offers the film a slightly different perspective. Eventually, he decides to stay at the commune, which leads to him being executed for desertion.

My favourite star 'cameo' is that of Leslie Howard, the plummy British actor known for playing the Scarlet Pimpernel in the film of the same name. Here he appears as Philip Armstrong Scott, a novelist who is living amongst an Indian tribe to research a book. He takes in the soldiers (again, unaware they are Nazis), and talks to them of his apathy about the war. To him, the war is something that is going on in remote lands, and is not something that affects him up in the Canadian wilderness. This attitude draws the disdain of the Nazis, who accuse him of being a coward, and hold him up as an example of why democracy will be destroyed. However, when faced with danger, Scott proves himself to be anything but a coward. It is perhaps ironic that, given Powell's reputation as an intellectual and artistic filmmaker, this character would defy the stereotype, and prove to be as brave and loyal to the Allied cause as anyone in the film (although, humourously, it takes the Nazis burning his Matisse and Picasso paintings to really push him over the edge). Howard is great value, as is Massey in the film's final sequence, as a Canadian soldier who has a final showdown with the Nazi commander.

This really is a film that itself defies stereotype, and in the hands of less talented men, you might get a more straight-forward propaganda film. Under Powell's direction, though, this is part exciting war yarn, part celebration of democracy, elevated even further by some well-placed scenes of emotional weight. Pressburger's script is strong, featuring some great speeches (Walbrook, for example, gets to deliver a great reposte to a Nazi rallying-cry at the German commune), and Powell manages to fit in some really nice visuals. It's not without its faults; how, for example, are these Germans able to roam so freely amongst Canadians without their accents being detected? I'm more inclined to dismiss things like that though, when the material is otherwise so strong. 5 stars.

In ATLI... #8, I should have another new review. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #6- The Expression That I Get

A great number of the films on my 'to watch' list for this project are from the early years of the Academy Awards. Just to give you a quick idea of the task ahead of me, I have 56 films ticked off pre-1960, and more than 250 post-1960. Taking that even further, I've only seen 8 films which were nominated over the first 11 ceremonies. One of those, and the only one I've seen from the very first ceremony in 1929, is F.W Murnau's Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans.

Sunrise: Of no place and every place.

Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau is a German director, considered one of the pioneers of the Expressionist movement (use of shadow and camera angles to express mood and theme, etc), is probably best known as the man who directed the horror classic Nosferatu (1922). He was courted by Hollywood in 1926, and Sunrise was his first American production. While not a commercial success (which led to the studio reining in Murnau's creativity on future projects), the film was well-received by critics, and is the answer to an interesting trivia question; it is the only film to win an Oscar in the category of Best Picture, Unique and Artistic Production. It also won a Best Actress award for its star, Janet Gaynor, and the Best Cinematography award for Charles Rosher and Karl Struss.

Gaynor plays The Wife, opposite George O'Brien as The Man, a married couple from the country who are having relationship problems, instigated by a city girl who has her sights set on The Man. In an attempt to reconcile their differences, The Man takes The Wife on a trip to the city, and the meat of the film follows their experiences in this unfamiliar territory.

The country-bred protagonists are charmed by this unnamed metropolis, as are we; Murnau's rendering of the city is delightful. These sequences play out episodically, as the two lovers experience a cosmopolitan salon, and later, a jumping nightclub. This latter scene is arguably the film's best; while the couple are enjoying the atmosphere, a piglet runs free across the dance-floor, dining area and kitchens. With the staff in hot pursuit, and chaos following the pig's every trotter-step, it is The Man who finally comes to the rescue, earning himself a small slice of big city celebrity.

These whimsical vignettes are one of cinema's finest evocations of the joy of love. The couple clearly have their problems, as any couple does, but as the sequence unfolds, you really get the sense, with credit going to the two leads, that this is a relationship borne of true love. They quarrel and sulk, but finally it is as though they were falling in love for the first time, as we see the problems they left behind in the country gradually fade away.

However, the film has a sting in its tale, and when the lovers return to their farm, the young adulteress is waiting. She hatches a final plot to have The Man for herself, a plot murderous in intent. It is at this time that The Man realises the consequences of his actions with the city girl, and the extent of his love for The Wife. Ultimately, this is a film about cherishing what you have, and offers itself as a cautionary tale against taking love for granted. As the opening titles put it: This song of the Man and his Wife is of no place and every place; you might hear it anywhere, at any time. For wherever the sun rises and sets, in the city's turmoil or under the open sky on the farm, life is much the same; sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet.

The whole film was shot on a specially constructed sound-stage, including the city, and the lake on which the final dramtatic scenes take place. It is a remarkable achievement in cinematography, as Murnau brings over many of the techniques he was known for in Germany. More than anything, it is a thrilling story of love, passion, revenge and redemption, which feels as vibrant and relevant now as it doubtless did back in 1927 when it was released. If you're a silent film novice, maybe someone a bit reluctant to dip your toe into the sea of silent cinema, there is no better place to start than with this masterpiece, to which I give 5 stars.

In ATLI... #7 I'll take a look at some other European directors with Oscar success, and I hope to have another film ticked off my to watch list. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #5- The new Kane and the Southern Fargo

Citizen Kane, to my mind, is the greatest American film ever made. Now, that may sound like the cliched opinion of a film student, but there is just so much about it to admire about this film, far beyond Orson Welles' revolutionary deep-focus cinematography (via director of photography Gregg Toland) and expressionist framing.
But, I'm not going to talk about Citizen Kane today. I only bring it up to make the point that this masterpiece of American cinema lost out to How Green Was My Valley in the Best Picture category at the 1942 Academy Awards. Fast-forward 66 years, and the film I am going to talk about today- a film that I consider in many ways to be the modern day Citizen Kane, and the best American film since Raging Bull, maybe earlier- is also losing out in the Best Picture category. The film in question is Paul Thomas Anderson's breathtaking There Will Be Blood.

Like Kane, There Will Be Blood is a portrait of a man whose obsession with power overrides everything else in his life, until that obsession is all he has. From the very first shot of Daniel Day-Lewis’s Daniel Plainview single-mindedly scrabbling for oil in the American south, it is clear that this is going to be the type of film that you don’t so much watch, as experience. Day-Lewis’s performance as the oil tycoon who won't be stopped until he has it all is billed as the main event here, and it is a powerhouse display (earning Day-Lewis the best actor Oscar), showing a man who becomes beguiled by his own greed, a man who is defined by his bravura, and his success, until there is really nothing else there. Plainview isn’t only an ‘oil man’, he is a showman, and there is great enjoyment to be had in working out where the show ends, and the man begins.

Dano and Day-Lewis: Part of the show.

But, just like Kane is elevated beyond mere character-study by its theme of innocence lost, There Will Be Blood isn’t just about one man. It is also a damning indictment of what could be considered the twin evils of modern America- corporation and religion. The religious aspect is represented by Paul Dano’s conniving preacher, Eli Sunday, on whose land Plainview has acquired the rights to drill for oil. The battle of wills that plays out between these two men, consumed by greed, provides thrilling drama, and many of the film's most memorable scenes. Key amongst these is the scene where Eli forces Daniel to appear at his church and 'give himself' to the Lord in front of a full congregation. This scene tells us a lot about the personalities of both men- Eli is just as greedy to be on top as Daniel, delighting in showing his superiority over his nemesis. Plainview, meanwhile, is a man who is willing to degrade himself publicly in order to keep the trust of the townspeople whose faith he relies on. To him, this is part of the show, it's part of the con, and, while you know he realises that this is something that he has to do, you also realise that he won't ever forget Eli's part in his degradation.

Anderson’s shot-making is incredible, including that tour-de-force opening sequence, and the later scene in which a fire breaks out in the field, another important scene because of the way it impacts the relationship between Daniel and his 'son', H.W. In the early stages of the film, it appears that Daniel's feelings for the boy are genuine, indeed that that is the only thing genuine about Daniel. As the film progresses though, it becomes more and more likely that H.W is just a means to an ends, a point of view that seems to be backed up when the child is deafened in the fire-causing explosion, and Daniel packs him off to a boarding school. In many ways,  H.W is There Will Be Blood's Rosebud- that one link to innocence which stands true amongst all of the double-crosses and dirty deeds.

Long-shots of the oilmen at work help to visualise the key ideas of the film, with even Jonny Greenwood's score offering a dissonant reminder that this is a film in which industry plays a key role. Everything about this film, each shot, each nuance of performance, each component of soundtrack, is calculated to create a film of startling depth. It's a masterpiece, and well deserving of a 5 star rating.

So, it must have been a really good film to take it down, right? Well, not necessarily- we are, afterall, dealing with an institution which named Crash the best picture of the year at one point. As it turns out though, the film that beat it is pretty damn good in its own right; the Coen brothers' No Country For Old Men.

In certain respects, these two films are two peas in a pod. Both are dark, epic parables about the state of America, featuring superlative directing and acting, and both are sure to stand the test of time. The mood of the Coens' film is slightly different though. There Will Be Blood is noted for its bravura, and its showiness, whereas No Country takes a more languid approach, which is typical of the brothers' work. And, while the former film can be read as an attack on the place of religion and corporation in America, the latter is more a meditation (albeit a very violent one!) on the shift in moral values at play. This is personified by Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff, who is tracking a merciless killer (himself tracking a man who has gone on the run after recovering some money from a drug deal). The character brings to mind the Frances McDormand character, Marge, in the Coens' Fargo. She was also a small-town sheriff who trudged on in the face of inexplicable violence. In fact, the film as a whole plays at times like a darker, Southern version of Fargo; the half mocking, half endearing characterisation, the off-beat asides and inscrutability, and the bursts of shocking violence.

Anton Chigurh: Pure, relentless evil.

Javier Bardem gives a scintillating performance as one of the more truly frightening villains in recent cinema history. As the hunter of Josh Brolin, his deep expressive gaze, cold, composed manner, and, of course, his hair-style, make his Anton Chigurh a character of pure relentless evil. Bardem won the Oscar for best supporting actor, and truly deserved it. What makes the character especially scary is his unpredictability, as we see in an already famous scene where Chigurh asks a shopkeeper to call heads or tails with his life on the line.

The dark cinematography and abundance of night scenes compliment the tone perfectly, and the chase elements deliver the requisite tension, but No Country works best as a portrait of a changing landscape, and the men caught up in that change, bringing to mind some of the seminal work of the American New Wave.

The Coens also won the best director award for this film, and as a long-time fan, I'm happy for them. This is certainly a well-judged piece of filmmaking, and they did a far better job of adapting a Cormac McCarthy novel than John Hillcoat did a couple of years later with The Road. Still, the award should have gone to Anderson.

2007 was a very strong year for American film (which I'll talk more about in a later ATLI...), so it's no insult when I say that I think it's only the seventh best U.S film of the year. And, while I clearly think There Will Be Blood is a superior film, No Country is still one of the strongest Best Picture winners of the past decade. I give it 4 stars.

In ATLI... #6, I'll be going all the way back to the first awards ceremony, to talk about the earliest nominee I've seen. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #4- Just another Monday night at Michael's

When Annie Hall was announced as the surprising winner of the Best Picture award in 1978, its director, Woody Allen, wasn't on hand to share the celebrations. Allen had earlier been named Best Director for his signature film, but instead of Los Angeles, Allen was hundreds of miles away, in New York, playing with his jazz band at Michael's Pub, just like he did every Monday night. Allen had been resistant towards the whole awards process, at first refusing even to allow the production company, United Artists, to campaign for the film. "If it were a special occasion or something, I might do it," he said of his decision to snub the ceremony.

This is typical of a man who has done things his own way throughout his professional (and personal!) life. However, this attitude towards the Academy Awards (and all awards ceremonies) is clearly not reciprocated, as Allen's films have notched up a number of nominations over the years. This edition of ATLI... will be the first of a two-part look at his various successes.

I became a big Woody Allen fan pretty much from my first exposure to his work, and he soon became my most beloved filmmaker. I have seen every one of his films, up to and including Midnight In Paris (which I'm hoping I'll be talking about in a future blog after this year's nominations are announced), and am rarely disappointed, able to get some enjoyment out of even his weaker efforts (and there have been some). I think my love of Allen comes down to a few key elements. Firstly, he reveres a lot of the same filmmakers as myself (notably Ingmar Bergman), and you can see that reverence play out in his own films, sometimes subtly, sometimes not so. Secondly, he is obviously a very funny man, and great comedy writer. I often think that comedy and beauty are the only two areas of true subjectivity in life. If you find something funny, who am I to say it isn't? Likewise if you find something, or someone, beautiful. And Allen's brand of humour just jives with me in a way that, say, Mel Brooks' doesn't. Finally, I see certain similarities between myself and the Woody Allen persona. Certainly, the themes that he seems preoccupied by, and that recur in his films, as well as certain neurotic elements to his character. I won't go into any more detail about it than that, because the purpose of this blog isn't to talk about myself. It's to talk about films. And, with that said, let's begin this look at Allen's work with the film talked about above, Annie Hall.

As mentioned above, this film won awards for best picture and best director. It also earned Diane Keaton an award for best actress, Allen and Marshall Brickman the award for best original screenplay, and Allen a nomination for best actor. It is really the quintessential Allen film, and the perfect starting point for novices, as it brings together a lot of the elements of his work, framed around a romance, which is a central device in Allen's films. Keaton is the titular Hall, a girl from the Midwest of America who Allen's typical New Yorker, Alvy Singer, meets and falls in love with. The two start a relationship, and the film simply documents that, from their first meeting, to their eventual break-up.

What makes the film so endearing are the different devices Allen uses throughout, which is not something he's done too much of in his career. He plays with the structure of the film, telling the story in flashback, often jumping back and forth in the relationship, and even going back to his childhood. He uses fantasy sequences, such as Annie having an outer-body experience as they prepare to make love, and even uses animation for one scene.

Annie Hall's balcony scene.

Another classic scene shows subtitles appear at the bottom of the screen informing us what the characters are really thinking, as they try to impress each other in the early stages of their relationship. It is this playfulness which I think makes Annie Hall such an enduring film, but its importance in Allen's oeuvre goes beyond that. The director uses the relationship between Alvy and Annie to relate his feelings about New York City, and what it is to be a New Yorker. First, he tries to make Annie into what his idea of a New Yorker is; he encourages her to see an analyst, and to take adult education classes. He has this cerebral idea of the city, and tries to mould Annie to fit this. This backfires, however, when Annie decides that she wants to move to Los Angeles to further her singing career. At this point, we are treated to Allen's far-from-favourable vision of L.A (and, of course, life imitated art when Allen snubbed the Oscars to play jazz in NYC). To Allen, L.A is vast and bright and fake, whereas New York is intimate and honest. He shoots the city in greens and browns, giving it an Autumnal warmth, and uses locations like apartment balconies to show the intimacy of the city. So, as well as the dichotomy between Alvy, the intellectual New Yorker, and Annie, the folksy, oddball Mid-Westerner, you also see Allen's comparison of his own city to Los Angeles. While Manhattan (1979) has often been cited as Allen's love letter to New York City, a grand romantic gesture of a film, this is more like the pillow talk between a happily-married couple, totally at ease in each other's company.

This is a film that I can watch again and again. The number of great lines is endless, from Woody's memorable defence of masturbation (it's sex with someone you love), his comparison of relationships to sharks (they need to be moving forward or they die), to my personal favourite, his reaction to a movie theatre patrons assessment that Marshall McLuhan's writing doesn't hit him on a gut level ("I'd like to hit HIM on a gut level"). Keaton is also fantastic in her much-deserved award-winning role- it's hard not to love her here. This is the perfect romantic comedy. 5 stars.

The next Allen film to gain Academy attention was Interiors, released the year after Annie Hall. This marked a different direction for the director, as it was his first dramatic film and it earned best actress nominations for Geraldine Page and Maureen Stapleton (leading and supporting, respectively), and another best director nom for Woody (also best original script and best art direction noms). This is Woody's homage to Bergman, and it tells the story of three sisters, and their reaction to the divorce of their parents. The main focus of the film is on Mary Beth Hurt's Joey, who tries to make her mother face the reality that her marriage is over. Joey is herself plagued by feelings of inadequacy when she compares her life to that of her two successful sisters (this is a theme Allen would re-examine in Hannah and Her Sisters), and struggles to find a creative outlet to express herself. Key to the film is the relationship between the sisters, and their father's new beau (Stapleton), a lively, almost vulgar woman, in stark contrast to their restrained, intellectual mother. One thing I find interesting about Allen's work is that, despite generally populating his films with intellectuals, and obviously revering high art, his films often look down on intellectualism, or present it as a dead end in terms of finding happiness and true meaning. That is again the case here. It's interesting to see Allen direct a film like this, mimicking a lot of Bergman's framing devices, shooting the film almost entirely in interior locations (which the title suggests), and dealing in familial relationships the same way that Bergman did in many of his films. This is an experiment that pays off, as I think this is a fantastic film. 4 stars.

I'm going to wrap this up by talking briefly about what I consider two of Allen's weaker films, Broadway Danny Rose (1984), and Mighty Aphrodite (1995).

A lesser Allen film.

Allen actually cites Broadway Danny Rose as one of his favourites amongst his films, and it garnered him a best director nomination (as well as the obligatory best orginal screenplay nomination). Shot in a nice black and white by Gordon Willis, this is a light film which begins with a bunch of New York talent agents sharing industry stories in a deli. One of them relates the story of a hapless agent, Danny (Allen), whose one good act was a philandering lounge singer who had taken up with a gangster's moll. Danny is asked to act as a beard for the girl (played by Mia Farrow), which causes the gangster to assume that he is the one that she has been cheating on him with. The set-up is very funny, but for some reason the film just didn't make much impact on me. It's part of a period, really between Manhattan and Hannah and her Sisters, where the director seemed to hit a lull in terms of taking chances with his films, or looking to make films which were a little deeper in theme. This is light, and while at certain points it might recall the zaniness of his early comedies, it doesn't get there often enough for me. It's more a friendly nudge in the ribs of the New York entertainment business (which Allen is obviously very familiar with), which just didn't grab me. 3 stars.

3 stars also, for Mighty Aphrodite, which won Mira Sorvino the best supporting actress Oscar in 1996. Sorvino plays Linda, a prostitute marked by her stupidity, who turns out to be the biological mother of the genius son that Lenny and Amanda (Allen and Helena Bonham-Carter) have adopted. The really interesting thing about this film is that Allen uses a Greek chorus to link together scenes (something he used in an earlier play he had written). This conceit delivers some humour, such as the chorus deliberating on why children don't call home more often once they move out. My problem with the film is in Sorvino's performance. I just didn't like it. I found her annoying to the point that it almost ruins the film. Evan Rachel Wood gives a much better performance of dumb broad in a Woody film in Whatever Works (2009), in my opinion. Now, this is one that I've only seen once before, so at some point I will give it another watch to see if things change. Like with all Woody films, I want to love it.

I'll be coming back to Woody Allen in a later blog, but in ATLI... #5, I'll be talking about the best American film of the last 30 years, and the film that beat it to the Best Picture award. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #3- More, More, More

Born in London in 1478, Sir Thomas More was one of Henry VIII's most trusted councillors, advancing to the position of Lord Chancellor of England. He lost favour in court when he refused to give his blessing to the king's divorce from Catherine of Aragon, and marriage to Anne Boleyn; more specifically, the split from Rome, and the birth of the Church of England.

More is also the subject of the very first film I watched specifically for this project, and thus the first to be reviewed in this blog, A Man For All Seasons.

Directed by Fred Zinnerman, and released in 1966, the film is based on a play (of the same name) by Robert Bolt, and begins briefly before More rose to the position of Lord Chancellor. The film was showered with awards, including the 1967 Best Picture Oscar, and an award for Zinnerman's direction. Paul Scofield was named best actor for his portrayal of More, and he plays the man as someone with integrity and strong convictions, and who is respected and well-known throughout the land. The key traits of More's character are established very early in the film- his honesty, generosity and piety. We see him refuse to help a friend, Rich (a young John Hurt, in a meaty role), find a job in court, as he knows that the young man would not be able to act with integrity in the position. He himself is offered bribes by the families of men who stand trial, but turns each one down, offering instead the promise of a fair trial. We also see More as a loving family man, but most of all his devotion to the Catholic church is made clear. The first time we see him he is leading friends in prayer, and a little later he refuses to allow his daughter to marry a man who has turned his back on religion.

Shaw and Scofield in A Man For All Seasons.

The big issue of the time was Henry VIII's proposed second marriage and, while most of the members of the king's court were scrambling to find ways that the marriage could be justified under God's law, More held true to his belief that the marriage should not be allowed to take place, and that Anne Boleyn should not be recognised as the queen of England. There is a wonderful scene, maybe the best of the film, in which Henry comes to visit Sir Thomas at his estate, and the two argue of the matter. Henry is played with great vigour by Robert Shaw, who was nominated for his supporting performance, and will be best known to more casual film fans as Quint from Jaws. Henry is a boisterous man, full of good humour, but with a terrible temper, and demands that More, whom he respects deeply, give his blessing tot he union. More though, proves a more formidable opponent than the great white shark, and refuses to buckle.

Eventually, More is brought to trial for treason and it is young Rich who plays Benny Blanco to More's Carlito Brigante, getting revenge for his earlier snub and condemning Sir Thomas to death. The scenes in which More's successor as Chancellor, Cromwell, tries to coerce More into signing the pro-Church of England treaty are brilliantly written. You see, More knows that as long as he doesn't outwardly say that he disapproves of the king's actions, he can't be found guilty, and thus begins a game of cat and mouse with Cromwell trying to trap him, and More always one step ahead. Indeed, the whole film is full of this sharp, often witty, repartee, delivered with great aplomb by the strong cast which, I should mention, also included Orson Welles in one of his great grumpy old man roles- alas all too brief.

This is an intelligent film which succeeds on a number of levels, but I think works best in the context of the relationship between Henry and Thomas. Henry himself appears only fitfully throughout, but always there is the shadow of this deep mutual respect between the two men, and the pain that this argument is causing both. In one great later scene, Henry celebrates his marriage to Anne Boleyn, and his face lights up when he sees soemone he believes to be More at the celebration. When he finds he is mistaken, his face sinks. This, for me, is the story of the film; More was so respected that even the king of England on his wedding day feels his absence.

Of its rivals for the Best Picture award, to date I have only seen Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, another film based on a play. This is comfortably better, and I give it 5 stars.

Moving forward now, I want to talk about the 1999 Best Picture nominees. 1999 is the first year for which I've seen all 5 nominees. I'm slightly embarrassed by this, as I thought for sure that would have happened at some point during the 1970s. However, there is a sense of poetic justice to this, as 1999 was the year I really got into film on a serious level. I was at college, and my best friend was already becoming a big film fan, and it was he who got me interested in the medium. Everyday he's bring me in a different video to watch- I remember The Shawshank Redemption, Goodfellas and Casablanca being amongst those early films he lent to me.

The 1999 Best Picture category is an interesting one, if not one of the stronger years. We have in there two World War II films, two Elizabethan-era period films, and a rare foreign language film in the mix. First, the winner.

Shakespeare in Love (Dir: John Madden, 1998)- I like this film a lot. People talk about it being a weak winner, which may be true, but it's a film of pure fun and, looking at the other nominees, it's hard to argue with the Academy's decision. The film is a fictionalised account of Shakespeare's writing of 'Romeo and Juliet', and shows the playwright, played by Joseph Fiennes, as a young man, penniless and suffering from writer's block until he meets the beautiful Viola (Gwyneth Paltrow), a young woman from a high-ranking family who loves the theatre. Viola dresses as a man in order to act in Shakespeare's newest play, and the two fall in love. The performances in this are just so funny, particularly Geoffrey Rush, Martin Clunes, Colin Firth as Viola's betrothed, and Ben Affleck as a pompous actor. The chemistry between the leads is believable, and the script bristles with humour. Madden's direction keeps things moving at a fast pace, and his vision of Elizabethan England, with its bustling market places and taverns, matches this. 4 stars.

Blanchett as Queen Elizabeth.

Speaking of Elizabethan England, Shekhar Kapur's Elizabeth is an altogether different film about the era, focusing on the queen herself, her rise to the throne against great opposition, and her doomed relationship with Robert Dudley (Joseph Fiennes popping up again). The title role is taken by the amazing Cate Blanchett, and she gives one of the best performances of her career. Not only does she give the queen the requisite formidable strength that we associate with her, but also excels at showing a softer side, one plagued by doubts and insecurities. This is also made possible by the choices of Kapur, an Indian director making his first English-language film. For example, in one scene we see Elizabeth practising an important speech, striving to remember the wording and find the right tone of delivery. She does this while looking directly into the camera, so it gives the appearance of an actress giving a screen test. It is little moments like this, combined with the performances (Rush, again; Christopher Ecclestone; Vincent Cassel; bizarrely, Eric Cantona) and the high sense of intrigue involved with the politics and double-dealings of the queen's court, that elevate this above your typical period piece. And just to tie in with the rest of this blog, Elizabeth was, of course, the daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. 4 stars.

Saving Private Ryan (Dir: Steven Spielberg, 1998)- I always felt this film was overrated, and is hurt terribly by the awful wraparound segments showing the elderly man looking back on the events of the film. I have no idea why any filmmaker utilises this technique, because it very rarely works. The Normandy Beach sequence is brilliant, an exhausting experience which puts you right in the heart of battle, but the film fails to live up to that early excitement, and the Tom Hanks character, who is leading a troop to locate the missing Private Ryan, came across to me as a caricature of the brave soldier battling his personal demons. This kind of loose characterisation and formulaic storytelling weighed down the film, to the point that I can only give it 3 stars.

The Thin Red Line (Dir: Terrence Malick, 1998)- Malick is one of my favourite directors, but I feel this is the weakest of all of his films, and am unsure whether his poetic style of filmmaking really lends itself to a World War II film. To be fair, it has been a long time since I saw this, and I'm having a hard time remembering much about it. What one can't forget is the incredible cast that Malick put together for this- from Sean Penn to George Clooney to John C. Reilly to John Travolta, Nick Nolte, John Cusack, Adrien Brody. It really is ridiculously star-studded. Maybe I'll revisit this at some point, and I'll certainly be talking more about Malick's filmmaking in a future blog. For now, 3 stars.

Life Is Beautiful (Dir: Roberto Benigni, 1997)- This is really an odd film, from an odd man. Benigni stars as a Jewish man, Guido, who romances a beautiful woman and starts a family with her. He has the perfect life, but it is all taken away when the family are moved to a concentration camp. However, Guido refuses to let this experience spoil his son's childhood and take away his innocence, so he goes to great lengths to convince the boy that they are just playing a game. This is a comedy. About the Holocaust. That seems to be a big criticism of this film, and it's certainly valid. Watching a comedy about the Holocaust, you should feel somewhat uneasy. The thing is, Benigni's sense of the wonder of life is just so damn infectious, that you can't help being charmed by it. Or, at least, I couldn't. He really gives a magnificent performance of non-stop motion and chatter, and it is that that carries the film. He was rewarded with the Best Actor Oscar, in what is one of my favourite moments in Oscar history. This isn't a great film, and your enjoyment of it really will live and die by your tolerance for Benigni's schtick. If you can handle it, this is a funny, if cloying, look at the power of imagination and positive thinking. If not, erm.. It's a comedy. About the Holocaust. 3 stars.

That's all for this time. In ATLI... #4 I'll be looking at the Oscar successes of my favourite filmmaker. Until then, here's looking at you.

And The Loser Is... #2- A Look Ahead

In this, the second of my blogs following my attempt to watch every film ever nominated for an Academy Award in one of the major categories, I'm going to look ahead to the ten films I'm most looking forward to watching, and the ten I'm least looking forward to watching.

Making the shortlist for these two lists, it struck me how there are way more films I'm really not looking forward to seeing, than films I really am looking forward to seeing. That strikes me as worrying at first thought, but upon thinking about it further, it stands to reason. You see, I've already seen a lot of the films that really appeal to me. Believe it or not, I tend to gravitate towards films that I think I'll like and, of the 300-odd films on my 'seen' list, I'd say probably 75% of them are films that I like a fair bit. I actually have a really good sense of what I'm going to enjoy, and what I won't, and try to avoid the latter category like the plague. This project is going to change that, unfortunately.

On with the lists, and I'll start with those films that I'm most looking forward to seeing. Auteurs abound!

10. The Grapes of Wrath (Dir: John Ford, 1940)
This is something that I've actually wanted to see for a long time, due in large part to the classic status it is afforded. It won two Oscars at the 1941 ceremony, including one for Ford's direction. I'm not typically huge on Ford (which is probably due to his close association with the Western, my least favourite genre), but he certainly knows how to make use of the American landscape, so that's something I'll be looking out for. I do like a bit of Henry Fonda, and believe this would be the earliest film of his I'll have seen.
9. Judgment at Nuremberg (Dir: Stanley Kramer, 1961)
This was nominated in a slew of categories in '62, and picked up a couple of awards. The cast is incredible- Spencer Tracy, Judy Garland, Marlene Dietrich, Montgomery Clift, and a man who has become a favourite of mine in recent months, Burt Lancaster. It looks a bit weighty (focusing on the trial of a quartet of Nazi war criminals) and comes in at over 3 hours, but with a cast like that, how could I not be excited?
8. Viva Zapata! (Dir: Elia Kazan, 1952)

Marlon Brando in Viva Zapata!

This is the film that Kazan and Brando made together between A Streetcar Named Desire and On The Waterfront, and it garnered Brando another best actor nom. I know little else about it, except that Brando plays a Mexican revolutionary, but the combo of director and star makes this one I'm really looking forward to.





7. An American In Paris (Dir: Vincente Minelli, 1951)
I read an article about this film just the other day, which talked about its place within the canon of American musicals. Gene Kelly, the film's star, is someone who I consider myself a fan of (Singin' In The Rain is one of my all-time favourite films- and didn't get so much as a nomination for Best Picture!), and he had to lobby to get this film made, as the musical was considered a dead genre at this point. The film ended up being named Best Picture at the '52 Oscars. It's been a while since I've seen a good musical, come to think of it, so hopefully this will live up to the billing.
6. McCabe and Mrs Miller (Dir: Robert Altman, 1971)
Altman is one of my very favourite directors, but this is one that has always eluded me for whatever reason. That is pretty much all the motivation required for putting this on the list, but the premise sounds great to boot: Warren Beatty and Julie Christie as a gambler and prostitute (respectively) join forces to open a brothel in the Old West. Must be a winner.
5. A Woman Under The Influence (Dir: John Cassavetes, 1974)
While my familiarity with Altman prompted me to put McCabe and Mrs Miller on this list, it is a lack of familiarity with the director that inspires this choice. I've seen, I believe, two of Cassavetes' films (Husbands and A Child Is Waiting) and am eager to see more from a man who is seen as an important director in American cinema. On top of that, the star, and Cassavetes' wife, Gena Rowlands, is someone else whose work I am anxious to see more of.
4. Tucker: The Man and His Dream (Dir: Francis Ford Coppola, 1988)

The incomparable Jeff Bridges.

This may seem like a bit of an odd choice- something of a forgotten (maybe deliberately) film from Coppola's difficult later career. I actually like what I've seen of Coppola's 80s work, and respect the way he changed as a filmmaker after making some of the most critically acclaimed films of the 70s. This is all about Jeff Bridges for me though, one of my favourite actors, and someone who I'm always happy to watch. I've heard from various places that this is one of his best performances, so hopefully it delivers.
3. Cries and Whispers and 2. Fanny and Alexander (Dir: Ingmar Bergman, 1972 and 1982 respectively)
There is one filmmaker in the world I prefer to Ingmar Bergman, and his name is Woody Allen. Ever since the first Bergman I saw (The Seventh Seal) I fell in love with his arresting visuals, and his artistic approach to tackling complex themes. He is very much a filmmaker who speaks to me on a personal level, and I have made an effort to see as much of his work as I can. Here are two that have hencetofore passed me by, and I'm really looking forward to rectifying that for this project.
1. Breaking the Waves (Dir: Lars von Trier, 1996)
I LOVE Lars von Trier. I love that he takes chances with his films, and that he isn't afraid to be hated. Whatever you say about his films, at the very least they are interesting and inspire thought and discussion. This is kind of my white whale in terms of film, as it's one that I've been trying to see for seemingly ages, but it has just never worked out. I know it was on television once, but I forgot to record; another time I saw the DVD in HMV, but for whatever reason passed up on buying it. When I returned, it had gone. Right now it's in my 'saved' queue on Netflix, which means that they don't currently have a copy. I may just have to pick up a copy online, because it's not one I'm going to miss out on!

Okay, so now moving on to the top 10 films I'm LEAST looking forward to having to watch.

10. An Officer and a Gentleman (Dir: Taylor Hackford, 1982)
A lot of the films that made the shortlist for this category are what I call 'mums films'. In other words, they are the kinds of thing that your mum owned on video, and was always watching when you were a kid. Romantic, weepie, and generally not all that good. Now, I'd actually consider myself a bit of a romantic, and certainly have nothing against a romantic film per se. It's just a lot of the time these kinds of films tend to be rather cynical in the way that they are made to tap into the, trying to put it diplomatically, female tendency towards emotional reactions. My mum did have this one, but I've managed to avoid it. Until now.
9. Inglourious Basterds (Dir: Quentin Tarantino, 2009)

Tarantino: I'm not a fan.

You'll soon learn that I have no time for the films of Quentin Tarantino (having seen all of them up until this one). I'm not sure when my dislike of his work really started. Probably around the time of Kill Bill, although I thought he was overrated before then. Basically, I think he's the most overrated filmmaker of his time, a one-trick pony whose films are far too concerned with being 'cool' and quotable, at the expense of characterisation and emotional investment. There'll be more opportunity to talk about Tarantino in upcoming ATLI... blogs, so I'll leave it there for now. Suffice to say, despite featuring really good performers like Michael Fassbender and Daniel Bruhle, this is not one I'm looking forward to seeing.
8. Blazing Saddles (Dir: Mel Brooks, 1974)
I often get accused of being too much in favour of serious, or even grim, films at the expense of fun films. I strongly disagree with that assessment. I'm just not such a fan of stupid films. Now, I don't know that this is a stupid film, but when the most famous scene from the film consists of a bunch of guys sitting around farting, I don't see much potential there for high-brow comedy. Which is fine, but just not my cup of tea. I've actually only seen one Mel Brooks film before (The Producers, which I wasn't a fan of), so maybe I'm misjudging him, and I'll end up a big fan. I honestly hope that is the case.
7. Shirley Valentine (Dir: Lewis Gilbert, 1989)
Another mums film. Actually, this might be the mother of all mums films- the MOAMF. This is one I do remember catching bits and bobs of when I was a kid, including a scene featuring Pauline Collins' saggy tits. This probably isn't all that bad actually, ut it just depresses me a bit that as a 30-year-old man I'm gonna have to settle down one night and watch it.
6. Chariots of Fire (Dir: Hugh Hudson, 1981)
This won the best picture award at the 1982 Oscars, and his since been called one of the most overrated films of all-time. It's probably a solid film (the cast is strong), but, like Gandhi (the following year's best picture) it strikes me as rather dull. I ended up enjoying Gandhi more than I thought I would actually, so there is hope for this.
5. Love Story (Dir: Arthur Hiller, 1970)
This has the reputation as the ultimate weepie, and a shining example of manipulative filmmaking. Everything about it seems totally cloying and overly-sentimental, and I'm struggling to think of anything redeeming that could come out of this.
4. The Ten Commandments (Dir: Cecil B. DeMille, 1956)
This is a three hour forty minute Biblical epic! I don't think any film should ever be that long, and I'm not a fan of these swords and sandals-style epics to begin with. I generally don't like to watch a film in two parts, as I feel it takes me out of the experience, but I just can't see doing this one in one sitting.
3. The English Patient (Dir: Anthony Minghella, 1996)

Elaine Benes: doesn't rate The English Patient.

When I think of the term 'Oscar-bait', this is usually the film that comes to mind. That said, I admit that a lot of my apprehension about this comes from that episode of Seinfeld, where everyone at Elaine's work is going gaga over this film except her. This leads to her being fired when she finally confesses (angrily) her disdain for the film. I can only be thankful that I won't be fired if I don't like this.
2. The Blind Side (Dir: John Lee Hancock, 2009)
I was taking a shower early into my planning for this project when I realised that if I went ahead with it, I was going to have to watch this film. I could have cried. There aren't many people in the world who irritate me as much as Sandra Bullock. I don't know when or why it started, but for as long as I can remember I've found her insufferable. She looks like an escaped convict for one thing- she has the hard face of someone who has done some serious time, but at the same time wears the self-satisfied smugness of an escapee. And she makes films like this. The Blind Side, like the deplorable Crash before it strikes me as the kind of film affluent white people make to show their understanding of race relations. I'll wait until I've seen it to fully pass judgment, but that's the impression I get, and it really makes me feel uneasy.
1. Braveheart (Dir: Mel Gibson, 1995)
I've talked about my dislike of Tarantino and Bullock already here. Well, both of those pale into comparison to my hatred of Mel Gibson, who went from being merely a dull, smug bastard, to full-on anti-Semite, misogynist shitface. This is the one film, that when I came to it when making my list of what I had to see, almost made me abandon this whole project. I detest the man, and detest the idea of watching his historically-inaccurate vanity project.

Whew. Okay, well, I don't really want to end on such a sour note, so, as a bit of 'bonus content', I thought I'd take a quick look at 5 of the more obscure films from my 'to watch' list. Here goes:

The Sin of Madelon Claudet (1931)- This sounds rather racy for the time period, with the story including an out-of-wedlock birth, a suicide, and prostitution. Apparently, lead actress, Helen Hayes, tried to buy the film off the studio so nobody would ever see a performance that she was horrified with. Unearthing films like this is one of the reasons I'm most looking forward to this project.
The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (1935)- An early Gary Cooper film, set in colonial India. Hitler's favourite film, apparently.
The Corn Is Green (1945)- Bette Davis vehicle, which sees the original diva play a teacher in a Welsh mining town. I wonder if she'll try the accent.
Twilight of Honor (1963)- This film which apparently saw Nick Adams go to great personal expense to ensure that he received a Best Supporting Actor nomination. He promised a friend that he would be the first TV actor to win an Oscar, but lost out on the night to Melvyn Douglas for Hud.
Who Is Harry Kellerman and Why Is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me? (1971)- The film with the longest title on my list stars Dustin Hoffman as a successful songwriter who spends his time with various women while he tries to 'find himself'. Sounds interesting.

Well, that's it for this time. ATLI... #3 will feature the first film I've ticked off my massive 'to watch' list, and I'll also be starting to back review stuff I've already seen, with a look at the 1999 Best Picture nominees. Until then, here's looking at you.