Best Film Editing. Best Makeup and Hairstyling. Best Cinematography. Best Adapted Screenplay. Best Picture.
You might be asking yourself, what do these awards have in common? Well, they’re the minimum of what I would’ve voted for Cloud Atlas for.
That I didn’t have that opportunity wasn’t only owing to the fact that I am not a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, but also because Cloud Atlas, despite being one of the most original, most ambitious films I’ve seen in my entire life, was not nominated for a single one of those categories. Or any other category, for that matter.
It has been suggested that Cloud Atlas is a racist film. I’ve discussed that particular irony previously. It’s a pretty lazy accusation, one that relies entirely on either not having seen the film or having seen the film but chosen not to engage one’s eyes or one’s mind. The entire point of the film is having characters from different lifetimes cross ethnic and gender boundaries, to show that all of us–every single one of us–is connected. That everyone, everything, is dependent upon each other. Does that sound racist to you?
That this film was likely shut out to avoid “offending” anyone is what really galls me. Let me tell you what offends me.
What offends me is celebrating mediocrity.
What offends me is that Silver Linings Playbook was nominated in eight categories (eight!), even Snow White and the Huntsman was nominated for two, and Cloud Atlas wasn’t nominated for a single one.
What offends me is that we really ought to change the name of the “Best Animated Feature” Award to the Pixar Award.
What offends me is that last year’s Best Picture winner was probably the least memorable film of the year. (Did you even see it? If you did, did it entertain you in some new and thrilling way? Did it make you think any original thoughts? Did it make you think at all?) That the winner the year before had only one exception quality: acting. (Last I checked, they give out awards for that separately.)
I was under the impression that the function of the Academy Awards was recognizing and promoting great art. How do you expect people to take your art form seriously when you keep celebrating mediocrity, when films that take absolutely no creative risks are the ones that are glorified?
There were a few things that made me genuinely happy. Anne Hathaway deserved an Oscar. Maybe this wasn’t the “right” film for it, but damn it, she deserved one, and these awards are so broken that I really don’t care which film she gets it for as long as she got it. Adele’s “Skyfall” for Best Original Song? Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. And I absolutely would’ve given Lincoln Best Production Design and Best Actor. (I probably would’ve thrown in Best Costume Design, but you take what you can get.)
And probably the award I was most happy about? Django Unchained for Best Original screenplay. I can honestly say I didn’t see that one coming, because that film took risks, and as we’ve seen we don’t like to reward that kind of thing around here. I mean, we’re talking about art. That doesn’t have anything to do with taking risks, right?
Look. I know this isn’t the end of the world. I know this won’t matter in ten years, when Cloud Atlas is on every “movie nerd’s” shelf, and conversations like this happen: “Huh. It didn’t win anything? Really? Well, those things are so political.” And I genuinely take solace in that fact. But damn it, if we’re going to have a big public spectacle whose ostensible purpose is to recognize art, can we please, pretty please with sugar on top, figure out a way to make this an evaluation of art?
