The 2012 Oscars: A Projected Recap

The Metro Spirit’s print schedule sometimes throws a wrench in my editorial plans. As I write this, we’re roughly 48 hours away from the Academy Awards (or, if we’re being specific, 48 hours away from Joan Rivers screeching about peep-toe heels in the voices of the thousand flayed souls that gave their skins to construct her face), and because I’ve used up the last of my originality reserves on that joke, I’d like to do an Oscar preview. But by the time this goes to press, they’ll have come and gone, and I’ll have begun circulating yet another petition to get The Dark Knight nominated every year.   Now, my deadline isn’t until 5:00 Monday—when Amy begins spamming my inbox with .gifs of an Armageddon clock—so I could just wait till then to write a recap. But since I’m just insane enough to be interesting (and on the payroll, thanks guys), I’m gonna go ahead and bulldoze-while-howling the less-trod path.   This, then, is a projected recap. I clearly have poor judgment and tend to harbor grudges—as a result of what I did after Crash won Best Picture in 2005, I’m legally obligated to handcuff myself to a radiator whenever Sandra Bullock ventures further east than Nevada—so this won’t be a reflection of my personal picks, but rather who I think will inevitably win, followed by some possible fallout from the decision, all in the past tense. As a caveat, I realize what a bad idea timeline-jumping is. I pitched the idea to Amy, and she said it sounded like “watching the last two seasons of Lost with single frames of Victorian-era porn spliced in.” Also, please keep in mind that, much like male lawmakers’ penises evidently don’t disqualify them from formulating women’s contraceptive rights, I’m not letting the fact that I haven’t seen half of these movies deter me.   Here we go.   Best Picture: The Artist   Why It Won   Come on, man. Besides being a pretty damn good film with an all-star supporting cast (John Goodman, Missi Pyle, Malcolm McDowell), The Artist was bolstered by the benefit of well-executed novelty, something over which the Academy tends to have perpetual stargasms (“A silent film? In the age of digital boobies?! You mad, beautiful sons of bitches!”). The bad publicity surrounding star Jean Dujardin’s recently uncovered cockfighting ring threatened the film’s chances at the 11^th hour, but it managed to pull through.   Where We Go From Here   The Blair Witch effect. In much the same way that “found footage” became a thing, Hollywood will churn out at least one moderate-budget silent film a year. They’ll grow increasingly sh***y until, a decade down the line, something comes along and Chronicles it. Also, everyone will still be too embarrassed to tell Max von Sydow he wasn’t in it.     Best Director: Michel Hazanavicius (The Artist)   Why He Won   What, you thought it would only win Best Picture? This year’s race was not wide-open, and anything that garnered as much buzz as this was bound to win between two and fifteen awards. Anyway, the direction was impeccable, the pacing energetic without being frenetic, and with just the necessary amount of melodrama and camp to stay true to the genre and era. Plus, screw Woody Allen.   Where We Go From Here   Hazanavicius himself will be able to write his ticket, and hopefully it won’t be Zardoz II. There will, however, be renewed interest in his OSS 117 spy parodies, also starring Jean Dujardin. Much like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and Funny Games, those films will be remade, shot-for-shot, in English. Hazanavicius will guest-direct a Saturday Night Live skit with Dujardin and George Clooney, referencing the mirror image scene from the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup, and no one will get it.   Best Actor: Gary Oldman (Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy)   In a bit of an upset, Oldman makes the most of his first, criminally belated Oscar nomination. The year’s most subtle, nuanced performance, in a film that is already unbearably tense, Oldman alternately imbued his character with gravitas, vulnerability, and calculating ruthlessness. Also Sirius Black.   Where We Go From Here   The Dark Knight Rises. There won’t be a higher profile film released this year until The Hobbit in December, and Oldman has been just about the best part of the last two films, Heath Ledger notwithstanding. He’s refreshingly intolerant of the celebrity lifestyle, so it’s pretty safe to say that he’ll keep on picking interesting, artistically rewarding projects, interspersed with the occasional blockbuster. I’ll see the man in literally anything. Even Zardoz II.   Best Actress: Viola Davis (The Help)   Why She Won   Also an upset, Davis’ role is one of only two that is not the subject of a biopic (My Week With Marilyn, Iron Lady) or a remake of an untouchable original (The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo). The other, Glenn Close’s title role in Albert Nobbs, is a bit out there for the Academy’s tastes, so it’s no surprise that film went largely unrecognized. Still, Davis was not a shoe-in; many insiders predicted that Streep would pull out the win despite Iron Lady receiving only marginally positive reviews. Of course, Streep could play a statue of herself in a live-action Family Guy movie and still be nominated, so there’s that. But Davis earned it, and The Help wasn’t getting much Oscar love otherwise, so this was fairly predictable.   Where We Go From Here   Davis is nigh untouchable. Prior to this, she’d already gotten one Oscar nod for Doubt, and won two Tonys and three Drama Desk awards for her stage work. After the acclaim and subsequent media circus surrounding The Help, she may choose to take one something a bit more lightweight, akin to past turns in Get Rich or Die Tryin’ and whichever Tyler Perry movie was filming that week. But heads are turned, and they are rapt.You Might Also Like: