Name Dropping

“What art? What science?”—D.W. Griffith


In the annals of prizedom, there have been, of course, momentous screw-ups. After all, the Oscars and Emmys wouldn’t be much fun without them. I’m not talking your traditionally nutty, are they-KIDDING? brand of head-scratchers—say the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ unfortunate and occasional habit of bestowing Best Director statuettes on favored actors in their membership, two particularly egregious examples being Robert Redford’s 1980 win for Ordinary People (beating out Martin Scorsese or Raging Bull) and Kevin Costner’s a decade later for Dances with Wolves (burning Scorsese again, this time for GoodFellas)—but rather those of the apocalyptically mindless variety that forever stains the Oscars’ credibility, rooted perhaps in a bias against East Coast filmmakers and so-called “popcorn entertainments,” or, as was the case for example in the 1980s, in a bias FOR politically correct epics.

Looking back, it’s hard to discern exactly how voters justified the director’s 1982 win for Richard Attenborough (another actor) for the fairly unwatchable Gandhi over Steven Spielberg —who had previously been denied winning for Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Raiders of the Lost Ark—for the much loved (by critics and audiences alike) E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial. Spielberg would, in 1985, become the focal point of Oscars’ most celebrated snub ever when The Color Purple received 11 nominations and he, its director, was shut out. OMISSION IMPOSSIBLE ran one headline, and the Academy, in a clear demonstration of brazen envy from those in its ranks, seemed to again be punishing him for possessing, at so young an age, prodigious talent and from having honed it in--horrors!--television. The Color Purple did not receive a single win.

Being a wunderkind in Hollywood, therefore, isn’t necessarily wonderful; it can inspire craven pettiness (see also: Orson Welles). In 1986, the Academy gave Spielberg the prestigious Irving G. Thalberg Award (which is a producer's award, the Academy thinking perhaps that, well, an award is an award is an award). His competitive Oscars as director would come in the 1990s, when Spielberg was segueing from Young Turk into Old Guard, for Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan.

Back to Scorsese. The classics for which HE should have won Best Director come to mind because both starred his favorite actor, Robert De Niro,  who, as it happens, will at long last be receiving the Cecil B. De Mille Award for lifetime contributions at the 68th Golden Globe Awards on Sunday, Jan. 16 (Scorsese was so honored at last year’s ceremony). Presumably the Hollywood Foreign Press Association will get around to Woody Allen--if he'd bother to actually show up and accept the award--or Michael Caine or Meryl Streep before they're 90, and what's with the fact that only one minority, Sidney Poitier in 1982, has gotten the DeMille; Morgan Freeman and James Earl Jones are long overdue. For De Niro, I suppose, it's better late than never and at this stage of his distinguished career, he does seem today to be coasting in a series of harmless “Focker” and “Analyze” comedies (with sequels), threatening to become the next Fred MacMurray (himself a great star with a long, ever-evolving career who, you should know, never received a single competitive nomination. But then again, neither did Edward G. Robinson.  Nor Donald Sutherland. Nor Spike Lee (at least, not as director). Nor Mia Farrow. Nor Jerry Lewis. (The Emmys has its own share of shameful oversights—like the Great One himself, Jackie Gleason, being a non-winner—and we’ll get around to them in a later column.)

The various newspaper critics awards will start rolling in soon, and the Golden Globe nominations will be announced on Tuesday, Dec. 14. Sometimes they’re a good predictor of Oscars, sometimes not. But for sure, it’s then that Oscar campaigning seriously begins and we draw closer to wondering about the next great snubs.