OVP: Best Original Screenplay (2013)
The Nominees Were...
Eric Warren Singer and David O. Russell, American Hustle
Woody Allen, Blue Jasmine
Craig Borten and Melisa Wallack, Dallas Buyers Club
Spike Jonze, Her
Bob Nelson, Nebraska
My Thoughts: We move right on into the original screenplays, which like the adapted race was pretty darn Best Picture happy: four nominees, and one film that, with two acting nods and a citation here, surely was darn close to making the cut.
We're going to start with the film I was absolutely confident would actually win the trophy on Oscar night, American Hustle, mainly because it's that rare film that received double-digit nominations without actually taking the trophy. American Hustle's ten nominations made it a frontrunner for Best Picture, but I'm still a bit flummoxed by where all of the love was for the film, particularly with the script. The movie has its moments (principally anytime that Cooper or Lawrence are onscreen), but the script is a jumbled mess. The film has severe tonal issues with its lead characters (if they're conning the audience, which I suspect they are trying to go for, they need to make it a teensy bit more blatant as the "constantly acting" reveal isn't compelling enough). There's also too many problems with the different switches and cutaways, and the motives of the characters (it's hard to fathom that Bradley Cooper's character could be so stupid and yet occasionally so maniacally brilliant, for one thing). Overall, I think this was mixed at best, and certainly not worthy of this category.
I would say the same thing about Dallas Buyers Club, a film that at least knows its goals (more than can be said for American Hustle), but the motives of this movie still frustrate the hell out of me. For starters, I'm still perplexed that Woodruff is supposed to draw sympathy to certain aspects of his character. I genuinely feel bad that, regardless of his deep personality flaws, he had to suffer and die from such a horrible disease as AIDS (no one deserves that), but I don't like the idea that the writers of this film hint at, which is that he deserved our praise for becoming a tolerant human being toward the end of this picture. The movie equates Woodruff's death and coming-of-age as a strong thing, and it is, but I have such trouble feeling for a man who would never have joined the AIDS-rights movement were he not a victim of the disease. Combine the perplexing sympathies the writers give to Woodruff with the horribly underwritten characters played by Jared Leto and Jennifer Garner, and you have one of my least favorite Best Picture nominees in a long time.
Since we're running through the scripts I didn't like, we might as well finish the trifecta and hit Nebraska. I'd say part of this was not having Alexander Payne behind the keyboard, but let's be honest here: the films of Alexander Payne have been a "diminishing returns" situation for a decade now. The script here occasionally has something interesting to say-when it's at its best, it's dissecting the minutia of everyday life, and the way that in life we have so few significant, true moments with other people that aren't in our immediate family that we let resentment and grudges build, bowling over when the going gets rough. I also loved some of the moments where it was clear that Woody and Kate's relationship had clearly been a bust, but these two stuck it out because that was what you were supposed to do, and you don't get to rerun the past (territory that perhaps the next Jesse-and-Celine film will start to uncover?).
That being said, the entire plot is predicated on the townspeople believing Woody over his rational son David, and that's not believable. Everyone can see that Woody is starting to go mentally, and the idea that anyone wouldn't believe his son is ridiculous, and quite frankly insulting to the Midwesterners that Nelson is examining (no one is that obtuse). I also loathed the ending of the film, with Woody strutting through town, teaching everyone a lesson (we all saw that coming), or in particular the kiss from Kate to Woody, considering that we have just watched an entire film of these people not only disliking each other, but showing that they hated each other for years. This wasn't a marriage where they fought-but-loved-each-other, or where a widow suddenly makes her marriage into a perfect fantasy and her husband into a saint (Woody's not dead yet, and Kate's certainly not there), but just a schmaltzy "feel-good" moment that felt completely out-of-place and pointless.
So let's now get to better movies, like Her. Here is a movie that is not only ripe with strong dialogue and conversation, but also fulfills the promise of its ideas. The other three films occasionally pose interesting questions, but they aren't intent on answering them in a fulfilling way. Her, on the other hand, frequently puts thoughts and ideas into the audience and at least aids the discussion. I am still madly in love with what may be the best scene in the movie, the date between Joaquin Phoenix's Theodore and Olivia Wilde's Amelia. Most other writers would have given us some sort of damning reason for Theodore to dump her before the end of the date, making it all the more reasonable that he continues to pursue the perfect and unattainable Samantha. And yet Jonze realizes that there's a fault in Theodore-he does, in fact, want what he can't have and wants a perfect relationship, so he lets Amelia, a woman he could genuinely have a real-life future with, go in favor of a dream relationship with a computer.
These are the sorts of questions he asks in this film-not just what happens when love isn't what society wants from us, but also are we to blame when our relationships don't go the way they should? Those perfect drops of reality in the midst of a storybook relationship are really wonderful touches by Jonze (I also liked the way that Rooney Mara's ex-wife sort of proves her point late in the film by showing that it was Theodore's fault that they got divorced, not hers, despite her being bitter about it), and I loved the ambiguity of the ending. This is a screenplay worthy of its nomination.
Compared with most of these nominations, Blue Jasmine feels totally warranted in its inclusion. It's certainly better than the first three pictures that I profiled, but even Blue Jasmine has some problems that I wouldn't say are typical of a (celebrated) Woody Allen picture. For starters, it's not remotely believable that these two women were raised by the same parents, or in the same house, regardless of them both being adopted. I loved everything about Blanchett's Jasmine-she's such a larger-than-life character that still manages to be totally believable (you know there are women just like her up and down Park Avenue), and that ending is a frightening gut punch that ranks right up there with a horror movie (except it's twice as realistic and therefore far more terrifying), but the plot is too inconsistent to truly be celebrated, and as a result, this film looks better by mildly succeeding while the other films failed.
We're going to start with the film I was absolutely confident would actually win the trophy on Oscar night, American Hustle, mainly because it's that rare film that received double-digit nominations without actually taking the trophy. American Hustle's ten nominations made it a frontrunner for Best Picture, but I'm still a bit flummoxed by where all of the love was for the film, particularly with the script. The movie has its moments (principally anytime that Cooper or Lawrence are onscreen), but the script is a jumbled mess. The film has severe tonal issues with its lead characters (if they're conning the audience, which I suspect they are trying to go for, they need to make it a teensy bit more blatant as the "constantly acting" reveal isn't compelling enough). There's also too many problems with the different switches and cutaways, and the motives of the characters (it's hard to fathom that Bradley Cooper's character could be so stupid and yet occasionally so maniacally brilliant, for one thing). Overall, I think this was mixed at best, and certainly not worthy of this category.
I would say the same thing about Dallas Buyers Club, a film that at least knows its goals (more than can be said for American Hustle), but the motives of this movie still frustrate the hell out of me. For starters, I'm still perplexed that Woodruff is supposed to draw sympathy to certain aspects of his character. I genuinely feel bad that, regardless of his deep personality flaws, he had to suffer and die from such a horrible disease as AIDS (no one deserves that), but I don't like the idea that the writers of this film hint at, which is that he deserved our praise for becoming a tolerant human being toward the end of this picture. The movie equates Woodruff's death and coming-of-age as a strong thing, and it is, but I have such trouble feeling for a man who would never have joined the AIDS-rights movement were he not a victim of the disease. Combine the perplexing sympathies the writers give to Woodruff with the horribly underwritten characters played by Jared Leto and Jennifer Garner, and you have one of my least favorite Best Picture nominees in a long time.
Since we're running through the scripts I didn't like, we might as well finish the trifecta and hit Nebraska. I'd say part of this was not having Alexander Payne behind the keyboard, but let's be honest here: the films of Alexander Payne have been a "diminishing returns" situation for a decade now. The script here occasionally has something interesting to say-when it's at its best, it's dissecting the minutia of everyday life, and the way that in life we have so few significant, true moments with other people that aren't in our immediate family that we let resentment and grudges build, bowling over when the going gets rough. I also loved some of the moments where it was clear that Woody and Kate's relationship had clearly been a bust, but these two stuck it out because that was what you were supposed to do, and you don't get to rerun the past (territory that perhaps the next Jesse-and-Celine film will start to uncover?).
That being said, the entire plot is predicated on the townspeople believing Woody over his rational son David, and that's not believable. Everyone can see that Woody is starting to go mentally, and the idea that anyone wouldn't believe his son is ridiculous, and quite frankly insulting to the Midwesterners that Nelson is examining (no one is that obtuse). I also loathed the ending of the film, with Woody strutting through town, teaching everyone a lesson (we all saw that coming), or in particular the kiss from Kate to Woody, considering that we have just watched an entire film of these people not only disliking each other, but showing that they hated each other for years. This wasn't a marriage where they fought-but-loved-each-other, or where a widow suddenly makes her marriage into a perfect fantasy and her husband into a saint (Woody's not dead yet, and Kate's certainly not there), but just a schmaltzy "feel-good" moment that felt completely out-of-place and pointless.
So let's now get to better movies, like Her. Here is a movie that is not only ripe with strong dialogue and conversation, but also fulfills the promise of its ideas. The other three films occasionally pose interesting questions, but they aren't intent on answering them in a fulfilling way. Her, on the other hand, frequently puts thoughts and ideas into the audience and at least aids the discussion. I am still madly in love with what may be the best scene in the movie, the date between Joaquin Phoenix's Theodore and Olivia Wilde's Amelia. Most other writers would have given us some sort of damning reason for Theodore to dump her before the end of the date, making it all the more reasonable that he continues to pursue the perfect and unattainable Samantha. And yet Jonze realizes that there's a fault in Theodore-he does, in fact, want what he can't have and wants a perfect relationship, so he lets Amelia, a woman he could genuinely have a real-life future with, go in favor of a dream relationship with a computer.
These are the sorts of questions he asks in this film-not just what happens when love isn't what society wants from us, but also are we to blame when our relationships don't go the way they should? Those perfect drops of reality in the midst of a storybook relationship are really wonderful touches by Jonze (I also liked the way that Rooney Mara's ex-wife sort of proves her point late in the film by showing that it was Theodore's fault that they got divorced, not hers, despite her being bitter about it), and I loved the ambiguity of the ending. This is a screenplay worthy of its nomination.
Compared with most of these nominations, Blue Jasmine feels totally warranted in its inclusion. It's certainly better than the first three pictures that I profiled, but even Blue Jasmine has some problems that I wouldn't say are typical of a (celebrated) Woody Allen picture. For starters, it's not remotely believable that these two women were raised by the same parents, or in the same house, regardless of them both being adopted. I loved everything about Blanchett's Jasmine-she's such a larger-than-life character that still manages to be totally believable (you know there are women just like her up and down Park Avenue), and that ending is a frightening gut punch that ranks right up there with a horror movie (except it's twice as realistic and therefore far more terrifying), but the plot is too inconsistent to truly be celebrated, and as a result, this film looks better by mildly succeeding while the other films failed.
Other Precursor Contenders: As I mentioned before, the Globes don't break out their screenplays between adapted and original, and so we are left with nominations for Her (the eventual victor), American Hustle, and Nebraska but no other wins. The BAFTA Awards went with a pretty Oscar-centric lineup, just cutting Her oddly enough in favor of Inside Llewyn Davis (American Hustle ended up winning). And, in a rare twist for them, the WGA Awards went with a carbon copy of the Oscars (usually someone is declared ineligible, causing a problem), with Her also winning there.
Films I Would Have Nominated: Let's throw out all but Her, because you know that's what I want to do, and start from scratch. To be perfectly honest, I don't really believe that Before Midnight is adapted, and would probably have given it a spot here instead. I would definitely have included the Coen Brothers wonderfully somber Inside Llewyn Davis (I'm stunned that they didn't get nominated, and so saddened after what eventually happened with this category). Closing out the category would be two films that had a lot of interesting things to say even if they weren't perfect pictures: Enough Said and Frances Ha, both wonderfully complicated scripts and pictures, and ones that deserved more attention from Oscar.
Oscar’s Choice: Oscar surprisingly skipped American Hustle and Nebraska to make the correct choice with the dreamy Her.
My Choice: I'm obviously going to match with Oscar here (it's rare I get this incensed over so many undeserved nominations-hopefully I'm a bit kinder when we explore Supporting Actor next), with Blue Jasmine, American Hustle, Nebraska, and Dallas Buyers Club pretty far behind.
Those are my thoughts-what about you? Are you with both the Academy and myself that Her was definitely at the top of the heap? Or do you think that one of the other nominees like American Hustle or Nebraska should have been crowned? Why were the Coen Brothers shunned in a category they have dominated for years? And which film had the best original screenplay of 2013? Share in the comments!
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