Increasing polarization between ideologies, out-of-control campaign spending, leaders who are completely out of touch with the American public.
I’m referring, of course, to the current state of the Oscars.
The Academy Awards were the most politicized event in Hollywood long before Marlon Brando sent a young Apache woman onstage to accept his Oscar for The Godfather in 1973. Production companies have for decades hosted intimate soirees for Academy voters in order to convince them to vote for their films and actors. Two camps are at odds over the purpose of the awards: is it to recognize art or entertainment value? In the meantime, the films honored by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences have consistently been pictures that do not reflect the tastes of the general public—movies for the 1%, if you will. This problem is reflected by the lack of viewership the awards ceremony has gotten in recent years. If the Oscars are to stay relevant, changes are needed to make them less about pandering to voters and more about celebrating the greatest films of our time.
The man who took campaigning for the Oscars above and beyond is Harvey Weinstein, formerly the head of Miramax and now the chief of his self-named Weinstein Company. In the past two decades, he achieved regular buzz with movies like The Piano, Good Will Hunting, Pulp Fiction, and Life is Beautiful, and won Best Picture with The English Patient, Shakespeare in Love, and Chicago. How much of his success was due to his lavish campaign parties and mailers, we’ll never know, but it’s safe to say that they had quite an effect, since the Academy banned them. The kind of negative campaigning that Weinstein made commonplace—in 2002, in an effort to prevent A Beautiful Mind from taking home Best Picture, he spread rumors that John Nash was an anti-Semitic homosexual —is also technically forbidden, but a quick apology from a studio can prevent any repercussions. Furthermore, in the face of new restrictions this season, Weinstein’s company resorted to a third-party group to campaign for Meryl Streep in The Iron Lady. Super-PACs have infiltrated Hollywood.
The result is a nominations process and an awards show that do not reflect the opinions of American audiences or even film critics. This problem is compounded by the lack of diversity among the Academy’s nearly 6,000 voters. About 94% of the voters are white, 77% are male, and 86% are over age 50. While these figures reflect the reality of Hollywood, hardly anyone wants to watch an awards show for films chosen by a bunch of old white men.
Because studios know the audience to which they must cater, “Oscar-worthy” films have fallen into familiar patterns and plotlines. Nostalgia is essentially a prerequisite for a Best Picture nomination, and it is no coincidence that every nominated film this year centers around it. Certain subjects, like race relations or either World War, are Oscar gold. When it comes to actors, the Academy loves both unknown underdogs in their breakout roles and veterans who can do no wrong. That is why Rooney Mara and Meryl Streep are nominated in the same category. The Oscars have taken some criticism in recent years about not seriously considering comedies, so this year Melissa McCarthy is thrown into the mix for her scene-stealing role in Bridesmaids. It’s less of an improvement and more of an “I told you so.” When it comes down to the last few movies to make the cutoff for nominations, connections matter. There is little reason for War Horse to be nominated this year—other than Steven Spielberg’s Midas touch.
Because the Academy Awards have been so corrupted by money and connections, the average American is left puzzled by the results. On Sunday, it is highly likely that The Artist, a silent film, will take home Best Picture. But can a movie that will not even premiere in many cities across the country and is so countercultural be considered the greatest American film of the year? It’s reasonable to assume that blockbusters like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 and the second Hangover installment won’t be celebrated for their artistic merit, but what about a film like The Help, which was both commercially successful and thought-provoking?
To find a solution to the Academy’s dilemma between the artsy and the popular, one need look no further than the very first Academy Awards ceremony in 1929. This was the only year that the Academy designated two Best Picture categories: Outstanding Picture and Unique and Artistic Picture. Paramount’s Wings took home the former and Fox’s Sunrise the latter. Separating these two categories would in a sense allow voters to compare apples to apples. Instead of pandering to the tastes of a few, moviemakers could focus on truly enlightening projects. Entertainment value would not be forsaken over artistic merit or sentimental value. The Oscars would become relevant again.
