After yesterday’s mandatory entry, it’s still the week before the Academy Awards ceremony, when Oscar fans have the best excuse to wax eloquent about the greatest awards show of all time. Also, they can indulge in as much hyperbole as they want without fear of retribution. ‘Tis the season.
As I mentioned yesterday, I saw all the Best Picture winners over the course of a several-year journey back in the 1990s. Some were invaluable enterprises that I’m glad I went out of my way to catch. Some…not so much. It’s been my geek experience that when you dedicate yourself to absolute completism on a given subject without fail or compromise, you find yourself having to tolerate a lot of damaged goods that you’ll regret later, in exchange for those bragging rights.
My list of the most regrettable Best Picture winners to date is thankfully shorter than my Best Best Pictures list. I’ve seen several Best Picture nominees that were far more toxic than most of these, but that doesn’t improve their own letter grades in my amateur-appreciator book.
Presented in no conscious order:
* The English Patient. Seinfeld mocked this beloved non-linear adaptation years before I saw it. I allowed it an impartial chance to stand or fall on its own merits nonetheless. I even watched it twice in order to grasp the complexities of the interwoven timelines. Despite my efforts, it never had a chance. Fun trivia: stories in which I’m expected to sympathize with adulterers will find me next to impossible to win over. It’s a sore spot inflicted by my own personal history, a flagrant bias I have no interest in setting aside. Out of Africa failed me for this same reason, though at least Meryl Streep didn’t compound her sins by abetting the Nazis in the name of lust.
It’s that time of year again, the week before the Academy Awards ceremony, when anyone who pontificates online about movies to any degree is compelled to reflect on Oscar winners of years past and mine their history for writing material in lieu of relevant news updates and Oscar pool handicapping. I suppose I should add my two cents quickly, lest I risk being last in line, though I’m sure all mine are taken by other Oscar fans now, if not necessarily in matching quantity. Years ago I completed a lengthy quest to see every Best Picture winner from Wings to the present, just to see what would happen. Some I’ve long since forgotten, some were travesties I wish I could unsee, but many were worthwhile experiences.
Longtime MCC readers are surely aware of my addiction to writing lists. I confess before you now that my lifelong listaholism extends beyond what you’ve seen here in the past. In our household I appointed myself Chief Grocery List Officer. I keep track of all the comic books I own on Excel sheets. From 2000 to the present I’ve kept Notepad files of every single movie I’ve seen in theaters. Many a Post-It has died in service to my never-ending attempts to remember what chores and repairs need to be done around the house. All the odd sights we see on vacation each year have been made possible by lists, though those are always collaborative efforts with my wife the list-enabler.