A Few of My Least Favorite Best Picture Winners

Robert DeNiro, The Deer HunterAfter 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.

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A Few of My Favorite Best Picture Winners

Karl Malden, On the WaterfrontIt’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.

As with all such lists, the following is purely subjective, not constrained by your mortal ideas about standards of fairness or codified film-school guidelines, and rife with random acts of unjustified, whimsical favoritism. This is my Best Best Pictures Ever list. There are many others like it, but this one is mine.

Because ranking them against each other would require extensive arguments against myself that I couldn’t possibly win, these are presented in no intentional order:

* My Fair Lady. The first musical I ever enjoyed in my life that wasn’t a cartoon or a puppet show. The idea of better living through diction and poise lessons was fascinating in my youth. Also, the songs are catchy despite their lack of American Idol vocal sheen, and Eliza’s Cockney scream at the horse race cracks me up every time.

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The Joys of List-Making, Outlined and Enumerated

to-do listLongtime 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.

It’s no surprise to myself that my list fixation is a frequent motif in my writing. At one point several months ago, I wondered if perhaps the MCC blog concept should have been built upon a rigid list-based foundation from the get-go. Fortunately for the sake of format flexibility, I bypassed that option and instead dreamed up a premise more convoluted and impossible to justify in a single sentence.

Why are lists my thing? The reasons are many and varied:

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Unrevised Fragments of a Day Lived on Four Hours’ Sleep

1. Last night’s entry took twice as long to construct in print as it should have, even though it was two-thirds written in my head before I sat down. I hate when that happens, even if I’m satisfied with the results.

2. When I have to be at work supernaturally early to compensate for a late afternoon appointment, next time I need to remember to go to bed earlier. Such responsibilities means less time for evening writing, not more.

3. My average for the last decade-plus has been six hours’ sleep per night. I don’t recommend it, but my body complains and groans in those rare evenings when I try to exceed seven.

4. I failed to mention 9/11/2012 also marked my twelfth anniversary with my current employer. I’m certain I’ll never forget my start date or my first anniversary there.

5. The only thing I like about driving to work supernaturally early is the sparse traffic. All straightaways and no logjams make me a happy driver.

6. Jerk turkey is no substitute for jerk chicken. For want of mayo, my food-truck lunch was less remarkable than I’d hoped.

7. My son does not approve of dental hygienists who stab at his gums without mercy.

8. Part of tonight was spent on a surprise visit to the vet. Our dog Lucky tore a rear paw-nail and left cute but revolting bloody prints in several different places. His poor, injured paw is now swathed in a blue bandage that covered an inner gauze bandage. His blue bandage remains firmly in place at the moment, but somehow he yanked the gauze out from inside it with his teeth, like a little Dog Henning.

9. My son and I aren’t finding Super Paper Mario nearly as charming as Paper Mario: the Thousand-Year Door was, though the former’s version of the Pit of 100 Trials was a more refreshing challenge. After completing all 100 levels, your prize is a magical sprite that allows Mario and friends to run faster than normal. In all other Mario games we’ve played, super-speed was one of Mario’s first abilities he has in the game, not one of the last.

10. I’m sad that Kieron Gillen’s epic Journey into Mystery run will be concluding, but the final arc/crossover “Everything Burns” is full of action, shocking surprises, and characters making disappointing decisions that I wish they’d reconsider, even though they’re thoroughly logical given the course of events. I’m already preparing for the days when I’ll have to live with fewer misadventures of Kid Loki, his frenemy Leah, his bird-half Ikol, and his lovable homicidal fire-breathing hound Thori, but the team is certainly going down in flames in style. It’s scary seeing Kid Loki slowly beginning to grow back into his previous, less awkward, far less innocent self.

11. So far Harbinger remains the best of the Valiant relaunch, though the sanguinary madhouse that is Bloodshot isn’t too distant a runner-up.

12. The only news story that caught my attention today was about Pat Robertson cracking anti-Muslim jokes in much the same way that my third-grade classmates would crack “Polack” jokes back in 1980. Our family doesn’t watch The 700 Club, but we attended an episode taping during our 2008 road trip to Virginia Beach. The show’s host Terry Meeuwsen was gracious and amiable, but Robertson kept his distance from the studio audience, all eight of us. It’s sad to see the distancing continue.

13. Even when I’m only half-conscious, apparently I can still write lists.