I just learned that the Oscars are being telecast this coming Sunday, and it makes me wonder where I’ve been these past few weeks. I don’t even know who is nominated.
In years past, I’ve followed the movie critics as they published their December Top Ten lists, a good guide to what might be Oscar material. I’ve listened to interviews with various actors and actresses who are pitching their films and vying for the top spotlight. I’ve known the very morning the nominations were announced and watched with interest how advertising in the Arts Section of the Sunday newspapers fill with pride at being one of the five best films of the year. I even can hum a few bars of the Best Song from a Movie category.
Not this time.
Movies seem to have degenerated into clones of what were previously creative ideas. It didn’t come out this year, but I suspect Sylvester Stallone is busy somewhere working on Rocky 37. And who knows which edition of James Bond is headed next for the screen? Maybe these ideas seem fresh to a young audience, but I’ve been around long enough to remember with pleasure the first “Rocky” and “Dr. No,” and today’s retelling of the same story looks jaded by comparison.
Do I go to movies often? I hardly see one a year. But I’m voyeuristically interested in the culture that surrounds them, in the transience of their hold on us, in the hedonistic world of the big stars. I’ll still watch the Oscars this year, even if I’m not as informed as usual, because it amazes me that actors and actresses who make large sums of money cannot stand in front of an audience and offer a memorable acceptance speech. That too seems to be an integral part of the culture.
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