When I showed this film to my dad, who by his own admission watches movies more to entertain himself than to truly leave his comfort zone, his gut reaction, 20 minutes in, was a sober: “Il est pas bandant, ton film”. Which literally translates to: “I don’t have a hard-on for that film of yours”.

I can see what he means, but the film’s « non-hard-on-inducing-ness » is maybe what I found so interesting the first time I watched it. Even compared to the seemingly unvarnished, noirish grit of a Lethal Weapon, To Live and Die is an exceptionally non-glamorous take on the cops and robbers genre. It stars William Petersen and Dean Stockwell as a couple of L.A.P.D. narcs tracking down Willem Dafoe’s sleazy, androgynous counterfeiter. The antihero is such a popular type today that it is rare to find movies which treat the “anti” with the amount of seriousness required, and not simply as an excuse to set up a redemptive arc. To Live and Die has the balls of making Petersen’s detective, Richard Chance, truly unlovable; you root for his cause but you do not connect with him personally. Obsessed only with his mission, he is reminiscent of another of director William Friedkin’s protagonists: The French Connection’s similarly overzealous detective Jimmy ‘Popeye’ Doyle. But where Gene Hackman played Popeye with enough vitality and boyish charm to allow him to grow on you, Petersen goes for blunt ruggedness, especially in a sex scene with his informant, which has more to do with power and entitlement than it does with passion or lust. As for Stockwell, he looks as virginal as an altar boy, which contrasts with the crass world he inhabits.

Rereading the above paragraphs, I realize that I have made quite a few references to male genitalia. Though this was mostly unconscious, it would be dishonest to claim that this film is not full to bursting with testosterone. Men crash into other men in cars and have figurative cockfights in steamy gym locker rooms. As for the three main female characters, I don’t think we ever see them with their clothes on. This may scream “toxic masculinity”, but it is kind of the point. The film is certainly not inviting viewers to aspire to resemble the characters.

In any case, as the title suggests, the true protagonist is the city of L.A., whose seedy underbelly lays sprawled out in a serpentine web of streets and back alleys, with the freeway looming in the background. A car chase set on the interchange is one of the most gripping, well-executed scenes in the film, giving The French Connection’s car versus overground train race a run for its money.

For sure, there are deeper, more complex, more theatrical police movies out there. But I dare you to find one with a more uncompromising commitment to depicting the flimsiness of ethical codes both in the police world and the underworld. Despite a shared topic with Martin Scorsese’s Oscar-winning epic, The Departed, it is its polar opposite. The Departed passes for a gritty tale of corruption and immorality, but To Live and Die is just that. Where the former is too slick and showy to really play down and dirty, the latter throws away the CGI rats and shovels muck by the cartload. It leaves notions of poetic justice at the door. By movie’s end, the difference between the characters on both sides of the law is not how much self-righteousness their profession allows, but more primarily, whether they lived or died. The title says it all.

Directed by William Friedkin
Starring William L. Petersen, Willem Dafoe, Dean Stockwell

It used to be that episode-length battles happened no more than once every season on Game of Thrones, allowing for a genuine buildup which culminated in a burst of cathartic violence. But the decision to truncate season eight beyond reason has brought the show’s two biggest battles – aptly coined “the great war” and “the last war” by Daenerys – problematically close together. The Last of the Starks has the misfortune of being caught in the middle, which lays upon it the responsibility of both sorting out the aftermath of the previous conflict while also moving characters, both geographically and emotionally, in position for the coming one. The first half does an adequate, if not truly compelling, job of the former. It is in its second half that the episode falters, forcing events and character decisions in a misguided effort to “make things happen”. Plausibility and logic were first to jump ship, closely followed by my hopes that Thrones might salvage a disappointing half-season and return to its former glory.

Even hardcore fans have derided the infamous jumps which allow characters to fast-travel from one end of the map to another in no time. The Last of the Starks features jumps of an arguably worse nature: it is the characters’ motivations and reactions which make unexplained leaps in an attempt to force the plot forward. Season 8’s paradox is that it is both too short to allow for a proper build-up and reach the expected momentum, even as the writers seem at a loss when it comes to giving most characters something to do. This was never more apparent than with Jaime and Brienne, whose arc went from post-battle lust and tenderness to heartbreak faster than it took for Euron Greyjoy’s fleet to mysteriously teleport across Westeros and back. We can debate endlessly about whether it makes sense for their relationship – which has always been based on mutual respect and yes, some form of love, albeit of a rather chaste nature – to suddenly take a romantic and physical turn. In truth, it was too short-lived for this question to even matter. A sorer spot is how it ended, with Jaime appearing to suddenly figure out his fate is still irremediably linked to Cersei’s and leaving for King’s Landing. “She’s hateful and so am I”, he told a tearful Brienne by way of an explanation. This speech might have worked in another context, but it sounded almost exactly like what he told Edmure Tully at the siege of Riverrun, back in season 6. Let me refresh your memory: having been sent by Cersei to reclaim Riverrun from the Tullys, Jaime blackmailed his hostage Edmure (Catelyn’s brother) into opening the gates by threatening to kill his infant child, warning that he would balk at nothing to get back to Cersei. In that case, the claim worked because it already sounded like an unconvinced man trying to persuade himself as much as his enemy. In the present episode, it is unconvincing precisely because of Jaime’s progression since then. Of course, it might be a way of disguising the true outcome of his return to the capital, as fans have long predicted an inevitable showdown between the Lannister twins. But even if Jaime stands up to Cersei in the end – which would bookend his history of betraying sovereigns who put their people at risk – his decision to go back felt forced and nonsensical. If Thrones’ only remaining idea for surprising viewers is to appear like it is failing its characters only to reveal it is not, surely this is bad writing in and of itself.

Evidence abounds that the writers are indeed resorting to manipulation for lack of more inspired plot devices. Think of how quickly Bronn’s confrontation – or rather, non-confrontation – with the Lannister brothers unfolded, and how little was gained from it. An unsolved mystery since episode 1 was whether the sellsword would make true on his promise to try to murder the queen’s brothers. In the end, Bronn neither followed Cersei’s demand nor did he let his targets escape before bargaining for a bigger reward than Cersei offered. This feels like a conveniently noncommittal answer to a question the showrunners had raised only three episodes before. Now, you may say Bronn’s actions were typical of a character who has never let allegiances or enmities get in the way of personal gain, but then what did this whole storyline tell us that had not already been demonstrated time and again about him? What was the point of devoting precious minutes of an overcrowded season to reminding us that he is good at looking out for himself? Remember when Bronn mounted a ballista during the loot train attack last season, and shot Drogon down from the sky, then saved Jaime by pushing him into a lake? If he had died there and then, in a blaze of glory and dragon fire, would that not have been a more memorable end for this character than to keep him around for another season doing nothing?

This illustrates another issue with a show which for two seasons now has been uncharacteristically reluctant to kill off supporting characters, ending up with more on its hands than it knows what to do with. And when inspiration runs out, they end up as sacrificial lambs, for instance having their head chopped off atop the King’s Landing walls.

Missandei’s execution seemed designed to evoke Ned‘s in season 1, one of Thrones’ defining moments. And yet, when one compares the two, it is evident why one works and the other does not. Ned’s death was shocking, yes, but it did not feel gratuitous as it resulted from his decisions throughout the season. In contrast, Missandei‘s capture and subsequent demise all happened in the blink of an eye, with no better explanation than the need to make Daenerys very angry, unite viewers against Cersei, and give Grey Worm something to fight for. If The Long Night was Thrones channeling its inner Peter Jackson, this was it trying to add Shonda Rhimes to the mix. As for the circumstances in which Missandei was snatched up by Euron Greyjoy in the first place, they were repetitive after his similar surprise attack last season. Without the element of novelty this time around, the Iron Islander has become an overplayed trump card to even the military odds. It is hardly worth dwelling on the many logistical absurdities of the scene: How did Daenerys not see a giant fleet from her vantage point? How did Euron know Missandei was such a valuable hostage? Was Tyrion knocked unconscious by a boat mast just so the writers could conveniently skip ahead of what they knew was a poorly conceived action sequence?

Truly, the inconsistencies are too numerous to count, from Jon’s excessive coldness towards longtime companion Ghost – as if finally acknowledging the show’s failure to mine the direwolves’ storytelling potential – to Daenerys’ treatment. While some have been quick to start calling her the Mad Queen as she resolved to rain fire on King’s Landing, it is clear that we are still meant to empathise with her. Observe the way Missandei’s death was largely framed in terms of Dany’s reactions, inviting us to share her grief and anger in the episode’s final moments. And yet, time and again, she is failed by the writers who are unsure how far they can go in making her an antihero without undermining the fact that she still has a major role to play in the conflict against the more evil Cersei, and the final resolution.

Why has Game of Thrones‘ writing become so below par? After all, showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss, who penned The Last of the Starks, have also written the majority of episodes on the show. It might suffice to say that they were always better at adapting George R. R. Martin’s works than coming up with their own twists and arcs, if it were not for season 6, one of the show’s best, which largely followed their original ideas. They had seemingly figured out their style and pace away from Martin’s words, making their recent struggles all the more frustrating. Now is not the time to leave behind strong character work in favour of gratuitous decapitations and hope viewers will not be able to tell the difference.

As the sound from the action is muted, a few piano notes break the silence, courtesy of Game of Thrones’ ever-reliable composer Ramin Djawadi. The montage takes us from one location to another across the castle and city, as Djawadi’s piano intensifies. Several characters are stabbed, and more will die before the music ends. As the scene reaches its climax, billows of smoke rise above the carnage of the battlefield. It is a testimony to the careful elaboration of the series’ overall structure, down to its most minute details, that these words could just as easily describe the ending of The Long Night, the third episode of GoT’s sixth season, as the nerve-wracking beginning of its season 6 finale, The Winds of Winter. And yet there is one key difference between the two scenes: while the former builds up to a happy resolution in which The Night King – GoT’s unapologetically one-note embodiment of evil – is defeated, the latter sees the revenge of Cersei – one of its most nuanced villains – and leaves a bittersweet aftertaste by claiming the lives of essential characters like Margaery Tyrell.

The Winds of Winter left viewers shaken to the bone, as surely as The Rains of Castamere had three seasons before. It was also, by design, the last episode of its kind. Just as it delivered a final punch to the gut in the form of a weaponized Sept of Baelor bursting into green flames, it paved a much more Manichean way forward. As antagonists and supporting protagonists alike fell victim to Cersei’s trickeries, the line between the former and latter was drawn more clearly than ever before, with characters falling more or less squarely on one side of the aisle or the other. In the same episode, Daenerys set sail for Westeros with her army of former slaves and underdogs, while Cersei stood triumphant with a reanimated killing machine and a shady wizard as her main allies. Although season 7 initially seemed to hold the potential for new internecine conflicts, these were swiftly set aside in favor of a continuation of what The Winds of Winter had started. By the end, the remaining discords had been swept under the rug, as Littlefinger was summarily executed, Jaime deserted Cersei, and Jon and Daenerys jumped into bed together.

The end of season 6 essentially gave us the cards needed to predict the show’s current alignment, two seasons later. This is the longest GoT has ever gone without making any drastic changes to its proverbial game. Season 1 masqueraded as Ned Starks’s story until his head was chopped off to make room for one of the best ensemble casts since The Wire. Season 3 ended the more above ground side of the Lannister-Stark conflict in favor of the Lannisters, while season 4 dealt them an equally paralyzing blow. In contrast, seasons 7 and, so far, 8, have dealt in squabbles, but have not changed the overall direction which first emerged two years ago.

The great battle at Winterfell was the biggest event with the biggest potential to shake things up, which made it a litmus test for the rest of the season and finale. That it amounted to an ultimately predictable outcome is the latest indication that the showrunners have no intention of altering the recent formula. For all the suspense which led to Arya (and not Jon as fans largely expected) stabbing The Night King, the battle unfolded in a linear and straightforward way uncustomary of GoT’s original incarnation, but in keeping with the most recent run of episodes. Which is different than to say it was dull or visually unimaginative. One of the most lauded, and rightly so, heroic fantasy franchises of this century, The Lord of the Rings, abundantly relied on well-timed deus ex machinas and very predictable twists which still worked because of how much we cared about the characters and how stunning the action was. But GoT in its first few seasons was as uninterested in walking in The Lord of the Rings’ footsteps as it was in giving viewers what they thought they wanted.

Directed by Miguel Sapochnik (who paradoxically also oversaw The Winds of Winter), The Long Night was the longest, messiest and – to viewers’ occasional dismay – darkest episode in the series. It is no euphemism to also call it GoT’s most widely anticipated outing so far, as the record-breaking audience ratings show. And yet for all its superlatives, it neither rivals with season 2’s Blackwater battle in terms of individual character arcs, nor with The Battle of the Bastards – also helmed by Sapochnik – for the perfect fluidity and clarity of its directing. Most importantly, it drops the ball on one essential front: credibility. It tries to build suspense around the outcome of the battle and key characters’ fate, yet always tips its hand, allowing attentive viewers to call its bluff. There is no denying the power of Arya’s heroic lunge as she killed the Night King just as he was about to murder Bran, but the scene lost some of its power by coming after a series of similarly close shaves: Daenerys saving Jon, Jorah saving Daenerys, while Beric rescued Arya, Dolorous Edd saved Samwell, and so on. Some characters’ plot armor became an established fact, which was confirmed by the many instances in which Jaime, Tormund, Samwell, Brienne and Jon found themselves drowning in a sea of wights, yet never appeared in actual danger. And while some characters did die, their demise felt almost too convenient. Beric was living on borrowed time, as was Melisandre, their only purpose being to sacrifice themselves to help defeat the dead. Theon was a goner from the moment he took it upon himself to guard Bran: not only was a face-off between the Three-Eyed Raven and Night King inevitable, but it made most sense for the Greyjoy lord to complete his redemption by dying to defend the boy he had once betrayed. It was as logical, thematically, as Jorah laying down his life to save his Khaleesi. As for Dolorous Edd and young Lyanna Mormont, they were fodder for the Army of the Dead.

That is not to say that GoT should kill off main characters for the sake of shocking viewers. The show would not be better off had the Night King taken a firmer grasp around Arya’s throat, then turned around to finish Bran off. But if you are going overboard to heighten expectations for a show already ripe with them, you had better deliver something on an unprecedented scale, narratively as well as visually. Actress Emilia Clarke, who plays Daenerys, has promised the battle against Cersei’s forces will be “even bigger” than The Long Night. By the show’s own new standards, this above all promises a technical upscaling: a bigger scope, more fast-paced action and visual effects, more casualties… For better or worse GoT has never been bigger, even as it reneges on what made its former appeal. As surely as the living triumphed over the dead, light followed darkness, and ‘the long night’ traded in its capital letters for lowercase ones, the course is set. And it is unlikely to change before the end.

What does our history mean to us? That is the question asked by A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, the excellent second episode of Game of Thrones’ eighth and final season. On the eve of the biggest battle in television history, it felt appropriate for this exceptionally bloodless hour to be spent in quiet appreciation of the journey so far.

A Knight was written by Bryan Cogman, a Thrones veteran who penned two of my favorite episodes: season 6’s The Laws of Gods and Men, otherwise known as Tyrion’s trial, and season 3’s Kissed by Fire. The latter brought the same level of intimacy and depth which was missing from the season premier and which A Knight fortunately restores in the nick of time. No matter whose death awaits, it will be felt a lot more strongly now that we got a proper goodbye. The fact that Cogman was able to do this for so many characters in an hour is no small feat.

Let us start with the proverbial knight. Largely absent from last week’s episode, Brienne was brought to the fore this time, with a huge emotional payback. It was in Kissed by Fire that she and Jaime became one of the show’s most compelling duos, when the Kingslayer confessed to her how he came to earn that title. It is therefore adequate that Cogman should be the one helming their reunion, as she vouches for him to Sansa and Daenerys and he returns the favor by knighting her. Actress Gwendoline Christie perfectly expressed the “big woman’s” emotional trajectory, from lighthearted dismissal to solemn acceptance. Director David Nutter (another of the show’s veterans) brilliantly captured the moment, making it a true ensemble scene and eliciting great reactions from Podrick, Tyrion, and especially Tormund.

Speaking of which… Besides comic relief, Tormund serves an important function on the show: as an outsider, he is often bemused by the rules of the Seven Kingdoms, serving to underline the absurdity at the heart of every tradition. “Fuck tradition”, he exclaimed upon hearing that women cannot become knights. And yet all it took was the look on Brienne’s face as she rose, “a knight of the seven kingdoms”, and the tears in her eyes, to make the opposite case. Tradition certainly matters to Brienne, who always aspired to knighthood but might never have attained that honor were the world not about to end. Tradition matters as long as it lends itself to updates and reinterpretations.

That point was driven home when Samwell handed his family sword over to Jorah Mormont. In a touching scene which echoed Jon Snow’s attempt to return Jorah’s own family sword to him last season, another heirloom found a new owner. While these swords matter to the sons who inherit them, gifting them to someone more suited charges them with new meanings. Old traditions beget new ones.

In last week’s review, I deplored Winterfell’s failure to raise the stakes at such a crucial moment. A Knight doubly answers my query: first by making us care about the endangered protagonists once more, and secondly by reminding us that with these characters, it is their histories and traditions which might vanish into the Long Night. 

 

Some thoughts and comments:

• I am curious to see how the Jon vs. Daenerys situation will be resolved. A few possibilities: 1) One of them dies in the next episode, or before the end. 2) One of them cedes the throne to the other. Daenerys made the point that Jon is the last “male” heir of the Targaryen house, implying that she does not mean to start following patriarchal rules she has made her MO of setting on fire. Jon has bent the knee before but has also refused to take the easy way out at great inconvenience to himself when duty called. If the show chooses this path, it will take skillful writing to sell me on whatever agreement they come to. 3) As suggested by the Three Wise Men (as Tyrion, Davos and Varys shall henceforth be known), a Jon-Daenerys union and co-rule would solve many issues including this one. But how to avoid making it feel like a sellout? This episode made a point of upping the tension and hinting at possible conflict between the two Targaryens. If this turns into a Sansa-versus-Arya-by-way-of-Littlefinger-type situation, where tensions are just used as filler until everything is well again, millions of viewers might feel cheated. 4) This leaves open the possibility of actual conflict. As much fun as it has been watching the show’s protagonists come together of late, it sometimes feels like grievances are too conveniently set aside for the show to have all its good eggs in one basket. It would take a real 180° for the showrunners to bring back the old formula, where no character was all black or white, and viewers bit their nails as two of their favorites faced off against each other (The Hound and Brienne’s fight being a prime example). Open conflict, or at least a Cold War between Jon and Daenerys, might be fun to watch, in a similarly heart-wrenching way. This may be wishful thinking since so much can still happen with four remaining episodes. No matter the outcome, the writers must outdo themselves if they are to resolve this conflict in a satisfying way.
• Cogman has consistently given powerful scenes to Grey Worm, Daenerys’ Unsullied commander whom he introduced in Kissed by Fire. These include the warrior-eunuch’s first (and to date, only) sex scene with Missandei, in last season’s Stormborn. It was a brilliant sequence which broke the taboo surrounding the couple’s sexual prospects and silenced naysayers and memers by showing how they were able to circumvent his infirmity. In this episode, Grey Worm evoked his future with Missandei, promising to take her back to her homeplace and keep her safe. While a Thrones couple talking of growing old together is almost always a warning that tragedy is about to strike (think Shae and Tyrion, Ygritte and Jon…), it would be a sweet counterpoint if these two could live to see their dream of spring come to fruition.

• After cheering Arya on as she killed her way through seven seasons, I was surprised that seeing her lose her virginity onscreen was where many people chose to draw the line. The scene itself was done tastefully: in no way was it demeaning for Maisie Williams or her character.

 

Game of Thrones is a show I would probably watch even if it turned into a mushy soap opera with dragons. That is fortunate because the season eight premiere had plenty of mush, and even a slight soap opera vibe. There were character reunions aplenty, and even a scene of Jon Snow riding a dragon for the first time, which made me think of Avatar. Not promising comparisons for a show which once prided itself on complex character work.

To be fair, there was still much to cherish in last week’s episode, Winterfell. I liked the new opening credits sequence, although the fact that it went inside locations and suggested a focus on character-driven intimacy rather than across-the-board scheming was offset by the writers’ inability to make those character moments feel genuine.

I loved John Bradley’s turn as Samwell Tarly, to whom Daenerys was introduced and in the same breath revealed that she executed his family for refusing to bend the knee. The look on Bradley’s face was a fine composition: hurt, anger, confusion, and the knowledge that unless he reined them in long enough to leave the room, he might say or do something regrettable.

I enjoyed watching the Lannisters come to terms with the consequences of their life choices. Why did Cersei agree to sleep with Euron Greyjoy? Was it because she knew she had to give him something lest he take his supreme arrogance elsewhere? Or because, while she would rather die than question the path she has chosen, she can’t help but a feel a bit lonely now that she is without children or siblings? And what was Jaime thinking as he saw Bran, wheelchair-bound, in the Winterfell yard? The Kingslayer has come a long way from the would-be child murderer he once was, yet this felt like a bit of forced reckoning, his past sins staring him in the face.

And speaking of Bran, I love how they used him here. In an episode heavy with reunions and exchanges of niceties, Bran cut through the pomp like Valyrian steel. Now that he is hardly a character anymore, and more of an omniscient being emotionally remote from human life and yet entirely set on preserving said life, Bran has acquired a gravitas he never possessed before.

There is also tragedy in remembering the child he once was, and never will be again, a point driven home by the excellent opening scene: a neighbourhood kid climbing for a bird’s eye view of Daenerys and Jon’s royal entrance. The throwback to the show’s pilot was obvious yet moving. Arya looked at the kid with amusement and nostalgia, a reminder that she and her remaining siblings, each in their own way, had had to kill their inner child to survive.

If there is a theme the episode’s writer Dave Hill wants us to take away, I think it is that of human history, and life, as a cycle. The series began with one set of players – Robert Baratheon, Ned and Catelyn Stark… – while their children were no more than spectators of, and pawns in, the game their parents played (Think of all the watching Bran did in the pilot: first King Robert’s army, then the incestuous affair which ended his childhood in more ways than one). Seven seasons in, Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell, Jon is twice retired, and Arya can lay claim to Jaime’s old title of finest blade in Westeros. And while all three, in a way, have come into the situation they once envisioned for themselves, getting there required enormous sacrifices, and the view from the top is lonelier than they could possibly have imagined.

That is why Hill’s writing didn’t come through for me, making Winterfell an underwhelming season premiere. Everything from the title to the focus on time capsules (the heart tree, Ned’s statue in the crypt and Arya’s Needle) indicated that the show had come full circle while beckoning us to appreciate how much had changed since season one. Winterfell was the first castle to become familiar to viewers, our gateway into the show, before taking a turn for the worse at the hands of Theon then the Boltons, only to be reclaimed by a new generation of Starks. And yet, in lieu of feeling lived-in, the dialogue seemed stiff and hollow, a fan-level approximation of how these characters might speak. The facts were there, yes – Sansa and Tyrion called each other survivors, The Hound reminded Arya that she once left him to die – but nothing new was learned about these characters and the ways they relate to each other.

Controversial statement: I think the show would have been better off by skipping ahead of all the big reunions altogether, and delving straight into the new, tense status quo. Jon Snow, well into his relationship with Daenerys, would have had a whole episode to ponder the implications of his lineage, while the fallout from his giving up the Northern crown could have been given more space. We would have missed out on all the hugging (a truly staggering, unprecedented amount of it) but could have used the spare time to remember why we care whether these characters live or die. Instead, we are left with the feeling that the show is just binding its time until the dead come knocking. And for all the build-up that has gone into teasing the final battle against the White Walkers, they’ll never be as interesting as their flesh-and-bone counterparts. By failing those, the writers cannot hope to raise the stakes the grand finale needs to stick its landing. Dragon pun intended.

The Oscars are nigh, a matter of minutes to be precise. Tonight I am finally caught up on all acting nominees, having watched If Beale Street Could Talk at long last. My student budget, greatly tested by this exponential increase in moviegoing, can breathe a sigh of relief. What follows are my personal picks for all four acting categories: who will (probably) win? Who should win? Which worthy actors didn’t make the cut? And who should not have made it? Let the controversy begin!

Best Actress
Nominated: Yalitza Aparicio (Roma), Glenn Close (The Wife), Olivia Colman (The Favourite), Lady Gaga (A Star is Born), Melissa McCarthy (Can You Ever Forgive Me?). 

Will win: Glenn Close, The Wife, and deservedly so, for reminding us in her quietest scenes that great acting is first and foremost RE-acting.

Deserves to win: This is an exceptionally strong category, with hardly a false note anywhere, so I’ll leave it at: “they all do”. I like a dark horse though, so I’d give it to Melissa McCarthy for Can You Ever Forgive Me?, easily the most underrated of the lot. She carries a world of weariness, frustration and sheer sadness in her eyes and the way she stands and walks.

Should have been nominated: Rachel Weisz, The Favourite. Yorgos Lanthimos talked of the draconian choice he had to make when asked to pick which of his three co-leads should be nominated here. Olivia Colman deserves the spot, but Weisz is the film’s beating heart, ensuring that despite all the cynicism and mischief, there is enough humanity to root for.

Best Actor
Nominated: Christian Bale (Vice), Bradley Cooper (A Star is Born), Willem Dafoe (At Eternity’s Gate), Rami Malek (Bohemian Rhapsody), Viggo Mortensen (Green Book). 

Will win: Rami Malek, Bohemian Rhapsody.

Deserves to win: Bradley Cooper, A Star is Born. Not by much. But in a category where all the other nominees played real-life people, Cooper’s turn as fictitious alcoholic musician Jackson Maine was somehow the one which FELT the most real. His is the most brilliantly understated work here.

Should have been nominated: Ethan Hawke, First Reformed.

Doesn’t belong here: Viggo Mortensen, whose act as an Italian American working class everyman, pleasant though it was, felt precisely like that: an act.

Best Supporting Actress
Nominated: Amy Adams (Vice), Marina de Tavira (Roma), Regina King (If Beale Street Could Talk), Emma Stone (The Favourite), Rachel Weisz (The Favourite). 

Will win: Regina King, If Beale Street Could Talk.

Deserves to win: I mentioned Rachel Weisz earlier, but King will be just as valid a choice. In a handful of scenes, with often less to say than her costars, she makes every ounce of pain, joy or despair hit its mark and feel earned.

Should have been nominated: Sissi Spacek, The Old Man and the Gun. I could forever watch her and Robert Redford make small talk on a porch while watching the sun set.

Doesn’t belong here: Although I’m glad we got to see a new side of Emma Stone in The Favourite, the movie’s title implies that only the best can prevail, and this leaves Weisz on top for me, and Stone out.

Best Supporting Actor
Nominated: Mahershala Ali (Green Book), Adam Driver (BlacKkKlansman), Sam Elliott (A Star is Born), Richard E. Grant (Can You Ever Forgive Me?), Sam Rockwell (Vice). 

Will win: Mahershala Ali, Green Book.

Doesn’t belong here: Sam Rockwell does a great George W. Bush parody in Vice. He knows he’s doing a parody, because that is what the film calls for. The Academy, apparently, didn’t get the memo.

Deserves to win: any of the other three. Sam Elliott because he is so intense in A Star is Born that he even seems to act with his mustache. Adam Driver in BlacKkKlansman because he has enough magnetism to steal the movie without seeming to try hard. Richard E. Grant in Can You Ever Forgive Me? because by updating his cult 1987 Withnail persona, he redefined the concept of the splendid loser.

Should have been nominated: Steven Yeun, Burning. Who thought Glenn from The Walking Dead could pack so much mysterious charm and slick menace, like a Gatsby-Mephistopheles? Burning is a phenomenal step forward in the 35-year old’s career, and I’ll be watching closely.

Director: John Carney
Writer: John Carney
Stars: Keira Knightley, Mark Ruffalo, Adam Levine

Synopsis: A chance encounter between a disgraced music-business executive and a young singer-songwriter, new to Manhattan, turns into a promising collaboration between the two talents.

 

Melissa’s thoughts:

This is an enchantingly beautiful and vulnerable movie. It’s imperfect and definitely starts slow and leaves you uneasy with how weirdly naturalistic some of the conversations are. The pace isn’t gratifying, so it’s far from the La La Land magique but Keira Knightley does a brilliant job of playing such a nuanced character, who seems meek and docile but is actually remarkably self-aware and strong-willed. I love the childlike enthusiasm for music and the complete lack of pretentiousness towards all the pop guilty pleasures. It’s just beautiful and this headphone-splitter scene just did something for me – it reminded me of just how much music can transport you and light up an entire city. My university years were littered with music, as I traversed around the city to soundtracks that represented my friendships and new experiences. I am so pleasantly surprised by how much I liked this movie. It completely dismantled my weariness towards the weird casting and my stubborn attachment towards the actors’ type casts – by the end, I felt these characters were my own friends. Brilliant movie. So subtle, yet so nostalgic. Pure magic.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTRCxOE7Xzc

Headphone-splitter scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBbmdY6nXfw

Rating: 7/10