Billy Crystal
Some Thoughts on the 2012 Oscars
Something that any movie buff will have to come to terms with eventually and probably never will is that the Oscars will never be able to satisfy everyone. Partly because it’s natural to be unable to please legions of cinephiles, and partly because we have old, white, not-even-Oscar winning voters making the decisions here. It’s like a more dramatic, though less important version of the electoral colleges.
Nevertheless, they are the night for me. I don’t watch sports, but this is essentially my Super Bowl or World Cup or whatever. Granted, though, after having watched and read so much Woody Allen, always a no-show at the Oscars, I’m starting to kind of hate them. Same reasons: “Why award one thing over the other and call it the ‘best’?” I think there should be some sort of large panel for each category, and each memeber of each panel lists off their favorites, and then they send out certificates for those of whom that were listed. Yay, win win for everyone!
I spent my pre-Oscar weeks prepping by finally watching The Tree of Life and then watching Midnight in Paris another dozen times. I had planned to watch Moneyball the a couple days before with my friend, who understands baseball jargon much better than I do, but we got caught up in watching Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog and Drive, just before people arrived for my party. (And then we watched Pulp Fiction and it was the best day ever.) The following day, Oscar Night, I ended up going to a friend’s house to watch the ceremony. It has, I suppose, become somewhat of a tradition. Cory June Vigants, one of my best friends, has an Oscar party at her house every year (now), or at least her parents do. I met her in my freshman year of high school, and her parents are unbelievably kind to me and invited me last year as well.
By the time the red carpet was on, I had my laptop open, my iPod by my side, and I was ready to live blog the night away. Granted, though, I did not live blog anything about the Red Carpet. I’m a strictly ceremony guy. And come 8:30, I was as ready as I ever would be. So, here are my thoughts on Sunday’s Oscar telecast:
- I’ve never actually been a huge fan of Billy Crystal. He was great in the TV sitcom Soap and I love Nora Ephron’s/Rob Reiner’s When Harry Met Sally…, but I’ve never loved him that much. Therefore, I didn’t have high hopes for him anyways. Regardless if he’s hosted the telecast nine times, he just seemed too corny for my taste. Granted, I’m probably the only person who kind of enjoyed James Franco and Anne Hathaway floundering at last year’s ceremony, but so be it. It has nothing to do with me being younger; I just don’t care for Crystal’s brand of comedy.
- The beginning montage. Didn’t see that one coming.
- Billy Crystal singing. Didn’t see that one coming.
- The only presenters I enjoyed were Emma Stone and Ben Stiller (for Emma Stone), Robert Downey Jr. and Gwyneth Paltrow (for Robert Downey Jr.), Tina Fey and Bradley Cooper (for Tina Fey), Chris Rock, and Angelina Jolie and her leg (for her leg).
- I’m glad Sasha Baron Cohen thinks he’s funny. It must be lonely at the top.
- The Cirque du Soleil thing was cool. I guess.
- I was most impressed with the way the Original Song nominees were presented. Nice animation.
- My favorite part of the night: Scorsese shots!
- The In Memoriam was very tasteful this year. That, like, never happens.
And now some bitter comments about the winners, things you’ve probably already heard and are already tired of:
- So, The Tree of Life lost Cinematography. Everyone can go to hell now.
- Hugo was basically this year’s Avatar.
- And, boom, Drive loses its only nomination. Thinks to self, “Okay, why am I still watching?”
- Christopher Plummer’s speech was cute.
- When The Artist took Original Score, I thought I could hear Kim Novak screaming.
- The highlight of my night was Woody Allen winning Original Screenplay for Midnight in Paris, basically the only think I was happy about.
- Meryl Streep wins her third Oscar after three decades. As happy as I am for her, I’m just surprised that it was for this movie.
- I guess I need to see The Artist now.
- Honestly speaking, I wasn’t wowed by the Best Pic nominees this year in general. As much as I love Midnight in Paris, I don’t think it deserved Best Picture. Out of all nine, I would have said Tree of Life, The Artist, or (I guess) Hugo. Would have liked something like Drive, Melancholia, or Shame to be in there. They were very safe picks this year.
All said and done, I found the ceremony kind of boring, the winners pretty predictable. I managed to get 18 out of 24 correct. Hopefully next year’s ceremony will be a bit more interesting and especially funnier.
Seems Like Old Times: “Annie Hall” and “When Harry Met Sally…”
Picture it: two adults, male and female, walking around in a book store discussing the importance of death and misery in life. They seem like smart, well-adjusted people. Now picture this: two adults, again male and female, driving from Chicago to New York and discussing whether men and women can just be friends. These two mildly philosophical conversations come from two very different films, despite the former often being cited as inspiration for the latter. The two films in question are Woody Allen’s Annie Hall and Rob Reiner’s When Harry Met Sally…, two films that both take place in New York and both explore the nuances within relationships.
As often as When Harry Met Sally is said to be a rather obvious homage to Woody Allen’s “first mature film”, and to some extent Annie Hall’s companion Manhattan, the two films seem too different to really be considered similar at all.
Annie Hall’s anxiety ridden relationship between comedian Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) and the tennis playing/amateur photographer/night club singer Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) is far more realistic in the way it explores the trials and tribulations of dealing with an adult relationship. Allen seems to make it obvious that as good as Singer and Hall are together, they aren’t meant for each other. They’re both pretty emotionally stunted as people, neither of them having fully matured, as adults sometimes do (or don’t). It is an adult relationship, one that’s seen in a very non-linear fashion. Instead of seeing the direct development of the relationship, we get thrown into the middle of it, almost as if Allen expects us to know who these people are. This could be very risky, but instead it pays off. While we may not be as terribly cynical or anxious as the pair are, Alvy Singer and Annie Hall are us. It’s the kind of relationship any adult can identify with. Those same kinds of fights and arguments and wishes for perfection have all been brought up and dealt with, and Allen brings up these topics with knowledge and insight.
When Harry Met Sally…, which was written by Nora Ephron, portrays a different kind of relationship. We have the development
from stranger to friend to best friends to lovers to strangers to people in love. It’s kind of a long cycle, and it remains relatively realistic…except when you get to the sex. Harry Burns (Billy Crystal) isn’t as anxious as Singer, but he seems just as deadpan and pessimistic (just consider his thoughts on death), and Sally Albright (Meg Ryan) is a different kind of high maintenance compared to Hall. Harry and Sally continually meet by chance and then, after several years, become best friends. Up to here, the relationship resembles many a male-female friendship you see. But when the tow have sex and they stop talking, it’s here that the relationship turns into the stuff of fiction. Yes, the sex and the following cold should is fine, but getting back together is not. While it’s an intricate and romantic portrait of a friendship, the ensuing relationship is not as realistically portrayed as in Annie Hall.
It can be summed up pretty easily: the intellectual, cynical, snobby, pessimistic, embittered singleton in me loves Annie Hall. But the hopeless romantic, the one who loves everything sweet and sappy, adores When Harry Met Sally just as much. But the two films are too different two really compare to one another. Their formats, their view of love, and their general aesthetic. While When Harry Met Sally is punctuated by pretty scenes in Central Park, Annie Hall’s nicest moments, with cinematographer Gordon Willis, are intermittent, sometimes so spontaneously pretty and quick that you barely notice. The format of the films are different. Even though Annie Hall is told in a somewhat autobiographical way with Allen often breaking the fourth wall, When Harry Met Sally is told through various time intervals with intermittent interviews with older couples and their life stories. If anything, aside from its New York setting, the most blatant homage and only real similarity between the two films is the opening titles. Plain white font against a black background.
Both films most definitely have their merits. Annie Hall is more overtly cerebal and sarcastic in its humor, as Woody Allen’s humor tends to be. When Harry Met Sally however is more along the lines of the witty banter that seems to be a contemporary update of the back and forth lines that filled the films of Howard Hawks. Both, however, are excellent films, extremely funny, and utterly romantic. It had to be both of them.
Annie Hall: A
When Harry Met Sally: A
I Like Things That Look Like Mistakes 