Skip to main content

Oscar Nominations

 I'm always irritated by the small-mindedness of the Oscars; a "narrative" sets in, and movies with substantial flaws become "films of the year." (In the current crop, at least one film, "Barbie," is simply a mess.)


No one expected "You Hurt My Feelings" to earn Oscar nominations this year, although it's a work of art. To omit Tobias Menzies (in favor of Sterling K. Brown?) seems especially silly.

Another heartbreaker: The absence of "Are You There, God, It's Me, Margaret." This is (largely) the story of a mom who moves from NYC to New Jersey. (Her husband has a new job.) The mom, Barbara, is an artist, but she drifts from her work to become involved in the PTA. Specifically, the PTA needs literally one thousand small glow-in-the-dark stars, cut from cloth, to be affixed to the ceiling of the gym. Barbara finds herself doing the cutting (and perhaps contemplating suicide). 

Barbara does not share her parents' Christian zeal--and the disagreement about faith has led to a rupture in the family. This seems tolerable--and yet the arrival of a little girl, Margaret, helps to open old wounds. Barbara watches Margaret on her various quests--and she struggles to determine when she should intervene, and when she should bite her tongue. ("Do I insist that my daughter wear socks with those shoes?")

Rachel McAdams has been giving well-judged, graceful film performances for twenty years--and "Margaret" is, again, a funny, moving McAdams showcase. She deserves awards. This is a hill I'm ready to die on.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...