Mini-Review: Film Socialisme

Introduction

This is a post that is a repurposing of an old-school Mini-Review Round-Up post. As stated here I am essentially done with running multi-film review posts. Each film deserves its own review. Therefore I will repost, and at times add to, old reviews periodically. Enjoy!

Film Socialisme

It would be far too facile for me to sit here and offer you some kind of borderline sophism for or against Godard’s Film Socialisme. What the film seems to be is a tangential expounding of some concepts set forth in In Praise of Love with fewer constraints imposed by anything resembling a traditional plot. Perhaps what is most bothersome about the film, that I can quantify definitively as bothersome, is that the purposeful introduction of technical gaffes such as distorted audio, pseudo-poetic fragmented subtitles, pixelated video, in essence clouds an already opaque concept. However, the opacity is not the frustration but rather the willful misdirection.

Godard clearly has something (many things) he wants to say with the film and because I know some French and I was aware I’d need to pick up pieces as I went I got some of it, however, the method of telling was always likely to be indirect, therefore, his not-so-subliminal commentary on modern filmmaking technology muddles much more important sociological, historical and political points he’s making. What the film struck me as was a free form essay wherein the printer didn’t get everything on the page. However, maybe it’s due to these very frustrations that one might go back to it. To be certain I wouldn’t have mulled the film over as much if it were not for these obstacles. Non-traditional structure and technique are certainly not that new, neither are the ideas put forth but the way they’re put forth are a bit unique. While imperfect maybe they were most apropos.

After viewing the film it was next to impossible to score it. Prior to writing this I was prepared to give it a failing grade, however, it is its very lack of convention combined with its lack of a traditional storyline that makes it more compelling and more worthy of revisiting than the aforementioned In Praise of Love.

6/10

Advertisements

Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained: How Good it is to Kill Fascists, Racists and Slave Owners!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

What we have here is a most unique and historic occasion! This is not only the first guest post ever on this blog, but it is also a bi-lingual post. My cousin Rodrigo Guéron on Facebook posted a brilliant essay about Django Unchained . I thought it was great and asked him if he’d mind my translating it. So below you will find not only my translation of the text, but also beneath it, for those of you who speak Portuguese and would prefer the original text, I have included that as well. Enjoy!

Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained: How Good it is to Kill Fascists, Racists and Slave Owners!

Rodrigo Guéron

Philosopher. Adjunct professor Art Institute of UERJ (Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro). Author of the book From the Image to the Cliche, from the Cliche to the image: Deleuze, Cinema and Thought. Director and Screenwriter of the short films 750 Cidade de Deus (750 City of God), Cladestinidade (Clandestineness) and Eu Estou Cada Vez Melhor (I’m Always Getting Better).

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

Funny, I was never a Tarantinophile. My mind wasn’t blown, in the ’90s, like some of my friends, by Pulp Fiction; I liked the movie, certain scenes and images especially, but that’s it. Truth be told I really liked a movie that the cultists of the director consider minor: Jackie Brown. Then along came Kill Bill, that I thought was very interesting, and I disagreed with what most critics said about the film, namely, that this, and Taratino’s films that followed, were a collage of references, a montage of cinematic citation, sketches and pop cliches: pastiche couture. That wasn’t exactly an untruth, but it was understating these films. Similar things have been said about Django Unchained, and I continue to think that in a way the critique of Tarantino’s cinema isn’t giving him enough credit.

From the beginning, I would say that Tarantino fights and confronts the US’s past and images of America’s past (Or better yet the past relative to imagery), not differentiating, as in Godard’s Notre Musique, if the image portends to be documentary or fiction: they deal with the memories in the collective consciousness that they’re created from, above all else a memory with a present to be dealt with. To begin such a story, we’d think that the first images of the film we’d face would be of blacks in the bonds of slavery. As a matter of fact, they are there, but it has a void too, a void of imagery, a shrieking omission, specifically a counter-image. In the American cinema, and in history, slavery appears through racism, the abscess of Anglo-Saxon Hollywood. Through its absence, for lack of a protagonist, or through the stereotyping of blacks in films and, finally, that these re-affirming constructs act as images of resistance, like exuberance and empowerment, become stereotypes themselves. But the remixed past of Django Unchained goes well beyond these images: the great, epic images of “America” that are present. And in that it makes sense to mix westerns and slavery: a combination that almost never occurred is, at the heart of it, a combination that was always latent, as if Saturation and Omission met each other on the corner of History and Cinema.

It’s clear that, it’s so impossible to make a western today, it’s so impossible to believe anew in those old epic fables (save the exceptionally beautiful No Country for Old Men by the Cohen Brothers which displays that, nearly debunking my statement) as impossible to not consider the epic majesticness, the power of the images of these civilizing fables mix cinematographic beauty (the beauty of life and the world, and not the dark underbelly of cinema) with sanguinary violence of all the conflicts and genocides of Manifest Destiny. In the middle of the impasse created by this heritage, it’s as if a space was opened up by kicking and screaming to create the images that Tarantino invents in Django, an impossible black cowboy, ex-slave, freedom fighter, bounty hunter, fighting against his captors to free his lady fair.

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

But it’s so impossible to believe in a cowboy the way we used to, that one who is black politically correct, didactic, militant of liberal America, would be ridiculous and absurd. On the other hand, if Tarantino made his film a simple parody, or just a comedy, (as the great Spike Lee equivocally interepreted), it’d have eschewed violence in a cynical and impotent way. At the end of the day, cinema is violence, cinema is war, they’re as inextricable from one another as history and violence; whether it be the banalized violence of imagery or a violence of the banal in images; whether it be the aesthetically beautiful violence, sometimes cold and ascetic, sometimes redemptive (for a “great cause”) and, finally, a fascinating violence, attractive: a violence with the promise of great fun and pleasure.

And that’s not all, the situations in westerns are so impossible, so ridiculous, but at the same time are a past that happened, it’s almost irrelevant if it was in cinema or in fact. From old movies there are some images fascinate me to this day: fearless men, sagas, sublime landscapes. Aside from the obvious, the cowboy is at the same time a child, an innocent, sensitive and sanguinary. A heroic nomad, he comes last, does dirty jobs for others before himself, he’s also, violently civilized: the vagabond cowboy is a freedom fighter before “America” becomes the the United States of America. And in the United States film itself is, like a cowboy’s tale, a westerly march.

Tarantino creates in this black cowboy nothing credible, a fearless freedom fighter who’s enamored, who confronts a past, which is invariably tragic. In a mishmash of cinema and history, history and cinema, he duplicates images ad infinitum, showing us all its sides. Sometimes in just one movement, as times in frenetic comings-and-goings, he destroys the past as well as he salvages it. It even gives the impression that one of his filmmaking guides was the most beautiful anti-fascist text by Nietzsche (A philosopher who was, paradoxically or not, a hero to the Nazis): On the Use and Abuse of History for Life.

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

At the intersection between Memory and Forgetting, between what we can’t relive and what is impossible (and undignified) to forget; between what we can no longer believe and what we wish to affirm; between cynicism and innocence; between raw, real violence and film effects; between the pretension of realism mixed with moral lessons and the ridiculousness of improbable situations; Tarantino chooses all this at the same time. We make fun of, laugh at, disbelieve, and surprisingly, we are on the edge of our seats like adolescents from the mid-20th century rooting for their heroes. And this is how we find ourselves getting frightened, nearing delirium like beasts before a huge massacre: a “just” massacre, the perfect revenge: a copy of a copy of a copy, but totally anti-Baudardrillian, posing as not at all nihilistic: potent. And the whole theatre is buzzing like when the young Jewish girl in Inglourious Basterds, in the middle of Occupied Paris, blew up the theatre with Hitler, Goebbels, Goering and the whole Third Reich in attendance. It’s an absurdity that’s good: the deliciousness of cinema unmasked, rustic, stripped of dramatic recourses and moribund cinematic technique, mixing the deliciousness of seeing how history absurdly should have been for the general welfare of all. In fact, if cinema is a fallacy, science and its “truths” can be the same way: certain situations in the film are so stupid like the “scientific” explanation that a slave owner gives about the brian of blacks. But their power is also maintained because it’s fascinating and engenders pleasures. Cinema and its joys have much to do with this. This is why the scene where the slaves are setting the table in the plantation house is perhaps one of the most beautiful of the film.

Hollywood always wanted to give us the omnipotent sensation of the desctruction of evil; for this it was necessary to drown under the polarization of good vs. evil to later get rid of all our desires – and above all the anti-desire: fear and guilt- within it. Only Hollywood isn’t over our heads: it is part of the power, either with active violence, or with the impotence of fear and guilt: impotent images. The “politically incorrect” relates to these things, and it’s still capable of turning, with its spectre, a legion of proto-fascist figures of the establishment posing as the irreverent “politically incorrect.”

On the other side, if the American cinema doesn’t get tired of killing for a great cause, or of promising an assassination with a great fun – and us with heroic assassins- Tarantino in Django permits us to to play joyfully at being just, saying “Fuck off!”, to our delight, to everything politically correct. Now we can even laugh, celebrate and get as blood-spattered as we want with the triumph of good we always wanted: the best happy endings of all time.

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

The omnipotent American cinema of destruction of evil is triumphanty destroyed and resuscitated by Tarantino, who in the same gunsling kills liberal-Christian guilt with a bullet to the head. It’s not good enough anymore to kill “robbers,” “Indians,” “Communists,” “Islamic terrorists,” or all the other supposed enemies of “America.” Much less feel compassion for them. What’s good is killing fascists! What’s really good is slaughtering slave owners and racists! It delicious to see these pigs to the slaughter without any pity whatsoever.

Django Uncahined (2012, The Weinstein Company)

The Original Text

Django Livre, de Quentin Tarantino: como é bom matar fascistas, racistas e escravocratas!

Rodrigo Guéron

Filósofo. Professor Adjunto do Instituto de Artes da UERJ. Autor do livro, “Da Imagem ao Clichê, do Clichê à Imagem. Deleuze, Cinema e Pensamento”. Diretor e roteirista de Cinema, autor dos curta metragens “750 Cidade de Deus”, “Clandestinidade” e “Eu Estou Bem cada Vez Melhor”.

Engraçado, nunca fui um tarantinista. Não vibrei como alguns amigos nos anos 1990 com Pulp Fiction; gostei do filme, de algumas cenas e imagens em especial, e pronto. Na verdade eu gostei mesmo era de um filme que os cultuadores do diretor consideravam menor: Jackie Brown. Mas já em Kill Bill, que achei muito interessante, comecei a discordar do que grande parte da crítica dizia do filme, a saber, que este, e outros filmes de Tarantino que o seguiram, eram uma colagem de referências, montagem de citações cinematográficas, quadrinhos, clichês pops: uma espécie de costura de pastiches. Isso não era exatamente uma inverdade, mas era pouco para estes filmes. Coisas semelhantes tem sido ditas sobre Django Livre, e continuo achando que esta espécie de senso comum da crítica sobre o cinema de Quentin Tarantino não dá conta da força do diretor.

De início, eu diria que o que Tarantino faz em Django Livre é lidar e enfrentar o passado dos EUA, ou seja, as imagens do passado dos EUA (ou melhor, o passado enquanto imagem), não fazendo diferença, como na espetacular edição da primeira parte da História(s) do Cinema de Godard, se são imagens documentais ou de filmes de ficção: trata-se de memória e o que a constitui; sobretudo memória como um presente a ser enfrentado. A princípio, pensaríamos nós, as primeiras imagens a serem enfrentadas seriam as da escravidão e dos negros. E de fato elas estão lá, mas neste campo há também um vazio, uma falta de imagens, uma omissão gritante e, em especial, uma contra-imagem. No cinema americano, e na história, a escravidão aparece pelo racismo, pela assepsia anglo-saxã de Hollywood, pela ausência, pela falta de protagonismo ou pelo estereótipo dos negros nos filmes e, finalmente, pelo que estes construíram como imagens de resistência, como exuberância e empoderamento, e até como estereótipos de si mesmos. Mas o passado remexido em Django Livre vai bem além destas imagens: são as grandes imagens épicas da “América” que estão ali. E assim faz todo sentido misturar western e escravidão: a mistura que quase nunca houve é, no fundo, a mistura que sempre esteve latente, como se saturação e omissão se encontrassem numa esquina da história, e do cinema.

Mas, é claro, é tão impossível fazer hoje um western, é tão impossível crer de novo naquelas velhas fábulas épicas (e o belíssimo Onde os Fracos Não Tem Vez dos irmãos Coem mostram isso, quase me desmentindo), quanto é impossível não considerar a grandeza épica, a força das imagens destas fábulas civilizatórias que misturaram uma beleza cinematográfica gigantesca (beleza da vida e do mundo portanto, e não do umbigo do cinema) com a violência sanguinária de todos os conflitos e genocídios da “marcha para o Oeste”. É no meio do impasse criado por esta herança, como se abrisse um espaço a cotoveladas para poder criar as suas imagens, que Tarantino inventa Django, um impossível cowboy negro, ex-escravo, justiceiro, caçador de recompensas, lutando contra seus algozes senhores para libertar a sua amada.

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

Mas é tão impossível crer num cowboy como antes, que um cowboy negro politicamente correto, didático militante da moral liberal estadunidense, seria ridículo e absurdo. Por outro lado, se Tarantino fizesse do seu filme uma simples paródia, ou apenas uma comédia, (como o grande Spike Lee equivocadamente entendeu), teria banido de modo cínico e impotente a violência. Afinal de contas, cinema e violência, guerra e cinema, são tão imbricados quanto o são história e violência; seja a violência banalizada das imagens e a violência do banal em imagens; seja a violência bela e estética, às vezes ascética e fria, às vezes redentora (por uma “grande causa”) e, finalmente, uma violência fascinante, atraente: a violência como promessa de um grande gozo e prazer.

Mas isso ainda é pouco, as situações dos westerns são impossíveis, são ridículas, mas ao mesmo tempo são o passado que houve, pouco importa se no cinema ou de fato. Nos velhos filmes de mocinho e bandido algumas imagens fascinam ainda hoje: homens destemidos, sagas, paisagens sublimes. O cowboy é ao mesmo tempo uma criança ingênua, sensual e sanguinária. Herói nômade, ele vem antes da besta branca civilizatória ocidental, faz o serviço sujo para ela antes de ser, ele também, violentamente civilizado: o cowboy errante e justiceiro antes da “América” se tornar EUA. E nos Estados Unidos o próprio cinema é, como num western, marcha para o oeste.

Tarantino cria este cowboy negro nada crível, justiceiro destemido e apaixonado, enquanto enfrenta a sempre trágica lida com o passado. Num emaranhado de cinema e história, história e cinema, ele duplica infinitamente as imagens, mostrando-as em todos os seus lados. Às vezes num só movimento, às vezes em idas e vindas frenéticas, ele destrói o passado tão bem quanto o resgata. Dá até a impressão que um de seus manuais de filmagem foi o mais belo e anti-fascista dos textos de Nietzsche ( filósofo que foi, paradoxalmente ou não, herói dos nazis): “Das Utilidades e dos Incovenientes da História para a Vida”.

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

Na encruzilhada entre memória e esquecimento, entre o que não podemos reviver e o que nos é impossível (e indigno) esquecer; entre o que não conseguimos mais crer e o que temos o desejo de afirmar; entre o cinismo e a ingenuidade; entre a violência crua e real e o efeito cenotécnico; entre a pretensão de realismo misturada às lições de moral e o ridículo das situações inverossímeis, Tarantino escolhe tudo isso ao mesmo tempo. Debochamos, rimos e descremos juntos e, surpreendentemente, somos arrebatados na cadeira do cinema como adolescentes do meio do século passado torcendo por seus mocinhos. E assim nos pegamos se assustando e delirando como bestas diante de um grande massacre: o massacre “justo”, a vingança perfeita: a cópia, da cópia, da cópia, mas totalmente anti baudrillardiana, posto que nada niilista: potente. E o cinema todo vibra como quando a mocinha judia, de Bastardos em Glória, em plena Paris ocupada, explodiu a sala de cinema com Hitler, Goebbels, Goering e todo o Terceiro Reich dentro. É o absurdo que é bom: a delícia do cinema desmascarado no tosco de seus recursos dramáticos e cenotécnicos moribundos, misturado à delícia de ver como a história absurdamente deveria ter sido para a felicidade geral todos. De fato, se o cinema é uma falácia, a ciência e suas “verdades” podem sê-lo do mesmo jeito: certas situações do filme são tão estúpidas quanto a explicação “científica” que o senhor de escravo dá sobre o cérebro dos negros. Mas o poder também se mantém porque é fascinante e engendra prazeres. O cinema e suas delícias têm muito a ver com isso. Por isso a cena das escravas arrumando a mesa de jantar do senhor na casa grande talvez seja uma das mais belas do filme.

Hollywood sempre nos quis dar a onipotente sensação da destruição do mau; para isso precisou nos afogar na polarização bem x mau para depois despejar todo o nosso desejo – e sobretudo o anti-desejo: o medo, a culpa – nela. Só que Hollywood não está acima de nossas cabeças: ele é parte do poder que nos atravessa, seja como violência ativa, seja como a impotência do medo e da culpa: imagens impotentes. O “politicamente correto” tem a ver com estas últimas, e ainda é capaz de gerar como seus espectros uma legião de almofadinhas proto-fascistas, figuras do establishment pousando de irreverentes “politicamente incorretos”.

Por outro lado, se o cinema americano não se cansa de matar por uma grande causa, e de nos prometer o assassinato com um grande gozo – e nós como heróis assassinos –, Tarantino em Django nos permite brincar deliciosamente de sermos justos, mandando à merda, para o nosso deleite, todo o politicamente correto. Agora já podemos rir, comemorar e se lambuzar de sangue à vontade com o triunfo do bem que sempre desejamos: o melhor final feliz de todos os tempos.

Django Unchained (2012, The Weinstein Company)

A cinematográfica onipotência estadunidense da destruição do mal é triunfalmente destruída e ressuscitada por Tarantino, que no mesmo movimento de pistola mata a culpa liberal-cristã com uma bala na testa. Bom já não é matar “bandidos”, “índios”, “comunistas”, “terroristas islâmicos”, ou todo e qualquer suposto inimigo da “América”. Nem muito menos sentir compaixão por eles. Bom mesmo é matar fascistas! Bom mesmo é trucidar senhores de escravos e racistas! É delicioso poder mandar esses porcos todos pelos ares! Sem pena alguma.

Americanization: How Le Grand Chemin Became Paradise- Introduction (Part 1 of 3)

In Godard’s latest film [as of this writing], Éloge de l’amour, there is a scene where an old couple is selling their life story, as it pertains to the French Resistance. A lawyer representing Steven Spielberg is stopped by their granddaughter while reading the contract. A debate ensues because he uses the word ‘America.’ The granddaughter asks “Which America?” to which the lawyer responds ‘The United States.’ Still combative, the granddaughter counters saying Brazil’s official name is ‘The United States of Brazil’ and the same goes for Mexico. Then the girl stops playing her game and says “Oh the States then, that America, the one that has no name or history such that they buy their stories from other countries.” This is a very telling scene of the culture that created one of the largest and most culturally significant film industries in the world. There are ‘histories’ in the United States for certain groups but fewer moments when there is a collective history. The narrative traditions of our country’s cinema have been decided by executives and not by a common culture.

When a foreign film is a big hit one of two things happens. One, it comes to the United States to play in some theatres or, two, in some cases the film will be remade, Americanized and jazzed up. This is just one of many issues that makes it difficult to transplant a film across cultures. I will be examining in this paper France’s Le Grand chemin and the United States’s version Paradise.
 
It wouldn’t surprise me at all if studio executives sit around debating the question “How do we make this American?” when they’ve acquired the rights to a foreign remake. It’s the asking of this question which usually leads most remakes awry. A French film is French, a Russian film is Russian and a Brazilian film is Brazilian. The films are a product of their society and are successful if they can strike some universal cord that reverberates around they world. “How do we make this American?” that’s like asking “How do we make a dog a cat?” You can’t do it. This is the hurdle the makers of Paradise faced in remaking Le Grand chemin.

The 83rd Annual Academy Awards

I decided that I would not write during what portion of the red carpet I did watch as attention must be paid. Overall, while in the end there was nothing that will likely go down as a historic Oscar look. It was one of the better looking overall displays I can remember.

I don’t know when this half-hour pre-show started (it wasn’t that long ago). I never really cared for it and it’s a little superfluous and just makes the show end later. Why does it still happen?

Begnini’s celebration is my least favorite acceptance moment. For the record.

You gotta love Steven Spielberg. Wiping the producer’s forehead and giving him water is classic.

Like the opening montage of best picture nominees. Why not the end shot from Inception?

Great opening with Anne Hathaway and James Franco. Great joke in the opening about James ‘appealing to a younger demographic.’ Glad to see the families get introduced.

Tom Hanks presents as Gone with the Windand Titanic get mentioned. Art Direction and Cinematography mentioned early in the show is a nice change. This was not a category I was looking for an upset in Alice in Wonderland takes Art Direction. Shocked.

First, applause of the night upon hearing Wally Pfister’s name called for Cinematography. Very well deserved award. Loved his speech in regards to Nolan.

Another pleasant surprise and the first standing ovation of the night as Kirk Douglas is introduced.

Douglas’s shtick may go down as one of the moments of this year. Also, I have to see Animal Kingdom. It has been decided.

I stand corrected Leo’s speech.

“I’m Banksy”
-Justin Timberlake

Awesomely amazing line.

I said it previously I would be rather happy if The Lost Thing got animated short. Congratulations.

Toy Story 3 wins Best Animated Feature. I knew that already.

Didn’t really like that Screenplay got the short shrift in terms of presentation. No excerpts or anything. Surprised but gladdened by the win for The King’s Speech. I also think that winners should realize there are 23 other winners who all deserve their time to do their thanks and shouldn’t risk taking some time from others.

I want to see In a Better World but am a little surprised it won. It’s the 3rd Danish winner and surprisingly the first since 1959.

Am I the only conspiracy theorist who thinks clips are based on one’s chances of winning? That was not the best scene for Mark Ruffalo at all.

Best part of Bale’s speech was his saying he’d dropped the F-bomb enough already. Oscar-winner or not he’s had plenty of other wonderful and worthy performances not the least of which is the one that launched his career many years ago, Empire of the Sun. All roads lad to Spielberg.

I’ll bet the theme from E.T. has been played at the Oscars every year since 1982. It always makes the closing medley.

OK, so does Trent Reznor and Atticus Finch winning mean that the trend away from composers towards current/former recording artists is going to stick?

First, winner I was extremely geeked about in a while. Sound mixing goes to Inception. And there goes another sweep in the sound categories. I wish I had stats for it but I bet it happens a lot. I have also enjoyed how everyone is thanking Chris Nolan first, almost as if they are trying to subtly point out his being snubbed for Best Director.

I really wish that more time would be spent on the technical awards maybe a special after the earlier presentation. Some really awesome technology gets kind of glossed over.

I need to look into the other Make-Up nominee that I hadn’t heard of, The Way Back. Looks sweet.

Leave it to President Obama to have the best choice as best Oscar-winning song. I’m a little tired of these categories that flex their nominations between three and five. Pick a size. Really, only four songs were nominated? Why? The process is intricate but music is where you can add to your appeal if you’re looking to boost ratings. I was floored when “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp” won that scored high enough to be nominated and win but yet this year songs by Eddie Vedder, Alanis Morissette and Justin Bieber didn’t?

Kudos to Luke Matheny not only on the win but on plugging all the nominees who are iTunes. They were great.

The best, most entertaining part of the night was the musical montage.

Inside Job wins and now I never want to talk about Banksy again.

Billy Crystal comes on for a bit. Always glad to see him back.

Inception wins visual effects and stops Alice’s unthinkable streak.

Jude Law and Robert Downey, Jr. should do something together that’s not as “Holmesy” that was pretty funny stuff.

Listening to the other nominees actually got me rooting for Randy Newman for the first time in years. Some sleepy stuff in there.

Complete and utter failure this year in the “In Memoriam” montage. Firstly, with the lives singing people who were shown didn’t get their due applause like they did in previous years and first the SAG Award show excluded Corey Haim and now the Oscars did too. I assure you he is missed by many film fans and is exclusion is a joke.

Tom Hooper wins for The King’s Speech. Dare they split it?

Best story told by a winner tonight has to be Hooper’s tale about how his mom found out about the play and said “Tom, I just found your next film.”

They were at it again. Kevin Brownlow is a man who has more than earned his Life Achievement award. For all intents and purposes he pioneered preservation and restoration of films and brought many silent films back from the dead. Here is a link to Kevin Spacey’s speech about him at the Governor’s Ball.

I also found it a little humorous that they said Jean-Luc Godard was sorry he couldn’t be there.

This congratulatory intro to lead acting categories is also making it take a lot longer than it has to.

It looks like there’ll be no surprises in the acting categories.

Congratulations to Colin Firth for his win. It’s his first but it shouldn’t be. If you haven’t seen A Single Man you most definitely should. It’s good to know that some people do get their due.

Listing the previous winners and nominees in the Best Picture category is a great way to lead off the Best Picture montage.

The King’s Speech wins Best Picture and now I can rest comfortably.

The finale was a fanastic and needed addition to the show. It was either ending on a jubilant note or a down one based on where my rooting interest were. if they keep this up it’ll be a fantastic close every year. Great job, P.S. 22.