Recently I have been on a tear of highlighting my favorite years in cinema. I discussed the 2007 Best Supporting Actor race (my all-time favorite cinematic 12-month period), in which Javier Bardem won for one of the most iconic villainous roles in the last decade or so with the serial-killing, air-gun aficionado, misanthrope Anton Chigurh in the Coen Brothers Best Picture-winning instant classic, "No Country for Old Men". I then went on to analyze another great year in film, 1967, where I delved into the Best Actor race (won by Rod Steiger for "In the Heat of the Night"), only to return to the extraordinary year a few weeks later with a look at the year's Best Picture race (also won by "In the Heat of the Night"). All this focus on years with outstanding cinematic output set off an atomic chain reaction in my mind, "What other years would I put up with the ranks of the 2007s and 1967s of the world". Given the large body of Oscar history (not counting the years before 1927), there is a wide variety of choice of superb years to choose from (1939 being the most commonly cited "Golden Year"), but after careful consideration, and given my current collection of viewed films (which is still frustratingly lower than I would like), the next year that I would nominate for Hall of Fame status is 1994.
Unlike 1967, I can't really say that 1994 started a revolution or set a new language of film, but was instead the fateful aligning of planets, the blind luck of happenstance, or if you must, "the perfect storm". A group of directors, both new and old, were firing on all cylinders in 1994. Quentin Tarantino, Woody Allen, Tim Burton, Robert Zemeckis, Frank Darabont, and Robert Redford, for whatever reason, were all on their A-game, creating classic films that entered and stayed in our consciousness, and as always, directors on their A-game mean actors allowed to exercise their true potential. Case in point, Best Supporting Actor, which boosts a truly great lineup of amazing performances. It's the type of nominees list that you yearn for every category each year (but rarely materializes). Could it have been improved though? For once, I'm confident in answering this question in the negative. My only two possible substitutes both have questionable qualifications as "supporting" actors. The first is Bruce Willis in "Pulp Fiction" as the boxer on the run Butch. Now since one whole story line of the film is dedicated to him, I would have a hard time swallowing a nomination for him as a supporting actor, but with the Academy's awkward classification technique, I have no idea what Academy members considered the performance to be. The other case to consider is Tim Robbins in "The Shawshank Redemption". In my mind (and I feel fairly safe in saying in every sane mind in the world) Tim Robbins is the star of film, but since the Academy did nominate Morgan Freeman in leading role, we have to consider the possibility that some may have voted for Robbins as a supporting actor (which would be beyond ridiculous, but in the past, that threshold has not stopped the Academy from making unwise decisions). Finally, the one other person I would be tempted to include in the category, despite their small screen time, is Harvey Keitel as "The Wolf" in "Pulp Fiction". Like I said, it is a really small role, but it is such a memorable character, and Keitel nails it so perfectly, it would be extremely tempting to nominate him. It's a fine crop of nominees though, so let's get to it.
5. Chazz Palmenteri in "Bullets Over Broadway"
As obvious as it seems to be to everyone but Woody Allen that he is a card-caring member of the intelligentsia, he just can't seem to embrace this fact, and to show his affinity for the "every man", much as his idol Ingmar Bergman, he occasionally shows the working schlub as the true "genius". For "Bullets Over Broadway", Allen's idiot savant is Chazz Palmenteri. Set in New York City during the 1920's, the film tells the story of a pretentious, uber-rational, but uninspiring, playwright (i.e. Woody Allen's view of himself, but portrayed by John Cusack in this case) David Shayne, but to get his play financed, he has to turn to an "illegitimate" source, the gangster Nick Valenti (Joe Viterelli). To back the hoity toity play though, Valenti demands that his shrill imbecilic girlfriend (Oscar-nominated Jennifer Tilly) be given a major role in the play, and to oversee his investment (as well as his girlfriend's virtue and loyalty), Valenti insists his hired goon Cheech (Chazz Palmenteri) attend the stage rehearsals. It soon becomes apparent to everyone involved that the play is a dud, so in desperation, Shayne entertains the suggestions of the hitman Cheech, letting him rewrite a section or two. Cheech's changes are beloved by all, but as Shayne takes credit for the praised rewrite, it puts Shayne in the awkward situation of having to go back to Cheech for more rewrites. Palmenteri plays the role of Cheech as a no-nonsense tough guy, who despite his unquestioning personalty, still retains deep insight in to the human condition. For Cheech, it doesn't take mental gymnastics to understand the world, and this is supposedly what makes his writing so strong. Putting aside the "reality" question if such a person could really exist, Palmentari does a good job of making us believe he could. Playing the role without a lot a fuss is the key to making us blindly except the existence of a Cheech in the world. My one major line of criticism about the performance (and the thing that made me rank Palmenteri last among the nominees) is that Palmenteri overplays the "Joe Six-Pack" angle. Now this is no doubt because Allen places the world in a stylized existence that never really was, but the problem is Allen still attempts to make a statement about the world as it actually is, which turns the reliance on stereotypes a weakness. Even with this complaint though, it is still a great performance that is worth.
4. Paul Scofield in "Quiz Show"
"Quiz Show" tells the compelling story of how television executives in the 1950's worked to fix popular game shows so the "right" contestants won (like the suave good ol' red-headed American Charles Van Doren over the fuzzy-haired, glasses-wearing Jew from Queens Herbie Stempel). The strength of the film though goes beyond it's fascinating "based on a true story" narrative. While the nagging suspense of the exposing of a cover up is well done by director Robert Redford, what transforms the film from a solid dramatization of a pop culture event in 1950's Americana, to something of more universal dramatic appeal, is the insight the film has into it's characters as people, not simply tabloid elements of a juicy scandal. For the character Charles Van Doren (Ralph Fiennes), this is most effectively done by giving us a glimpse into his family life, in particular the relationship he had with his father, Mark Van Doren (Tom Scofield). The Van Doren's were a well-regarded literary family in America, and imposing figure of Academic royalty that Mark presents himself as gives an understanding to motivations of his son Charles. Despite his genuinely well meaning supportive attitude towards his son, Mark's towering presence can not help but put implicit pressure on his son to measure up to his father's high achievements. Scofield, who previously won an Oscar in 1966 for one of my all-time favorite performances as Thomas Moore in "A Man for All Seasons", plays the role of patriarch as about as well as has ever been portrayed on film. What I love about Scofield's performance is his side-stepping of the typical "domineering father", an arch-type that has been abused on film as much as the slow-motion victory shot in sports films, instead opting for a much more realistic paternal portrayal. Scofield's Mark is not cartoonishly bombastic, but the very nature of his personality is a constant albatross for his son, one that presses him to do "what it takes" in order to achieve something of significance. No matter how sincerely he loves his son, the pressure on Charles created by his own successes will always be there. It's a complex and rather unique father-son relationship, but one that Paul Scofield (unsurprisingly) illuminates with ease and confidence.
3. Gary Sinise in "Forrest Gump"
I think the surprise, astonishing success of "Forrest Gump" (#21 highest grossing film of all-time, and #23 adjusting for inflation) has to do with the film's iconic nature. In fact, I can not recall a film that is as self-consciously iconic as "Forrest Gump". The film basically inspires to be the fairy tale of the "baby boom" generation, and given the responses of audiences and critics (including a Best Picture win from the Academy), it appears to have succeeded in its mission. Now the film does require a pretty hefty suspension of disbelief (according to the movie, a semi-mentally handicapped man is the catalyst for important 20th Century American events ranging from Elvis Presley's dance moves to the uncovering of the Watergate break in, to sample just a few of the plethora of history defining events caused by Gump), but the key figure that allows us to swallow the sugar-coated Disney-style pap while still retaining a semblance of dignity and self-respect is the unforgettable character of Lt. Dan (Gary Sinise). Lt. Dan is Forrest Gump's (Tom Hanks) superior during his service during the Vietnam war, and the simpleton quickly forms a bond (somewhat one-sided initially) to his commanding officer as a man he respects and cares for. Lt. Dan, coming from a long line of American vets who gave the ultimate sacrifice to their country during periods of war, only wishes to join his ancestors in dying in the line of duty, but when Forrest heroically saves the dying man, Lt. Dan is forced to live his life as a legless cripple. Having been denied his rite of passage and glorious death, and forced to live out the rest of his day as (what he views as) a "freak", he at first resents Gump to no end. Always the loyal soldier though, Gump does not give up on the Lieutenant, and he eventually gets the stubborn man to embrace life once again after the strike it rich by starting a successful shrimp company. The reason why Sinise's performance is so good, and so vitally important to the film, is the Lt. Dan's complex guarded emotionally problems is the needed counterpoint to Gump's straightforward simpleness. The benign sweetness of the surprisingly insightful Gump would quickly tire without a grounding into a more realistic tableau of human emotions, which is provided by the often feisty and angry, but deep-down caring Lt. Dan. Sinise understands this perfectly, and for every note of Hanks' sweet tea sayings, Sinise responds in kind with the frustrations of a suffering man who knows that Gump can not relate to his feelings, even though his quaint ideas have more wisdom than he would like to admit. Even with the Oscar nomination and all the praise Sinise received, I still feel that his performance is somewhat undervalued. It's really tough to pull off the kind of schmultz that "Forrest Gump" successfully get away with, and as good as Hanks' performance is, with out the humanity of Sinise's performance, the movie would likely be a laughable fable instead of an instant classic.
2. Martin Landau in "Ed Wood"
Tim Burton is one of the most inconsistent directors in the history of cinema. From absolute garbage ("Alice in Wonderland") to unique brilliance ("Edward Scissorhands"), you're never quite sure what you're going to get from the off-beat director, but the pinnacle achievement in his filmography in my book is "Ed Wood" (easily his most underrated film), and a large part of the film's success has to do with the outstanding performance of Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi. "Ed Wood" is an unconventional bio-pic about the titular character (Johnny Depp) who is commonly cited by film historians as the worst director in cinema history. With the epicly terrible films (by reputation only for me, since I haven't mustered up the courage to see these reported monstrosities) "Plane 9 from Outer Space" and "Glen or Glenda" under his belt, Mr. Wood helped prove "auteur theory" by demonstrating it's possible negative connotations as well, but the film is much more than a documentation of history's worst auteur. At the heart of the film is the relationship between outcasts, the man perpetually on the fringe, Mr. Wood, and the once-great but now forgotten Bela Lugosi. At his old age, the world of fame and fortune has long passed by Lugosi, but his pride and memories are as strong as ever, which makes the deterioration of everything around him all the more painful (causing Lugosi to ease his sorrows with a heavy dose of self-medication). Along comes Ed Wood into his life, a hack no doubt, but a man with endless energy who is genuinely a true fan of Lugosi's and quickly becomes a great friend. It's a symbiotic relationship, but not merely in a crude "quid pro quo" kind of way. Both men need each other emotionally, and even though their relationship did not manifest into great art, it nevertheless made each man's life richer. What makes Laundau's performance so impressive is not only does he get the mechanics of Lugosi right (from the voice, to the mannerisms, to the posture and presence), but he nails the character that the film needs him to be. Even if there had never been a Bela Lugosi, and the story of "Ed Wood" was purely fictional, Lugosi's performance would still be sensational, because it goes far beyond mimicry (unlike say Jamie Foxx in "Ray" or Forest Whitaker in "The Last King of Scotland"). Landau is able to capture the waning bitter years of a legend whose time has past (like Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond in "Sunset Boulevard", but with less histrionics) and the fact that he is able to so accurately imitate the classic horror movie star just adds the perfect cherry on top. Landau, who took home the Oscar for his performance, would easily be my number one pick numerous years, but anyone competing in 1994 always has one big obstacle in it's way, and Landau is no different, because he was going up against one of the greatest movie characters of all time.
1. Samuel L. Jackson in "Pulp Fiction"
Jules Winnfeild. The classic character that made Samuel L. Jackson a household name and would go on to spawn a career that would lead him to appear in more $100 million-plus grossing movies than any other actor in history. Jules from "Pulp Fiction" is hands down one of the coolest cats in the history of Earth (fictional or non-fictional, film or any other medium, this universe or any other parallel universes). Even if the only scene Jules had appeared in was the one where he and Vincent (John Travoltra) go to kill the guys who messed with Marsellus (Ving Rhames), the "What ain't no country I've ever heard of. They speak English in what?" speech and the reciting of the fake bible verse Ezekiel 25:17 would be enough to give him the Oscar in my book. The sheer bravado of Jules, and the possible existence of a human being like Jules, is so revolutionary that even if Samuel L. Jackson has solely banked his career off of variations of the character (which he has to some extent), he still deserves a life-time achievement award. That's how amazing this performance and character is. Jules is the Yoda of pulp, the Corleone of hip, the Man With No Name of the streets. He is the very incarnation of his own wallet, "Bad Muthaf!@#$r". Beyond creating the untouchably bad ass aura of Jules Winnfield (one that I believe could only be replicated by Samuel L. Jackson), Jackson also has great chemistry with John Travoltra's Vincent Vega. There friendship is the driving force of the film, and the ragging and humorous back and forth between the characters is easily the most memorable part of the film (and what makes it the instant classic that it is). There are very few supporting actor roles that I can think of off hand that I would rank ahead of this. It's purely iconic. So good, that words themselves can not do it justice. The only way to truly understand Jules Winnfield, is to experience Jules Winnfield.
Well that's it for this week, so leave any comments you have down below.
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