LAST WEEK the cyber version of Screenwriter managed to correctly guess all 25 of the top Oscar nominations. Is it vanity that causes me to make further reference to that earth- shattering triumph?
Well, partly. Once a frail child, now a pigeon- chested adult, I am never likely to become heavyweight champ of the world. I thus feel compelled to celebrate whatever pathetic achievements come my way.
There is, however, a semi-serious point here. As each year passes it becomes easier and easier to predict the Oscar nominations.
In previous decades, for most casual observers, the potential candidates emerged from a media void. Sure, there were other awards ceremonies. (Isn’t there something called the Screen Actors Guild?) Before the turn of the century, however, few of these jamborees registered beyond their core, insider constituency. The only awards ceremony that attracted any mainstream attention was the creaky old Golden Globes.
It is beginning to sink in that, despite frequent lazy assertions to the contrary, the Globes are not a terribly reliable pointer to the Oscars. Over the past six years, only one winner of the best picture Oscar ( Slumdog Millionaire) won the equivalent award at the earlier ceremony.
But here’s the thing. When the Globes were the only other show in town, they did well enough as an Oscar form guide. Now, however, that ceremony is just one of the many that constitute the absurdly expanded gong carnival referred to as awards season.
Hollywood professionals have long seen the early months of the year as a time for prizes. But, in recent years, the attention paid to the following shoal of professional guilds, national awards and elevated garden fêtes has got totally out of hand. The season has become a tightly choreographed series of preliminary bouts leading steadily – inexorably, tediously, tortuously – towards the main event in late February.
Confirmation of the scheduling tyranny came in 2001, when the British Academy of Film and Television Arts agreed to shift the Bafta Awards, hitherto taking place a month after the Oscars, to a forelock-touching spot in mid-February. The UK awards now has a better chance of nabbing campaigning movie stars to the event. The move did, however, confirm that the Baftas had become a poor cousin to the glossy beast across the Atlantic. We always half-knew that. But owning up to the truth resulted in a significant loss of dignity.
The rise and rise of awards season – each ceremony preceded by heart-sinkingly moronic “red carpet” coverage – has become too boring for words. The studios now release all their potential Oscar-fodder in the weeks before Christmas and, eager to avoid any unpleasant surprises, fling untold millions at the respective awards campaigns.
The upcoming royal wedding seems like a spontaneous shindig in comparison, concocted on a couple of damp beer mats. Groan!
dclarke@irishtimes.com
