With the DGA, SAG and PGA out of the way, it’s on to the fourth and final of the major guild announcements: the Writers Guild of America, which announces Monday.
The WGA has seemingly instituted a slash and burn campaign on a number of the year’s hopefuls this season. Go here, here and here for the details. Alright, “slash and burn” isn’t really accurate. If WGA brass wants to play “in the club,” that’s their prerogative. No sense getting worked up over it. But suffice it to say, the field is fairly wide open now and, at the end of the day, no one should really bother putting too much prognosticative stock into what we get from the guild next week, seeing as the AMPAS writers branch is likely to go with a number of the fallen.
Still — it’s fun to guess at the picks, no?
From where I stand there are still 10 really decent bets, and maybe five or six more that wouldn’t surprise me if they made it through. Best Picture contenders “The Hurt Locker,” “Precious” and “Up in the Air” are probably the easiest picks of the bunch, but what about the other seven?
After yesterday’s DGA announcement, there was a number of comments (some ecstatic, some more cynical) made about its demographic makeup of the nominees being more diverse than usual.
When it comes to extravagant Hollywood blockbusters, we’ve become accustomed to the phrase “the money is up on the screen” – delighting in the filmmakers’ own delight in the tools and tricks at their disposal.
Two weeks before revealing its nominations, BAFTA 
I
FINALLY Paul Schneider gets some much-deserved love. And a production design victory for
Here we go. I’ll reserve a more complete intro for the final part on Wednesday, but a quick word on the compilation of the list that will unfold over the next five days.
My wholly serious (if not stone-set)
There was no wrap last Friday, what with Christmas capping a dead calm news week. So here are the highlights of the last fortnight:
“It might as well rain until September,” wrote Carole King in her jaunty 1960s ditty of that title, an ode to summertime breakup blues that may as well have been composed for the autumnally-activated awards season. Swap September for December, and you have an apt description of the approach many studios and Oscar-watchers alike take to the race — a short-memory mentality that I argued against in a column almost
As I like to do when Kris boldly throws out a set of
I gave this an
The year of the woman. The year of animation. The year of science-fiction. Depending on who you read (and believe), the final year of the decade has been an awful lot of things.
•