For an awards body renowned for its frequently contrarian bent, the most surprising thing about this year’s BAFTA awards was, well, just how unsurprising they were.
As the evening unfolded, not a single result emerged that could be classified as a major upset, even if the winners (“Man on Wire” helmer James Marsh in particular) occasionally looked more astonished than anyone else. Yours truly got 16 out of 21 predictions correct (a personal BAFTA record, I think) and even then, most of those errors came from trying to second-guess their usually far less predictable tech categories, and slightly underestimating the across-the-board love for “Slumdog Millionaire.”
For love it they did, awarding it 7 trophies in the biggest BAFTA sweep since “Schindler’s List” matched that tally fifteen years ago. There really is very little to say about the “Slumdog” phenomenon at this stage, other than to admire the grace, modesty and genuinely endearing excitement that Danny Boyle, et al, still manage to convey at these ceremonies, all the while concealing the fact that they can no longer be surprised when their names are called.
The other major story of the ceremony, however, was Mickey Rourke, whose outrageous but nonetheless slyly self-deprecating speech was the evening’s clear highlight. (His hilarious shout-out to his agent for “telling me who to fuck” is surely a soundbite for the ages.) I think it was clear to anyone in the UK that Rourke would win this – “The Wrestler” appears to be attaining cult status here, while the buzz around “Milk” has been eerily quiet – but it does nevertheless prove that he’s still very much in the Oscar race. Taking his wonderful performance aside for a moment, Rourke has now twice proved that he makes for great TV – and assuming they can handle some salty language, his knockout speech tonight may well win over some undecided AMPAS voters.
(More thoughts, and a full list of winners, after the cut.)
Continuing yesterday’s not-so-educated
A slower news week, this, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t find plenty to discuss. Here’s what was on our (and your) minds:
The London Film Critics’ Circle have just 
After screening “The Wrestler” again recently, I realized just how much I have missed the work of Mickey Rourke in movies. There are some actors that are consistently interesting, those that we enjoy watching because we just know they are going to give us something we have not seen before. Jack Nicholson does this, as does Sean Penn, Johnny Depp and Dustin Hoffman, each artist giving us something extraordinary with each new performance, and often even in failure, growing as artists.
Mickey Rourke landed in Santa Barbara tonight to accept the final award of the festival, the American Riviera Award. The on-stage Q&A/career retrospective was moderated by Pete Hammond and presented a swift trip through the actor’s portfolio of impressive performances, making me want to revisit films like “Rumble Fish” and “The Pope of Greenwich Village,” or finally get around to those I’ve never seen, like “Year of the Dragon” and “Animal Factory.”
I haven’t really dug into the stinging Bruce Springsteen snub from eight days ago properly yet, but really, how off-the-mark could the Academy possibly be? Not that the membership considers itself in the business of appearing relevant, but The Boss just played in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. He’s got a new album out as of Tuesday (though admittedly one of his weakest to date). He’ll be
Roger Ebert has yet to weigh in with his formal Oscar predictions, but for now, he’s trying something
Well this is an interesting bit of news, from London’s
I’ve been giving my picks out to various aggregators this weekend but haven’t bothered with a post of my own. Go figure.
Yesterday the Academy
OK, I explained the deal with this
Back in December, Kris offered
What else is there to say? Tomorrow we’ll have a new president and the last eight years will, hopefully, start to fade away. In four days we’ll have a fresh slate of Oscar nominees and the last four months of awards speculation will suddenly be a distant memory. The big wheel keeps on turning.