With the Academy Awards just behind us, here’s how to further explore your interests when course selection rolls around
By: Scarlett Sapieha, Arts and Culture Contributor
The 97th Academy Awards nominees for Best Picture explore a variety of fascinating subjects, and McMaster has an extensive catalogue of electives that dive deeper into these interests. Here are the courses to take next year, based on your pick for Best Picture.
Frequently described as an “American Cinderella story,” Anora is a film about a sex worker who marries a Russian oligarch. CMST 2H03: Gender and Performance explores how gender and sex inform different performance texts through feminist lenses, leaning into the themes of the film about autonomy and sex as a transaction rather than pleasure.
The Brutalist tells the epic saga of a Jewish architect escaping Europe during the Second World War to start a new life in America. Though Adrien Brody’s character specializes in the brutalist style, GKROMST 2BB3: Constructing the Ancient World is your chance to learn about the fundamentals of architecture that still influence design today.
Timothée Chalamet’s performance as Bob Dylan in A Complete Unknown wowed audiences with the research and detail put into the role. MUSIC 2II3: Popular Music in North America and the United Kingdom: Post-World War II is your opportunity to learn about the musical greats of the era at the same critical level. Study everything from Chuck Berry to Madonna—record labels to production studios.
Visually stunning and technically masterful, Conclave follows the College of Cardinals as they vote to elect a new pope. It dives into what values a Catholic figurehead should have and how they shape the global politics of the church. Gender, race and sexuality have all historically been loaded concepts in religion—explore why and how in SCAR 2RD3: Religion and Diversity.
Dune: Part Two continues the story of Paul Atreides on the desert planet of Arrakis. ANTHROP 3SS3: Sacred Journeys is a study of pilgrimages and secular relationships. With a film about false prophets, manipulation and a whole lot of walking, it’s hard to find a better companion course.
With a film about false prophets, manipulation and a whole lot of walking, it’s hard to find a better companion course.
Emilia Pérez follows a cartel leader who fakes her death to have gender-affirming surgery. The film has been criticized for poor writing, its use of AI, a transphobic narrative and racist depictions of Latinx communities. SOCIOL 3U03: Sociology of Sexualities examines how sexuality and identity have been shaped by historical and social contexts.
Based on a true story from life in the Brazilian military dictatorship, I’m Still Here centres on the forced disappearance of Rubens Paiva and the struggles his family faces in the aftermath. POLSCI 1AA3: Government, Politics, and Power examines how power shapes political structures and the ideas and events that have shifted modern politics.
Shot almost entirely from a first-person perspective, Nickel Boys is an impressionistic film that captures a feeling more than a linear narrative, pairing well with IARTS 1PA3: Perspectives A: Arts in Society: Social Constructions of Class, Race and Gender. This course examines how art shifts narratives around social issues and how artists communicate through different mediums.
The Substance follows Demi Moore as an aging actress pushed out of the industry, who finds an experimental drug that will split her consciousness in two—one as she is now, and one as her so-called best self. Examining sexism and ageism in entertainment, GENDRST 3BB3: Gender and Visual Culture explores how gender is expressed and interpreted in visual mediums.
A critical study of how so-called villains are made, Wicked gives audiences a backstory for the iconic Wicked Witch of the West and how she became so despised. GERMAN 2FT3: The Fairy Tale (Taught in English) studies the history behind the fairy tales we love, starting with the Grimm Brothers and pushing forward to myth and modern folktales.
Regardless of their wins and losses at the Oscars, these films introduce relevant themes that stand strongly on their own. What better way to discover a new interest and inspire your studies than through cinema?
Regardless of their wins and losses at the Oscars, these films introduce relevant themes that stand strongly on their own.
By: Hayley Regis
So the Oscar nominations are out, in case you haven’t heard. Despite this being a landmark year for women of colour achieving amazing things — Viola Davis’ Emmy, Serena Williams as Sportsperson of the Year — we are once again reminded that white people are just better at this ‘acting thing’ than we are. I don’t believe that is the case. Lest someone decry me as a reverse racist, let us delve further into this land of celebrating white mediocrity and the black actors who are typecast and fall by the wayside.
Hattie McDaniel was the first black person to win an award for supporting actress. In 1939 she played a character named ‘Mammy’ in Gone with the Wind, a character so laden with racist stereotypes that “problematic” doesn’t begin to cover it. The first time a woman of colour won an award for best actress was Halle Berry, in 2001. The movie Monster’s Ball was about a poor southern woman who falls in love with the prison guard who executed her husband. The movie is described as an “erotic romantic drama,” despite the first sex scene being drunken (i.e. without proper consent) “grief sex.” Despite Berry being fetishized and portrayed as a sex object, her performance was still the only time a woman of colour has ever won best actress.
We are no stranger to all-white nominees, especially women, but this year with movies like Straight Outta Compton and Creed, you’d think we would see some recognition for the acting of people of colour, especially considering the success of the films. Creed’s black writer-director Ryan Coogler, and black star Michael B. Jordan, were passed over, while Sylvester Stallone managed to get a nomination for best supporting. Compton didn’t get a nod from the academy, but the Screen Actors and Producers guilds nominated it for best picture. Needless to say this is a problem. We have actors like Idris Elba, Samuel L. Jackson and Will Smith, doing amazing work and someone drags the proverbial white carpet over them.
This year with movies like Straight Outta Compton and Creed, you’d think we would see some recognition for the acting of people of colour.
As Viola Davis said in her Emmy acceptance speech, “you can’t win an award for roles that are simply not there.” How are we supposed to fix the problems with representation, recognition, and general celebrations of people that may or may not be natural blondes? I grew up idolizing Michael Clarke Duncan, and Samuel L. Jackson because they were the only black people I saw in movies growing up. I’ve seen Snakes on a Plane more times than I care to admit, just because he’s in it. He doesn’t look like me, but he reminds me of my dad and his family. That’s the take-what-representation-you-can get mentality I grew up with. I am overwhelmingly saddened by the lack of diversity in this year’s nominations; it seems as if those wishing for a white Christmas had their wishes granted a little bit later this year.
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With this year’s Grammys set to air on Feb. 8, and the Oscars following shortly after on Feb. 22, I can’t help but ask myself the same question I ask every year: do awards shows matter? More specifically, do these programs represent the interests of both audiences and creators?
Yes, awards shows are made to entertain and advertise the nominees various products, but do they not also exist to give people something to aspire to? If that is the case, it’s clear award shows are failing these people, and have been for several years. Despite Lupita Nyong’o winning the award for Best Supporting Actress at last year’s Oscars, she remains only the sixth black actress to win the award in history.
To me, there is something inherently problematic about valuing an institution that has existed for 87 years that acknowledges minority talents less than one percent of the time. More importantly, there is something equally troubling about labeling this award as something to aspire to. Unfortunately, people will defend this visible racial bias as something merely reflecting panelists’ personal tastes. Some believe this discrepancy doesn’t neglect minorities for personal reasons, but merely chooses the most deserving candidate that just happens to be white almost every time.
While that defence is obviously flawed, it isn’t the only area award shows fail in. Awards shows are too often completely out of touch with the current generation’s culture, racial bias or not.
In the case of the Grammys, its voting panel has been disconnected with music, particularly with hip-hop, for the last 20 years. In fact, awards for the rap genre have only existed since 1989, despite its dominance, and at the time only included a single award category for Best Rap Performance. Though years have passed, and though they have since added the best album and song categories, some of their decisions have been questionable.
The Grammys in particular seem trapped in the tastes of those who run them. For example, in 1994 when Ready to Die, Illmatic and Outkast’s debut record were released, the judges felt Tony Bennett was more deserving of album of the year. Even in 2014 the rock music categories were not dominated by upcoming artists, but by Paul McCartney and Led Zeppelin. Somehow, a re-release of the latter’s music from the 70s beat out newer artists to win an award in 2014.
What makes it worse is that these decisions don’t reflect sales, something that would be vaguely justifiable. For example, in 2001 the release of The Marshall Mathers LP lost Album of the Year to Steely Dan, despite being the best-selling record of the year. This means that not only do these decisions not reflect a nominee’s influence on the current generation, they don’t even reflect what the generation was interested in buying.
This kind of issue is unsurprising, as diversity is uncommon among those in power. For instance, the L.A. Times reported that the people who select the Oscar nominees and winners are 94 percent “white,” with 77 percent of the members being male, with an average age of 62. Because of this, I have a hard time believing these prestigious award shows represent anyone who isn’t an old white guy. While I may feel differently when I’m an old white guy, that’s certainly a problem to me now.
So to answer my earlier question of whether awards shows matter or not is tricky. To me they can only matter if they are something every person in the industry can realistically aspire to win. Right now, I do not believe this is the case. Until then, I’ll continue not taking these programs seriously, because if I wanted to know what a bunch of old white guys thought about music or movies, I would just ask my relatives at Christmas.
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Jemma Wolfe
Senior ANDY Editor
Oscar turned 84 this year, and his birthday celebration, which was more gimmicky than ever before, was not classy for such an old guy.
Let’s face it: the Academy Awards are going downhill. The reprisal of Billy Crystal’s role as host was highly anticipated, yet most of his jokes fell flat. It seems that after the ninth time around, he’s lost his charm; telling Jonah Hill he’s fat and cracking jokes about black poverty isn’t clever, and certainly isn’t classy.
It was Justin Bieber’s self-reflexive, gimmicky appearance in Crystal’s opening montage that set the tone for the night. “What’s up? I’m here to get you the 18-24 demographic,” Bieber recited awkwardly. While somewhat true, the segment failed to entertain.
Robert Downey Jr.’s mocumentary stunt while presenting the Oscar for best documentary with Gwyneth Paltrow was also stilted and dull. He pretended to be shooting a behind-the-scenes film about the Academy Awards, claiming to be experimenting with the art form of “live documentary,” to which Paltrow quipped, “that’s called the news.” It was one of the less cringe-worthy moments of the night, but still didn’t quite hit the mark.
Cirque du Soleil’s performance midway through the evening was visually stunning, as expected from an acrobatic company known for setting industry standards. Its presence, however, which was a first for the Oscars, felt gimmicky. It was an obvious ploy to increase ratings and number of viewers.
Finally, Sacha Baron Cohen’s media stunt on the red carpet was the cherry on top, despite occurring before the evening even began. Dressed in a white army suit, sunglasses and a peaked cap as General Aladeen – the main character from his upcoming film The Dictator – he carried an urn with Kim Jong Il’s face on it, and professed to Ryan Seacrest during an interview that it had always been the former North Korean leader’s dream to have his ashes sprinkled on the red carpet. With those panic-inducing words, he spilled the contents (which were rumored to actually be Bisquick) all down the front of Seacrest’s Burberry tuxedo. Cohen was promptly escorted off the premises by security guards, but not before his crazed act of self-promotion and sabotage was complete.
It’s sad to see the Academy Awards used and abused by such pathetic stints of gimmickry and self-promotion. What was once an opportunity to see the best of the best receive well-deserved honours during an evening of reserve and class has very clearly deteriorated. No wonder they’re fighting for ratings. Oh, the irony.
Albert Nobbs
Starring: Glenn Close, Janet McTeer
Directed by: Rodrigo Garcia
3 out of 5 stars
Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor
Some of the best moments of Albert Nobbs come from a look or a pause. They are moments devoted to capturing the posture of its working class, the silence of a secret or the embarrassment of an intimate exchange. Put together, the parts that function best come to form a portrait of a woman in 1850’s Ireland – a woman disguised as a man.
Based on a novella by George Moore, and spearheaded by actress Glenn Close for its adaptation, the film tells the peculiar tale of gender and survival. As the attentive waiter of Dublin’s Morrison Hotel, Albert (Close) is extolled as the archetype of prim and proper.
With skin strangely tight, hair carefully coiffed, and a demeanour bereft of gender, Closes’ studied portrayal is no less an uncanny feat of androgyny. Conscious of guest’s secrets, we never get the tipoff that they are on to hers - with one patron even remarking, ‘what a kind, little man.”
Placed in and around the hotel, the film’s tendency to dwell on servants and sophisticated clientele is obvious and rather simple. The heart of the matter, as personified in its title, is the question of identity.
Serving under an undetermined amount of time, Albert’s hotel tenure has afforded her the ability to save and fantasize for an economic escape. Beneath her bedroom floor lays a treasury of coins, preserved from years of strict diligence. Like her other, more solemn secret, Albert’s reasons for hiding are more enigmatic than the screenplay lets on (implying rape under her hush tone of naivety).
For some, Close’s performance may be dismissible as mere make-up and male drag. It isn’t. With complete dedication, she restricts herself from overacting and in turn crafts an homage to Charlie Chaplin with childlike poise and manner.
Circumstance transpires and one day the unblinking Nobbs is instructed to share her bed with Hubert Page (Janet McTeer), a painter with an unreadable countenance. Albert remains terrified, mind you, vehemently guarding herself amidst the awkward predicament.
The plot thickens, and in lieu of bearing a flea-ridden bed, Albert violently stumbles, relieving herself of a confining girdle to Hubert’s knowing eye.
In the wake of fear and concealment, Albert’s gender bending unveil does little to damper Hubert’s nights rest. Turns out Mr. Page has been living a similar secret, but for her own reasons.
Having successfully impersonated a working class man, the painter’s confidence awakens Albert’s own, allotting the asexual being to explore emotion, femininity and even the thought of marriage.
Together, both actresses establish a charismatic bond that comes to define the picture’s strength. Janet McTeer as Hubert Page is an absolute marvel.
Duly awarded an Academy Award nomination (along with Glenn Close), her performance is star making, and beautifully unannounced from left field.
Unfortunately, the rest of the picture plods with an ensemble cast straddling class prejudices and whiny melodramatics. The overarching story of a Victorian Hotel is familiar, further tarnished by two supporting parts that emanate a whiff of amateurism.
Mia Wasikowska and Aaron Johnson seem to exist only to shove the story to its inevitable conclusion, playing lovebirds within the Hotel’s working staff - one a brutish urchin, the other an object of Albert’s desire. Neither work.
As a whole, the film travels unevenly, fastened by two superb performances. With Meryl Streep receiving her 17th Oscar nomination for the Iron Lady, it comes as a shock that this is only Glenn Close’s sixth. Considering her 23-year gap from 1988’s Dangerous Liaisons, Albert Nobbs reinstates why she rivals America’s finest living actress.
Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor
I awoke hours after they were announced, my cellphone illuminated with missed messages reflecting ire and disheartenment. Oscar nominations had arrived, not merely soft, but more akin to vapour – a fleeting, if not sickly sweet scent - whisked breezily from memory as soon as it wafted by.
Call it sour grapes, but my acerbic stance comes valid. Surely one can shift through the nine competing Best Pictures nominations and assess them as prominently listless entries. Compared to last years rough and tumble field of Inception, The Social Network, Winter’s Bone and 127 Hours - this year’s hopefuls lobby like a campaign on behalf of America, promulgating greatness in the face of past adversity.
Case in point: The Help, a whitewash reimagining of African American maids during the volatile civil rights movement. Was it popular? Yep. Was it lightweight? Most definitely. Did it subtly reinforce racial stereotypes while pulling the wool over moviegoer’s eyes? Oh, hell yes!
In fact, it’s almost as shameless as a 9/11 fantasy that ties together a fatherless child, a golden key and a mute geriatric who answers with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ inscribed on his palms. Wait. That was nominated, too? Oh my God.
Sentiment is where Hollywood’s heart lays, and while the previous two pander, they remain relative long shots over the swagger and schmaltz of Moneyball and The Descendants – the latter a clear frontrunner.
Pitt and Clooney’s chops universally typify quality. Sadly, their pictures, oh so mediocre, seduced voters in the same vein as the Emperors New Clothes – riding their wave of clout to short attention spans and gutless film critics alike. I will emphasize again – these films will not be remembered. Not next year nor ten years from now.
In contrast, a bone must be thrown to The Tree of Life, a surprise Best Picture nominee, sporting not only a wonderfully superior Brad Pitt performance but also a vision that remains wildly opaque to even the most seasoned viewer. It makes one question if voters even watched it. Was it just thrown in to shake things up? One to appease the art house sect? Whatever the case, fucking eh.
Like any year, actors are obtusely shut out in favour of sympathy votes or outside influence. Chalk it up to the current air of American politics and the GOP race, because it’s the only theory I have behind the heinous exclusion of Drive, or the presumed lock of Albert Brook’s for his sinister supporting work. I still get goose bumps thinking about his scene of soothing a dying friend upon viciously slitting his wrist. Mmmhmm, villainy at its finest.
2011 is apparently the year politics made Hollywood their whipping boy for gore and sex – frank, uncomfortable sex. Michael Fassbender’s brave work in Shame, also a presumed shoe-in, was sorely absence. His substitute? Damian Bichir in A Better Life. Yeah, no one else has heard of him either. Seems that Fassbender’s authenticity as a sex starved, chronic masturbator hit too close for some. You know, the same guys that consistently nominate actresses whenever they play a prostitute. Can you smell my cynicism for this hypocrisy?
One last note on Shame: I have a distinct and dejected sense that Fassbender’s snub stems from the film’s rating rather than performance. Marked with an uncommercial NC-17 (equivalent to the once used X), its freedom to confront nudity and graphic subject matter without censorship scared the conservative academy to the bone. So what does this mean? In short, a vote for Shame would have propelled production for similar projects. But therein lies the power of Oscar – ignore it and the artistic risk becomes useless and too great.
A similar argument can be made for Cahrlize Theron in Young Adult. Comical, yet equally visceral, her foul-mouthed portrayal, alongside a handicapped Patton Oswald, subscribed to a reality of people unable to grow up. Dark and awkward, it just might be their finest performances, too. Again, though, too icky-poo.
Perhaps claims of political infiltration are a bit much. Certainly I don’t have psychical proof. What I do know though is this year’s nominations are littered with nostalgia, oozing with it, in fact. The charming, if not gimmicky silence of The Artist to the overwrought origin of cinema in Martin Scorcese’s Hugo – Hollywood has always been a sucker for narcissism.
Change has to come. Challenging films must be noticed. The Oscars oughta grow a pair because with each passing year I’m finding it harder and harder to distinguish the relevance between it and the MTV Movie Awards.
