And the Sensible Picture Award Goes to...

It makes sense that The Artist won Best Picture at last night’s 84th Academy Awards, it really does. It was a throwback to the original art of cinema, but also proved to a new generation that silence can, perhaps, be golden. It makes a lot of sense.

However, the prestigious award is not called the “Sensible Picture” Award; it’s called the “Best Picture” Award, and it’s reserved for the best picture.

Out of the nine films nominated for Best Picture this year, only The Descendants stood out as truly deserving of the award. Through the collaborative talents of director Alexander Payne and actor George Clooney, the film excels at depicting a man torn between honor and anger, lost without the wife who betrayed him. Clooney embodies his character completely: a lawyer, a trustee, a father, a husband, a widower. It is his most honest performance to date.

The Descendants is not carried by Clooney by any means. Shailene Woodley, who played Clooney’s eldest daughter, stole every scene. Her authentic performance boasted raw emotion missing from many young actors today.

Even off the big screen, The Descendants resonates. The novel really gets to the core, exposing the story as a beautiful conflict of emotions that settles with the audience in a very memorable way. This is where The Artist fails.

It is a highly regarded film in terms of creativity and being visually striking. However, it does not have a unique or even memorable plot; it’s Singin’ in the Rain with darker undertones. The Artist has not affected audiences the way past Best Picture winners have. Five years from now, The Artist will become one of those Best Picture winners no one can seem to name.

This is not because silent films are considered “outdated”—I personally enjoy quite a few—but The Artist’s win can be attributed more to the fact that it is a silent film rather than because it deserved to win.

Aside from The Descendants, however, there really was no competition. The nominees for Best Picture fell flat this year. Sure, many of the movies nominated were good (The Help, Moneyball), some even great (Midnight in Paris, Hugo), but most were merely average and placeholders (the rest of the nominees).

So The Artist won Best Picture. As for most predictable result, that goes to the Academy.

Aversion to Virgins: Modern Family's Best Episode to Date?

Last night ABC’s Modern Family aired like it does every Wednesday. Last night, like every Wednesday, I sat down to watch it the second it was streaming online. Unlike every Wednesday, however, I found myself blown away.

Since it aired in 2009, I have been a religious watcher of Modern Family. Unfortunately, season three has been less than satisfactory. Sometimes the intermingling of the entire family felt forced, other times the writing simply fell flat. Last night’s episode turned that all around. The constant motif throughout the episode was growing up and how it changes the relationships around you. All of the subplots within the episode brought out the essence of each character; whether for better or worse, I love each of them more now than ever before.

Let’s begin with Luke and Manny. Stealing Cam’s car to impress a girl was the perfect way to address their transition from being the cute, youngest children into mischievous pre-teens. Even more important is the relationship between Luke and Manny. Though they once fought constantly, Luke and Manny now rely on each other more than anyone else within the family. Luke needs Manny to keep him grounded, but Manny also needs Luke to help him let loose and act his age—something that never happened before Luke and Manny’s friendship developed.

The closeness Luke and Manny attained is something Gloria has been after with Claire for some time…and allowing them to bond over weapons was the only way it could have possibly begun. The audience has been well aware of Gloria’s comfort with weapons and violence, but Claire’s affinity for guns did not come as a surprise. What was surprising was that Claire finally opened up to Gloria—and about her “sacred secret” too. It has taken a while and there have been many failed attempts, but Gloria and Claire are now finally creating a foundation for a good relationship.

The two most heartwarming moments, however, came from Haley and Phil, then Mitchell and Jay. Due to a miscommunication (“Haley’s a virgin...aversion”), Phil finds out his first-born daughter is sexually active. Despite having prepared for this moment, Phil finds himself at a loss for words, torn between feeling awkward and feeling upset. But, in classic Phil fashion, when it really counts, he is able to get his message across (“I trust your judgment”). Even Haley feels touched, saying she has “a cool dad.”

Jay and Mitchell share a similar moment. After marring his father’s memory of the day he got a hole in one, Mitchell apologizes but is let down by how much his father relished that game rather than the nice day they spent together where Mitchell had his first beer—or so he thought. Jay reminds him of his 14^th birthday when his mom made him cry, and Jay was the one who came to Mitchell’s rescue, a beer in tow. It isn’t often that Mitchell and Jay are on the same side.

This episode is the best not because it’s the funniest or the most touching, it’s the best because only a show like Modern Family can pull off heart and hilarity so seamlessly (except for maybe Parks and Recreation). 

Into the Crevasse: When Good Shows Go Bad

There are three things that make a good television show: plot, characters, and time. The plot must be engaging and make the audience believe in what happens. The characters must be distinct and change over time. The show needs enough time to develop, but not too much that it eventually drags the show…into the crevasse.

A great case study is CBS’s How I Met Your Mother. When the show began in 2005, both the plot and characters were interesting and unique. Ted, the main character, reconstructs the story of how he met his wife (and many other women) to his children in the year 2029. His stories nearly always include his four closest friends: Marshall and Lily, his best friends from college, Barney, an insecure womanizer, and Robin, his ex-girlfriend and eventual roommate. The audience has the pleasure of watching these characters interact and develop—until the fourth season.

After Ted is left at the altar in season four, his character loses his trademark optimism about love and romance which he never rediscovers. Marshall and Lily turn into a very typical married sitcom couple, their personalities turning into a personality. Robin becomes less and less of an independent woman and increasingly ditzy.  The only exception is Barney, who has been carrying the show with his patriarchal pursuits (his search and discovery of his father and his revelations of wanting a family of his own).

As the character arches decline, so does the plot. Ted’s search for his wife ceases to be a focal point and the show becomes comprised of sub-par quips that are irrelevant to the show’s premise.

How could this happen? The final factor: time. A good television show not only has a vision of how the plot will unfold, it has a timeline. This is where many once promising shows go bad. In the case of How I Met Your Mother, it has simply gone on for too long. The demand for more has outweighed the material the show had prepared, enabling the writing to go off on tangents and create extraneous subplots. At this point, does anyone even care who the mother is? I sure don’t.

It is always a shame to watch honestly good shows become too big for their own plots. That is not to say that it is impossible to turn around and climb out of the crevasse (30 Rock mentioned a latter), but once inside it’s difficult to come back. With a season and a half to go (let’s hope it stops after season eight), How I Met Your Mother has some wiggle room to get back to its roots, but as stated previously, only time will tell.

Pull Your Pants Down for Feminism!

In an age where photoshop rules supreme and advertisements point out all of a woman’s “flaws”, a show like NBC’s Parks and Recreation comes as a breath of fresh air; this is not just because it is side-splitting funny, but because it takes place in a reality where feminism and powerful women are accepted as the norm.

The deputy director of the Parks and Recreation department in the fictional town of Pawnee, Indiana, Leslie Knope is an ambitious woman in power constantly working hard for those she loves and, most importantly, for herself. Leslie has high hopes for her career (President of the United States) and will do anything to protect her pristine reputation, even pull her pants down on Pawnee Today to dispel a sex scandal rumor. Leslie shows her feminism through her strong character as she takes on the political world, but she also inspires feminism within her entire office.

The ensemble of women is strong, each in her own way. Donna Meagle, the sassy office manager of the Parks and Recreation Department, always displays self-confidence. She has a materialistic streak—her beloved Benz, anyone?—but everything she owns, she has worked for herself. Donna is a self-made business woman with an active, unapologetic sex life and she is unashamed of what she has to offer.

Unlike Donna, the audience has been able to watch April Ludgate transform from an apathetic girl into a strong young woman (though let’s be honest, she’s still pretty apathetic). In the earlier seasons, April engages in activities that belittle her as a woman, such as playing dumb in an attempt to win the cash prize for a beauty pageant or being a part of an unhealthy relationship (“this is my boyfriend Derek and Derek’s boyfriend Ben”). In season two’s episode “Galentine’s Day” April is finally able to let go of her indifferent façade and start becoming her own woman, putting her own desires above what is expected of her.

Ann Perkins forgoes a similar journey to that of April. Ann proves herself as a strong, self-possessed woman after she takes a break from relationships (from Andy to Mark to Chris). When busy nurse Ann is able to take time and spend it on herself, she is able to loosen up and become her own whole person, not just the second half of a couple’s name.

The strength of the women of Pawnee does not go unnoticed by the men. In fact, it is greatly accepted and even encouraged. Mustachioed man’s man and Head of the Parks Department, Ron Swanson has an affinity for dark haired, powerful women; he has even been known to watch a surprisingly large amount of WNBA games. Though he does poke fun at Leslie on occasion, he holds her and the other members of the Parks Department (and Ann) in high esteem, respecting each of them as the powerful women they are. Even Andy Dwyer (or is it Andy Radical?), in all his wisdom, decides to take a women’s studies class at the local college.

Though it constantly flies under the radar, Parks and Recreation has the uncanny ability to become funnier every week while instilling a positive message about women empowerment. I’ll pull my pants down to that.

Annie Hall (1977)

As I go through my list of movies, I have taken to writing notes while I watch them. Sometimes they are about how the angle of the camera reflects the mood the director is trying to achieve or certain things characters say that seem significant. However, the only note I have aboutAnnie Hall is "I already love it (00:07:20)." Though this is the first and only Woody Allen movie I have seen, I can say without a doubt that it is his greatest; Annie Hall is his gem.

Throughout the film, Allen maintains an element of sincerity making it easy for the audience to relate to his characters and storyline. I think it is the film's honesty that left me in tears by the end.

What I loved most about Annie Hall was that the time line was clear without it being entirely laid out for the viewer. The scenes were construed in a manner that illustrated the way a person's memories operate--they are random, yet related; some become skewed as time goes on while others are romanticized. Allen pulls this off beautifully.

Another wonderful aspect of Annie Hall is its ability to mimic real life: it has funny moments with serious undertones, as well as serious moments with funny undertones. And, as it happens for most people, when one looks back on any moment of the past it becomes amusing.

Throughout Annie Hall, Allen plays with the film which adds to its whimsical nature. Alvy asks advice from people on the street who answer as though they are entirely knowledgeable about the situation; he adds in animated characters; he has split screen dialogue. My favorite of his film tricks, however, is the subtitles showing what Alvy and Annie are really thinking as they converse about art. Allen's innovative usage of these tricks has influenced movies ever since, most notably 500 Days of Summer.

Overall, it is easy to see why Annie Hall remains a relevant classic over thirty years after its release. I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend this film.