The Inquiring Manatee

Oscar Thoughts

   Happy Groundhog Day. The Manatee today mourns the American entertainment industry's loss of the veteran film producer David Brown, a classy gentleman whom this writer met many times over the years. Pivoting forward, this blogger evaluates some of the Academy Award nominations announced early this morning. (I used to get up before dawn to cover those things.) Why should politics be the only concern of a broad-minded manatee?

    The supporting actor category attracts my attention first. If you haven't seen the superb performance of the German actor Christoph Waltz as a Nazi colonel who proudly calls himself "the Jew-hunter" in Quentin Tarantino's "Inglourious Basterds," you've really missed something special. This villain all but stole the picture, even winning a little sympathy for himself. He blew me away. I'd be amazed if he doesn't win. Meanwhile, somebody please tell me why Tarantino was such a lousy speller.

    Best picture: Clearly the fight is between "Avatar" and "The Hurt Locker." The nominations mostly make me want to get off my butt and finally go see "The Hurt Locker" if it's still playing anywhere in L.A. It probably grossed about a buck and a half, way below the $594 million that James Cameron's sci-fi spectacle has made in North America alone. But "The Hurt Locker," by all reports, is a worthy opponent of "Avatar." And the fact that Cameron and "Hurt Locker" director Kathryn Bigelow are ex-spouses adds some spice to the contest.

   Wouldn't it be great to see a woman get the directing award for the first time ever? But the masses will tune in to root for "Avatar." That one and "The Blind Side" are all they know.

   I saw "The Blind Side" last weekend. At best, it barely deserves to be in the best picture category, expanded to 10 nominations. But, along with "Avatar," it represents the Academy reaching out to include more box-office successes in the nominees' list -- and to boost the awards show's dwindling TV ratings. As for Sandra Bullock for best actress in a leading role: Naaahhh. I'd go with Meryl Streep for "Julie and Julia" or Helen Mirren as Count Lev Tolstoy's drama-queen wife in "The Last Station."

     Foreign language film: This is the rare year in which I saw none of the nominees. Guess I'll try to see Michael Haneke's German "The White Ribbon" now. 

    Best actor: Here I have no formed opinion, not yet having seen Jeff Bridges in "Crazy Heart," Colin Firth in "A Single Man," Morgan Freeman in "Invictus" or Jeremy Renner in "The Hurt Locker." George Clooney was excellent, of course, as frequent flier Ryan Bingham in "Up in the Air." By the way, it's titillated me throughout this endless awards season that a composer with the real name of Ryan Bingham has been repeatedly nominated, and now is again, for writing the "Crazy Heart" theme song along with T Bone Burnett. If the Oscar presenters call out the name of Ryan Bingham as the winner for original song, will Clooney dash up to the stage out of force of habit?

The Sad Case of Natasha Richardson

   

A woman takes a fall during a ski lesson on the beginner slope at Mont Tremblant -- and ends up brain-dead?
   How awful and bizarre is that?
   One news report noted that poor Natasha Richardson was "not wearing a helmet."Well, of course she was not wearing a helmet. She wasn't a downhill racer. She was a celebrity actress taking a beginner ski lesson.
    This horrifying story offers one more lesson that snow and ice are treacherous and, so easily, potentially deadly. My ex-boss, Washington Post Co. owner Katharine (Kay) Graham, died from a slip on ice.
     I once took a pretty low-speed fall on ice while doing a winter run in Washington's Rock Creek Park. My shoulder, nearly broken, hurt for two years. Another slip while walking on Connecticut Avenue nearly broke my arm. Ice is bad news. You hit the ground amazingly fast and amazingly hard, and it's a matter of luck where you happen to land.
     I met Natasha Richardson once, briefly. I was interviewing her late father, the British film director Tony Richardson, at a house he owned or was renting in the Hollywood Hills, in the late '80s or early '90s. He was making a comeback with some film or other. As I was saying goodbye at his door and heading for my car, Natasha Richardson arrived for a visit and we spoke. She seemed down-to-earth as well as quite pretty and smart.
     I am so sympathetic to her husband, Liam Neeson, and their two young children.
     This is one more bad thing in a generally bad time.