It’s a well-known fact that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences don’t tend to favour genre films when it comes to shortlisting for their tentpole awards ceremony. It’s simply not their bag and that goes that double for anything that happens to fall into the disreputable slum of horror. Indeed — bar a […]
It’s a well-known fact that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences don’t tend to favour genre films when it comes to shortlisting for their tentpole awards ceremony. It’s simply not their bag and that goes that double for anything that happens to fall into the disreputable slum of horror. Indeed — bar a few outliers like Silence of the Lambs, The Exorcist or Get Out — scary movies rarely get a fair shake come Oscar season. Certainly not when compared to, say, glitzy biopics or period pieces that have a more prestigious air about them.
Yet, against all odds, the genre has done quite well for itself this year. Robert Eggers’Nosferatuis dominating the technical categories, The Substance has found itself as an unlikely contender for four of the “Big Five” awards, and even Alien: Romulushas gotten a look in for its VFX work.
With that being said, normally we’d be banging the drum for greater horror representation at the Oscars, but it doesn’t feel particularly warranted this time around. There’s already a strong line-up in place.
Of course, us gorehounds will never be wholly satisfied until our creepy and kooky culture is as widely celebrated within the annals of Hollywood as it is within our own little bubble. Which is why we have decided to take a moment (on the eve of the 97th Academy Awards) to highlight some missed opportunities to celebrate even more achievements in this genre over the past twelve months. Without further ado, let’s see who else should have made the cut.
Honourable Mentions: Best Sound for A Quiet Place: Day One; Best Actress for Lily-Rose Depp and Best Director for Robert Eggers in Nosferatu; Best Makeup and Hairstyling for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice; and Best Actor for Justice Smith in I Saw the TV Glow.
Credit where it’s due, the Academy has whittled down a pretty respectable shortlist for their best actress prize this year and there are no glaring bad calls that need to be swapped out (Karla Sofía Gascón’s social media tirades notwithstanding). Plus, it’s the only acting category that has some decent genre representation to begin with, courtesy of Demi Moore’s portrayal of fading superstar, Elisabeth Sparkle, in The Substance.
Moore definitely earned her flowers here, but if we were to pick a runner-up for a horror leading lady it would have to be Nell Tiger Free in The First Omen. Showing an extraordinary commitment to the part — that goes well beyond what anyone could reasonably expect from a prequel to a franchise that has only ever seen diminishing returns — she is a true force to be reckoned with. In fact, she manages to carry the whole film without needing to rely on her more seasoned co-stars, like Bill Nighy or Ralph Ineson.
As novitiate Margaret Daino — uncovering a profane conspiracy within the Vatican Church — Free deftly weaves between antipodal extremes. By turn, she has to play: fiercely devout; sweet naivety; blubbering fear; righteous indignation; timid repression; and, eventually, uninhibited ferity. What’s most impressive is that she throws herself into each of these emotional states without a hint of vanity holding her back, as best demonstrated by her astonishingly raw, antenatal breakdown that’s been favourably compared to a similar scene from Żuławski’s Possession. If ever there was an attention-grabbing nominee clip for Oscar night, it’d be that one.
Strange Darling’s twisty- turny plotting necessitates that we remain tight-lipped about Willia Fitzgerald’s turn as “The Lady,” lest we risk spoiling some of the thriller’s biggest surprises. However, what we can say is that, if she didn’t so believably sell her oftentimes contradictory and mercurial character, then those major rug pulls wouldn’t work half as well as they do.
It’s a demanding role upon which the entire movie hinges and it asks an awful lot of its performer, who must be at once sympathetic but also unpredictable and difficult to read. As the deadly game of cat-and-mouse between her and Kyle Gallner’s “The Demon” escalates, Fitzgerald has to give you just enough insight into The Lady’s mindset to keep you invested without ever overplaying her hand. And it’s a delicate balance act that she absolutely nails. If you’ve seen Strange Darling, and can interpret our vague description, then you’ll know exactly what we’re talking about.
You’d be hard-pressed to identify a movie — released within the past twelve months — that’s bolder with its audio mix than Longlegs. Osgood Perkins’ occult thriller may have split audiences right down the middle when it came to its languorous pacing, far-fetched plot twists and hyperbolic marketing campaign, but one thing that cannot be denied is just how effectively its soundscape gets under your skin. In a way that feels almost violating.
Sound designer, Eugenio Battaglia, employed a number of daring and experimental techniques to accomplish this: smuggling demonic messages into the film via backmasking; layering a subliminal “hell heartbeat” into the foley; and helping Nic Cage unleash his inner satanic energy by pitching the actor’s voice to an electric guitar. The end result is a mix that (appropriately enough, given Longlegs’ core themes of mind control) worms its way into your brain and festers there for days.
Truth be told, Coralie Fargeat’s exemplary body horror flick could probably hold its own in the audio department as well. After all, who could forget the viscerally unpleasant symphony of cracking bones, peeling fingernails, and Dennis Quaid noisily lapping up shrimp that it subjects you to?
However, in the interest of spreading the love more evenly, we decided to go with Longlegs in that category. I mean, it’s not like The Substance has been given the cold shoulder this awards season. On the contrary, it’s done remarkably well for a movie that’s indebted to the works of Brian Yuzna and Frank Henenlotter. I, for one, never thought I’d live to see the day that a film that ends with someone vomiting up their own boob would emerge as a viable Best Picture candidate. Yet here we are!
All of that being said, The Substance might have an impressive five Oscar nods under its belt, but I still think there was room for one more. Specifically, in the Best Editing field. As it stands, the actual shortlist for this category feels like a slapdash grouping of the respective Academy branch’s favourite overall films of the year. But (aside from maybe Anora and The Brutalist), none of them do anything especially noteworthy in terms of editing.
The Substance, on the other hand, is assembled very deliberately and with a sense of rhythmic propulsion that immerses you in Elisabeth Sparkle’s breakdown. Just take a moment to appreciate the comedic intercutting in that infamous kitchen scene, for example, or the way that an otherwise mundane transition from night to day is rendered far more interesting by synching it up to Elisabeth’s channel surfing. There’s so much creativity on display here and it’s a shame that it hasn’t got more attention.
As someone who spends far too much time agonising over every single word they use in a piece of writing, I am in awe of Robert Eggers’ masterful command of language. His insistence on authentically capturing the speech of very particular historical epochs (whether that’s 17th-century puritanical America, Scandinavia in the Middle Ages, or New England’s nautical scene circa the 1800s) is a consistent highlight of his output.
And, just as with every other facet of his filmmaking, you’ve got to respect how much of a stickler he is for detail when it comes to how his characters talk. Paying keen attention to the minutiae of regional dialects, the evolution of syntax over the ages, and archaisms that have long since fallen out of favour, each line of dialogue Eggers pens feels painstakingly researched and yet somehow unforced.
This preternatural gift of the gab is especially evident throughout his latest offering, with Nosferatu containing some of the scribe’s best monologues and quotes to date (“I have wrestled with the Devil as Jacob wrestled the Angel in Penuel,” “ I am an appetite, nothing more”). For a remake that hews very close to its silent-era forbear, this eloquent dialogue makes Eggers’ version feel truly fresh and — even with all of the stellar production values that are put up on screen— is what ultimately stood out most to me.
It might be a bit showier than some of the nominees handpicked by the Academy but, surely, if there is anywhere that we ought to be celebrating distinctive voices in cinema, it’s with the Oscars’ dedicated screenplay categories.
Bill Skarsgård’s stint as Count Orlok was never destined for awards glory, even if it was showered with adulation by the viewing public. The simple fact of the matter is that his undead plague carrier is obscured by too many prosthetic appliances, shrouds of darkness and shallow focus cinematography for a great deal of Nosferatu’s runtime. And the Academy generally likes to see an actor’s work play out in front of their eyes before handing over a little golden statuette. With there also being a valid argument that the Hair & Makeup team (who are rightfully being honoured in their own field this awards season) are the artists truly responsible for bringing Orlok’s presence to the screen, you can understand why Skarsgård isn’t getting much notice. But that also means that we’re overlooking the unrecognisable transformation that the Swedish actor underwent.
Beyond just sticking that controversial moustache to his upper lip, Skarsgård completely changes his entire gait, body language and vocal register to become the imposing Orlok (even going so far as to work with an opera singer to lower his voice by a full octave). Not to mention, he also convincingly delivers many of his lines in an extinct Dacian tongue without it ever sounding silly. Far from it, he actually manages to make the vampire archetype both mesmerising and menacing again. Which is no small feat in a post What We Do In The Shadows climate!
If voters were reluctant to praise somebody caked in prosthetics and off-putting facial hair pieces, then maybe Hugh Grant would have been the safer alternative for the Oscars. The Rom-Com stalwart simultaneously played to and against type in last year’s Heretic, portraying one the most sadistic (but also kind of disarming) horror antagonists in recent memory.
Essentially the final boss you’d encounter at the end of a r/atheism forum, his Mr. Reed passes the time by luring innocent missionaries to his house and then refusing to let them leave until they either agree with him on all matters theological, or else suffer for failing to. But he does it in that dapper, self-effacing way that only Hugh Grant can get away with.
In a lot of respects, it’s a pretty typical performance from the actor’s new “roughish cad” era, consistent with his turns in films like Paddington 2, The Gentlemen, or Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves. Yet by cranking the sinisterness up just a fraction of a degree, it turns out to be an absolute revelation. One that proves Grant might just have a future in the bonafide villain market if he ever wants to delve further into the dark side.
No wonder the Golden Globes decided to commend his work with a “Best Actor – Musical or Comedy” nod. In our opinion, the Academy should have followed suit, if for nothing else than that glorious Jar Jar Binks impression.
This category is always a tricky one, thanks to its rigid eligibility criteria that can disqualify otherwise worthy nominees on the grounds of their domestic release dates, the language that is predominately used, and whether they’ve aired on television abroad prior to their theatrical exhibition in the States. It’s a minefield that’s led to some unfortunate snubs based on nothing but mere technicalities.
Bearing that in mind, some of the best international horror films that we’re going to namedrop here might not necessarily meet the stringent eligibility criteria for the Oscar. But, fuck it, they’re the ones that would have made the cut in a just world.
First up we have Cloud (which, incidentally, was put forward as Japan’s submission for the 97th Academy Awards). This flick saw Pulse director Kiyoshi Kurosa deliver another compelling psychological thriller that further explored his preoccupation with modern technology. Although certainly an acquired taste, Spain’s The Coffee Tableearned its social media notoriety and a rave review from Stephen King by being legitimately shocking in a way that few Hollywood productions ever manage. And, finally, Exhuma broke box office records in its native South Korea while also translating well overseas, with our own Megan Navarro praising it as a fun, gory, creepy folk horror “with a lot on its mind.” Surely there was room for at least one of these kick-ass imports at the Oscars!
Best Director: Jane Schoenbrun (I Saw the TV Glow)
One of the (many) sticks being used to beat Oscar frontrunner Emilia Pérez is the fact that the musical melodrama is fundamentally disinterested in its own subject matter. Or, more accurately, its director is.
Indeed, Jacques Audiard has drawn the ire of detractors for brazenly asserting that he didn’t need to research Mexico — you know, the movie’s primary setting and focus of its half-baked social commentary — before rolling the camera, arguing instead that: “What [he] needed to know [he] already knew.” Likewise, the uncurious filmmaker has come under fire for neglecting to do any homework whatsoever on the trans experience. Which, again, is pretty central to the story he has chosen to tell! Rather than coming from a place of sincerity then, it feels very much like Audiard has tried to coast his way to critical acclaim by exploiting a number of provocative hot-button topics.
If the Academy were serious about recognising LGBTQ+ voices, they’d have been much better off giving his spot to Jane Schoenbrun. I don’t mean to pitch two trans stories against each other here in some kind of Highlander-esque “there can be only one” duel, but it just seems nuts to me that Emilia Pérez is getting all the love when I Saw the TV Glow is infinitely more authentic and heartfelt.
Compared to the cisgendered Audiard, it is evident from minute one that Schoenbrun has a much deeper understanding of the subject matter in question. They are able to draw upon very specific autobiographical details and their own lived experiences to communicate what it’s like to feel like you’re in the wrong skin, and there’s a sense of vulnerability to their finished product that’s utterly absent from the considerably more hyped Netflix original.
As someone who has no frame of reference whatsoever for the challenges trans people face, I Saw the TV Glow helped me to appreciate the significance of the “egg crack” moment, made me understand the anxiety that comes with watching time slip away while you struggle to embrace your true self, and put me through the wringer with its devastating gut-punch of an ending. That Schoenbrun was able to do this through visual metaphor and supernatural allegory (with little in the way of on-the-nose dialogue) is a triumph of directing and an achievement that deserved to be celebrated on the world stage.
