My relationship with the Academy Awards had always been very similar to that one couple everyone seems to have in their friend group, who break up and get back together every other weekend and who have the most violent arguments but also the best sex.
Decisions like “Crash” for Best Picture in 2006 and Sandra Bullock for Best Actress in 2010 left me screaming at Oscar and making him sleep on the couch, but then stuff like the Best Picture win for “No Country For Old Men” in 2008 and Tilda Swinton’s 2007 Best Supporting Actress wins reminded me why I fell in love in the first place. It is a constant zigzagging cycle of love and hate, yes, but also obsession, guilt, indifference, boredom and worship.
But this year I sense a change as I am beginning to enter stage two of the relationship. Call it fatigue or call it acceptance or call it maturity — the point is that the days of wild fights and anger are over and so are the days of wild adoration. The extremes on each side are moving toward a middle ground of content amusement.
I think in every successful relationship you get to a point where you stop trying to mold the other person into some idealized version of what he could or should be and begin to learn to love him for who he is. That’s Oscar and me right now. I get it. Whatever happens, it’s just Oscar bein’ Oscar, and you’ve got to love him for it because he’s not going to change.
It’s not that I don’t still have favorites, because I do. I was thrilled to see “Tree of Life” sneak into the Best Picture category and smiled when I heard Rooney Mara’s name called (even if it was at the expense of my darling Tilda). And when “Drive” failed to get any nominations this year outside of Best Sound Editing or when Michael Fassbender’s performance in “Shame” went unnoticed, it was still sad. But overall, this Oscar race has been a much more zen experience. I’ve learned to take the highs and lows evenly in stride.
So, when “The Artist” wins Best Picture on Sunday — a fate as sure at this point as the rising and setting of the sun — I won’t be upset like the me of two or three years ago would be. No, it’s not my favorite of the nominees (put me on team “Descendants”), but it’s truly a lovely film. I think it really does represent a singular achievement for a black and white, silent French film to be so supremely placed in the frontrunner position. Absolutely no one would have predicted that a year ago. So even though it won’t be a shocker in the short term (in this little bubble of time we call Oscar season) to hear its name called at the end of the ceremony come Sunday, on the long term it should be considered a pleasant surprise in Oscar’s 84-year history. I can appreciate that.
And even though I don’t think Viola Davis or Octavia Spencer (both from “The Help”) gave the best leading or the best supporting performances respectively this year, I can value the historical and cultural significance of two black women sweeping the female acting categories for the first time ever.
I guess it’s all about focusing on the good and acknowledging (but not dwelling on) the bad, in relationships as well as in life. My relationship with Oscar is likely to be the longest of my life, so why fight?