Författare: Ari Mattes Lecturer in Communications and Media University o

We’ve probably all had a moment when we stopped taking the Oscars too seriously. For me, it was when Denzel Washington won best actor for Training Day (2001), a crime film in which he displays virtually none of his acting chops.

And as popular cinema becomes uglier (it’s mostly shot on digital video now, which almost never looks as good as film) and streamers (or logistics companies such as Amazon) take over film production, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to appreciate the point of the ceremony.

From this year’s ten nominees for best picture, The Brutalist, Conclave and I’m Still Here are good – while (most of) the other nominees are only okay.

Some well-made films, but nothing outstanding

Writer-director Sean Baker’s Anora is nominated for best picture this year, after already winning the Palme d’Or. It’s a moderately sweet film in the tradition of Pretty Woman – having more nudity and sex, and a disappointing ending, doesn’t automatically make it edgier. It’s too long by at least half an hour, with some okay performances.

It’s certainly not bad, but the idea that this is one of the “best pictures” of 2024 is alarming – or would be, if I wasn’t already so cynical. Most importantly, there’s nothing formally or aesthetically compelling about it, in which case I might have forgiven the silly (anti) Cinderella story.

Another nominee, A Complete Unknown, is similarly well-made. Timothée Chalamet gives a predictably moody performance as Bob Dylan, and it’s fun to learn something about the relationships between Dylan and musical legends Joan Baez and Pete Seeger.

But there’s also something fundamentally weird about watching a memoir about a person as iconic as Dylan. It veers too often into the terrain of impersonation, and this is even more off-putting given Dylan is still alive. Throw in Chalamet’s (certainly accomplished) singing of Dylan’s songs, and it feels like we’re watching someone do karaoke really well.

The Substance tries to shock and titillate the viewer with its caricature of celebrity in an era of body modification and mega-media corporations. Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley and Dennis Quaid try hard to be funny, but the whole thing plays like an undergraduate essay that makes the same point ad nauseam. Though the actors surely had fun, there’s nothing compelling about their guffawing.

This is also the problem with messy hybrid musical-thriller Emilia Pérez, the other over-the-top genre film tipped by some to win the award.

The film, following a cartel leader who disappears and transitions into a woman, is overly dependent on making a point about the world outside of itself. This point is so obvious that it rapidly becomes tedious, with insufficient attention given to the formal and narrative tensions and ambiguities that compel an audience to engage with a film on a serious, visceral level.

Dune: Part Two sounds and looks good, but is more meandering than Part One in developing Herbert’s unwieldy epic. If you liked Part One, you’ll probably like Part Two, but it’s not exactly cutting-edge material.

Nickel Boys is a low-key, sentimental rendition of Colson Whitehead’s novel about two African American boys sent to a reform school in Florida in the early 1960s, and their coming of age as they survive myriad abuses. It’s watchable, if not particularly memorable.

Finally, Wicked is, well … Wicked. If you like the musical you may like the film (although the live aspect of musicals makes this one play better on the stage than on the screen, unlike The Wizard of Oz, which was made for the screen). In any case, it’s not ridiculously bad, even though it is too long.

A few top contenders

Walter Salles’ I’m Still Here – which traces the struggle of an activist in Brazil after the forced disappearance of her husband in 1970 – works well in its evocation of place and time, and should soften the heart of even the most cynical viewer.

Based on Marcelo Rubens Paiva’s 2015 memoir, the entire film is washed over with a faint scent of nostalgia that complements the idea of failing to find, and then remembering, that which is missing.

Conclave, adapted from Robert Harris’ novel, is another solidly made affair. It follows the political machinations of the Vatican as the Dean of Cardinals sets up a conclave to elect a new pope after the previous one dies of a heart attack.

Ralph Fiennes is as effective and sombre as usual in the lead role as Cardinal Lawrence and various twists and turns keep us watching throughout. But one suspects the primary pleasure of the film is that it seems to offer an insider’s view of the Vatican, including all the fetishistic processes and rituals.

Despite its serious tone, Conclave is a fun romp. And what a pleasure it is to watch Isabella Rossellini on the big screen once again.

The strongest nominee

The film that is most classically like a best picture nominee is The Brutalist – an epic, visually-magnificent study of the struggles of (fictional) architect László Toth, a Hungarian Jew who moves to America following the Holocaust.

Testament to the technical accomplishments of the film, and its superb creation of a coherent world, The Brutalist runs close to four hours (thankfully with an intermission) without becoming tedious. It chugs along with the relentless momentum of a steam engine.

Adrien Brody is charming as Toth, endowing the character with a roguish and playful quality, and the supporting cast are solid. Akin to one of Toth’s constructions (as we hear in the epilogue section), the film neither indicates nor tells us anything beyond itself.

There may be conclusions to be drawn regarding the relationship between art, power and capitalism, but the film gives you the space to devise these yourself. The film is, in a sense, beautifully mute.

Out of all the nominations, The Brutalist is the only one that feels like a genuine best picture contender (with something of the grandeur of classical Hollywood cinema about it). Although many critics are predicting Anora will win, The Brutalist is the strongest of the nominees.

That said, my pick for the best film of 2024 goes to a production that didn’t get a best picture nomination (as usual). Magnus von Horn’s The Girl With the Needle is a stunning Danish expressionistic nightmare that seamlessly integrates formal experimentation with a thrilling and horrific true crime narrative.

It is absolutely sensational – the kind of thing you never forget. Thankfully, it has been recognised through its nomination for best international feature film. Läs mer…

Every so often a film comes along that’s so good that, as we sit in the dark in the cinema, our whole being seems to become charged with electricity and we find ourselves forgetting to breathe. All of our thoughts become anchored to the screen, and the suspension of disbelief comes as close to complete as it ever could be.

Inside, written and directed by first time feature filmmaker Charles Williams (he won the Palme d’Or at Cannes for his 2018 short film, All These Creatures, so he’s not exactly a beginner), is such a film.

To say it’s one of the best Australian films I’ve seen is to qualify it with an unnecessary adjective – it’s one of the best films I’ve seen, period.

A rich tradition of prision dramas

Australian cinema has a rich tradition focusing on gangsters and criminals, from Bruce Beresford’s masterful hardboiled larrikin thriller Money Movers (1978) to more recent examples like Justin Kurzel’s hypnotic Snowtown (2011).

Within this subset there have been some stellar prison films. Everynight, Everynight (1994) still packs a punch, and the opening and closing sections of Chopper (2000), set in prison, are the most compelling parts of the movie.

Inside follows juvenile murderer Mel Blight (Vincent Miller) as he turns 18 and is moved to adult prison while awaiting (but perhaps not really wanting) parole.

Once there, he befriends charismatic career criminal Warren Murfett (Guy Pearce) who takes him under his wing and tries to coerce him into murdering fellow inmate Mark Shepard (Cosmo Jarvis), a child murderer with a contract recently taken out on him by the family of his victim.

Mel can get close enough to Shepard to do the hit – he befriends Shepard while sharing a cell with him, and starts playing keyboard in accompaniment of Shepard’s bizarre born-again sermons – but whether or not he will do so generates much of the tension of the film.

Measured intensity

Williams spent six years working on the film, and it shows.

Every element is meticulously realised, from the litany of striking, monstrous faces of the extras in the prison (who seem so authentic, one assumes Williams used real convicts) to the perverse but wholly believable actions of Murfett’s estranged son Adrian (Toby Wallace), when Murfett visits him for a day trip.

(Let’s just say it’s no sentimental reunion: there’s nothing Shawshank Redemption about Inside.)

The performances match the measured intensity of the rest of the film.
Bonsai Films

The film is so good as a whole that it’s perhaps unfair to single out any element, but the score by Chiara Costanza is particularly mesmerising. It captures – in a low-key fashion – the mix of controlled fear and narcissistic bravado that constitutes life inside for these characters.

The performances match the measured intensity of the rest of the film.

Jarvis is astonishingly good as Mark Shepherd. He emanates a kind of calm, restrained power at all times, as though his body is primed for shocking violence at any moment, yet devoid of frenetic energy. He’s so good, it’s hard to believe this British actor isn’t an Australian.

Cosmo Jarvis is astonishingly good as Mark Shepherd.
Bonsai Films

Fellow countryman Wallace is similarly brilliant, endowing his small role as Murfett’s son with a memorable combination of arrogance and nastiness.

Miller as Mel, in his first feature film, possesses a quality of stillness difficult for a young actor to achieve. All that nervous energy has to go somewhere, and it usually goes into bigger and louder.

Pearce is also fine, though as a seasoned screen veteran of this kind of role, one senses he could do it in his sleep.

Stunningly simple

Inside’s stunningly simple narrative sustains profound analyses of and reflections on the human character and condition.

This is one example of the classical Hollywood narrative structure being done with precision and purpose, with form and content seamlessly operating together in the unfolding of the drama.

There are no self-conscious winks at the viewer, no homages to genre, and no attempts to be clever. Watching the film is a decidedly intense experience – it contains one of the most viscerally shocking scenes I’ve seen – but at the same time this is underscored in places by an extremely subtle, wry sense of humour, like when Murfett and Mel bond over (the now defunct) Fantales lollies.

The film refuses to give the viewer an easy moral position. There are no pat explanations of characters’ motivations and actions, no attempts at psychologically or morally explaining away the ambiguities and tensions of this world to appease the stomach of the viewer.

The film refuses to give the viewer an easy moral position.
Bonsai Films

This sets it apart from the vast majority of commercial films made these days. Though it represents the actions of the characters within a context (which is both personal and sociological), there’s no nifty three-minute speech at the end about how crime begets crime, or how we should treat prisoners more humanely.

Simply put, Inside is a brilliant film. Williams poetically charges a fairly conventional Aussie prison narrative with profound existential questions in a way that never feels overbearing or heavy-handed. He proves himself, here, a formidable writer-director.

I can’t wait to see the next film he makes. If the critical acclaim certain to follow Inside is indicative, it should be in fewer than six years. Läs mer…