In like Clint

The Mercury picks the faves, laments the overlooked in the 77th Academy Awards

By Jeannette Catsoulis

With both Jesus and Michael Moore excluded from this year's major Oscar categories--putting Mel Gibson's private scorecard at Jews: 1, Christians: 1--Hollywood's pampered elite is free to celebrate itself with the minimum of guilt. But while viewers this Sunday have been spared a halftime production number with Sting warbling in Aramaic and Jennifer Lopez tastefully miming the stations of the cross, The Passion will rise again this Easter in a somewhat less violent incarnation. Having discovered that the more squeamish of his flock skipped out on the collection plate, Mad Mel has removed a smidgen of scourging in an unsuccessful attempt to persuade the MPAA his flagellation-fest deserves a PG-13 rating (make that Jews: 2). Perhaps he can use some of that $370.2 million already in the kitty to provide psychological counseling for those of us forced to squirm through the original.

The Christian Right, of course, already has its banners in a twist over one of the frontrunners for Best Picture, Clint Eastwood's Million Dollar Baby. The pro-life backlash over the film's surprise ending--fueled, I suspect, less by compassion for the afflicted than by the movie's refusal to make an issue of it--has unwittingly played into Miramax's plans to push Martin Scorsese's The Aviator across the finish line first. Though the outcome may be too close to call, most agree this is a two-horse race. The overrated Sideways is just too depressing (even Titanic had that nice song to make us feel good about all the dead people), and much too close to home: It reminds actors they're more likely to end up alcoholic losers than Oscar winners--even if they don't look like Paul Giamatti. The sticky-sweet Finding Neverland, on the other hand, has the misfortune of sharing cultural space with a more current story about an artist who prefers the company of young boys to adults. And as for Ray, most of the Academy crones are afraid to even attend a movie with a virtually all-black cast, never mind anoint one Best Picture.

Will win: The Aviator. Big money, big egos, big planes--what's not to love? Should win: Million Dollar Baby. My heart is with the four-times-a-bridesmaid-never-the-bride Scorsese, but my mind tells me no one should put this Baby in the corner. Criminally overlooked: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

If the handicappers are to be believed, the Best Actor award is already gracing Jamie Foxx's mantelpiece. But Foxx's performance, though undeniably terrific, is ultimately a brilliant impersonation of Ray Charles, a near-perfect imitation of his mannerisms and speech patterns. It's fascinating to watch, and extremely difficult to pull off, but it isn't acting in the way that Eastwood's unfussy portrayal of a broken boxing trainer or DiCaprio's vivid imagining of Howard Hughes is. More likely for Foxx is a Best Supporting win for Collateral--not because of his splendid acting, but because the Academy is more partial to African American men in neutered roles, preferably ones that involve driving white people around all day.

Speaking of neutered, am I the only one worried about Johnny Depp? Sure, Benny and Joon was cute, and none of us really expected Edward Scissorhands or Ichabod Crane or Ed Wood--or even Captain Jack Sparrow--to actually get busy with a co-star (of either gender). But Depp has become a 42-year-old man whose specialty is, essentially, playing children, at least in an emotional sense. The last time he was a functioning adult, albeit a sexless one, was in 1997's Donnie Brasco, and even in last year's Secret Window he played a writer whose most satisfying relationship was with himself. Finding Neverland is just more of the same, and it's time for Depp to ditch the weirdos and direct his impressive talents toward playing real people--though his upcoming role as Willy Wonka doesn't offer much hope of a career realignment.

Will win: Clint Eastwood. He's the only leading man in Hollywood who can wear his pants under his armpits and still look sexy. Should win: Leonardo DiCaprio. Never let it be said I don't admit when I'm wrong: Leo's Howard Hughes is simply the most surprisingly terrific performance of the year. Criminally overlooked: Jeff Bridges' stunning turn in The Door in the Floor, Christian Bale's tortured performance in The Machinist. In the weird sexism of Hollywood, Oscar only notices when actresses get uglified for a role; if Catherine Zeta-Jones had dumped one-third of her body weight for a part--as Bale did here--she'd be a slam-dunk.

For all the fuss our moral guardians make about Hollywood's obsession with sex, the only major movies in 2004 to focus primarily on human relationships were more interested in looking (Closer), talking (Before Sunset) and analyzing (Kinsey) than actually doing. In fact, aside from the hilariously bonking puppets of Team America: World Police, the only nominated film to delight us with honest-to-God, let's-get-it-on, no-agenda sex was Ray--none of whose three stellar female leads were rewarded with acting nominations. An even more egregious omission when you consider actresses in Hollywood depend on romantic roles for their very survival (where would Kate Winslet be today without them?), even if these days they're more likely to snag a Best Actress statuette by playing drug mules, boxing waitresses, over-the-top actresses and over-the-hill abortionists.

Will win: Hilary Swank. Should win: Imelda Staunton, who developed Vera Drake from the inside out, creating backstory, dialogue and motivations from next to nothing--which is why you'll never see Julia Roberts in a Mike Leigh movie. Criminally overlooked: The luminous Julie Delpy in Before Sunset.

All in all, this year's telecast promises few surprises. With the Oral Roberts Dancers safely tied up at the Christian Oscars (would I lie to you?), the only fly in the enjoyment ointment is likely to be Josh Grobin screeching "Believe" while the hideous Polar Express lurches behind him. In the immortal words of Matt Stone and Trey Parker: "America, fuck yeah!"