Best Picture and Director 1979

[Reza]

I don't get the often hysterical reaction towards a 42 year old man dating a 17 year old girl as in Manhattan. Or as in Woody's own life with Soon-Yi. Yes states have demarcated age barriers. After all nobody acts horror stricken when a 15 or 16 or 17 year old girl is dating a similarly aged boy. They are often having sex too. Not just necking in a cinema or eating burgers at McDonalds. Is it the sexual act between an older man-much younger girl the issue? I totally get the horror of the situation if there is no consent by the younger girl if she is forced. What about if the girl and man are both in a mutually consensual relationship? Or is that also a big no no? Is it considered rape even if the girl consents to the relationship?

Wasn't it a norm - a huge age difference - between men and women once upon a time? Actually not that far back in time. During our grandparents days - 50 years or before?

Ofcourse always best if there is not too much of an age gap between couples but if it does happen why such a hysterical reaction to it?

[Sabin]

Rewatched Manhattan last night. I needed something close to comfort food. I'm getting off of an SNRI and the withdrawals are horrible so I think I needed something close to comfort food. Not sure when my last viewing was but I realized quickly that I was the same age as Woody Allen's character (42). I said out loud "Well, that happened." Haven't experienced anything like that since I realized that I was (not anymore) the same age as Paul Giamatti in Sideways. I think I was 38 when I last saw it.

Anyway, I had a few observations watching it:

-it's an impossible movie to watch without wondering the entire time if anything you're watching is okay. More than any Woody Allen film, it's probably impossible to just... take as a story because it's notionally about a man who is dating a 17 year old. But that's not really what it's about. Woody Allen's character in this film makes horrible decisions. The movie is about people who makes horrible decisions. Isaac is self-destructive from minute one. He quits his job without having any backup plan. When he discovered his wife's affair with another woman, he tried to hit them with a car (which he swears was an accident). Everyone is making horrible decisions in this film. Really, if I had to describe it, I would tell people "It's a movie about people trying to figure out what they need in the 70's." What's interesting about it (and totally lost to time) is that Allen constantly presents his relationship with Mariel Hemingway as another horrible decision that he needs to get out of, which he makes no effort to do until he finds interest in Diane Keaton. I'll talk about the structure a little later. But the film surprises us by suggesting that it might not be a bad decision, or at least one of his worst decisions. By the end of the film, we realize that all of Isaac's decisions to make better decisions were probably mistakes and what he had with Tracy might not have been so bad. By the end of the film, I don't want him to get back together. I'm not even sure he's made another mistake. But I know he hasn't made a good decision for himself. Annie Hall famously ends with that line about "We need the eggs." I think Manhattan ends on a more honest note. It ends by saying we have no idea what we need. That's a lot more honest.

-there's always so much more going on in the first act of Manhattan than I remember. For a film with no real hook, so much stuff happens. After the glorious opening, we see Isaac's current relationship with Tracy, we learn that Yale has been having an affair, Isaac learns his wife is writing a book about him, Isaac quits his job, Isaac instantly regrets it, Isaac has a horrible first encounter with Mary, and Isaac has a second encounter with Mary that culminates with a memorable night together. That's a ton. I never remember anything that happens afterwards though. Even wikipedia doesn't mention much. We just... watch them for a while. We see their lives. Yale and Mary figuring it out. I always forget that Isaac has to move into a worse apartment with brown water. Modern screenwriting tells us that once you hit the second act, you're off to the races. Thank God, Manhattan rejects this. I think the midpoint of the film is either the observatory "date" between Isaac and Mary or it's Yale encouraging Isaac to go after Mary. But it's this vast, comfortable swath of storytelling that always feels spontaneous, honest, and new whenever I watch it. It's just a movie that... happens.

-structurally, Manhattan feels like it's responding to Annie Hall. At the end of the first act in Annie Hall, we see a first kiss at the end of a first date. At the end of the first act in Manhattan, we see what is clearly a first date but they don't realize it yet. The first half of the second act (let's call it 2A), we see Alvy and Annie's relationship starting and get set pieces like in the park or how Alvy buys her books. It's about the start of a relationship. In Manhattan, 2A is about the end of a relationship between Yale and Mary. Isaac is basically reactive. 2B in Annie Hall is about the end of the relationship between Annie and Alvy slowly but surely. 2B of Manhattan is about Isaac starting a relationship with Mary and ending it with Tracy. We go through this section filled with hope. The third act of Annie Hall is about Alvy trying to get Annie back, failing, tells us what he's learned along the way, and kind of returns to his status quo. Yes, he's turning it into a play but the film finds a kind of nobility in how he keeps losing out on love. But in the third act of Manhattan, Isaac realizes that Mary still loves Yale, he realizes that he's lost Tracy forever, and what's more important he realizes that the status quo is poison. There's no nobility in this loop and it might be too late to change. Sure, the ending wants to have its eggs and eat them too, but anyone who sees themselves in Isaac will want to avoid his decisions.

-In Annie Hall, Woody's relationship with Tony Roberts feels pretty special. In Manhattan, I like how Woody's friendship with Michael Murphy feels almost casually meaningless. He's just another indecisive neurotic who happens to be friends with Allen but it always feels like either they're talking about themselves or like Allen is someone they just find amusing. At times, it feels like Allen is the supporting character to his life given spotlight. But as played by Murphy, Yale is empty. He's not strongly defined in any one way. He's not even a good adulterer. I don't know if it's a failure of writing or casting but I think this is what makes Woody's monologue land at the end. This guy hasn't done anything that good or that bad. He just kinda sucks. In life, the one rule is that you can't be a Yale.

-if I were to write down a list of my favorite movie entrances of all time, I might include Diane Keaton in Manhattan. Isaac and Tracy run into Yale and Mary at the museum. We already know that Yale is having an affair at this point. I don't think it's possible to go into this film without knowing that he is having an affair with Diane Keaton. But Isaac and Tracy spot Yale off-screen. They walk over to him. We see him. They clearly see Mary. We don't. We have just enough time to want to see her (even though we know who she is) and then we do when Diane Keaton barely enters screen, as you would when you first meet friends of a significant other. Whether or not her body language is protocol for when it's an illicit affair, I'll leave for others to discuss (I wouldn't know). But it's just the sly way that Allen gets us to want to see Diane Keaton and then we do. It's just one of many ways that he presents her as the anti-Annie Hall and informs us that we're going to see something a little different. There's probably thirty moments of formal mastery like this in Manhattan.

-like Bob Dylan, Woody Allen always presents himself as a guarded prankster. That's his cover. It allows him to be a mix of romantic and skeptic. Some of his attitudes in Manhattan haven't aged well (asking if his son is wearing dresses when he hasn't seen him in, what? a few weeks?) but one of the film's magic tricks is how it's about a bunch of people who don't know what they need but he makes their journey seem so grand. Maybe I needed to be there in New York in the 70's to really put it into words but as a writer he views them as fools. Clearly. But when you're watching it, it's like he never lets on. They always look beautiful. Sound interesting. Traverse a beautiful New York City. The whole movie feels beautifully and movingly conflicted. I think that's why these moments of formal mastery sing the way they do. But here's the thing... maybe it's not a calculated decision. Watching Manhattan, you get the sense that it could all just be vibes as well.

-increasingly my two favorite moments in the film are at least half about editing. The first being at the ERA benefit when Woody Allen lands the punchline about how his worst orgasm was right on the money. The cutaway is perfect. Also, the fact that the party guest interrupts him twice as he's delivering his punchline is perfect. The sound design of the band music in the background is perfect; you can feel it wrapping up the scene for him. My second favorite moment increasingly is when Anne Byrne admits to being angry at Isaac for introducing Yale to Mary. In that moment, it's almost like he's forgotten how little she knows so you can see him just opt to take the bullet because it's better than way. I'm not sure if they'll ever talk again.

Great stuff.

[FilmFan720]

In terms of films left off, I will echo Being There as the biggest miss of the Oscar-friendly films. It is certainly Hal Ashby's finest hour. I would also put The China Syndrome close to this list, and it is sad that all of the Academy's Woody Allen love didn't lead to getting Manhattan in there. A little farther from the Oscar radar, I would also advocate for the meta-anarchy of The Muppet Movie, one of the more joyous films of this year, all in all a strong end to the 1970s.

The real gripe I have with these lists is La Cage Aux Folles. I feel like I just had this conversation on the screenplay side, but the original french film is so leaden and plodding, especially compared to the lighter, smarter and more classically farcical versions that it would inspire.

On the list of films whose popularity and love baffles me, Breaking Away is at the top of the list. I find the film bland and uninteresting, with none of the charm everyone else seems to think. I would easily replace it with any number of bolder films.

It is easy to discard Norma Rae, but watching it a few years ago, I was taken aback as to how much better it was than all of the films it would inspire down the road. Compare this to something like North Country, and you immediately see the intelligence that Martin Ritt and his screenwriters brought to this film. The issues are forefront, but they never overtake the personal drama or the intimacy of the film, and Sally Field is so honest and unmanipulative as an actress that the film works beautifully. Between this and The China Syndrome, I wish filmmakers would take a page out of the playbook and return to these kind of issue films.

Kramer vs. Kramer is certainly a respectable choice here, even if it isn't as exciting a piece of "'70's filmmaking" as the previous two winners. Robert Benton has always been a very intelligent, even if unflashy, filmmaker and Kramer vs. Kramer is an above average family drama. Certainly a better choice than some of the winners coming up in the Best Picture lineup.

We are left, though, with two complete masterpieces, and I had a hard time choosing between them. Both Apocalypse Now and All That Jazz are divisive films, and they each seem to have as much hate as love thrown at them, but I think they are both wonderful, personal, tormented auteurist pieces that probably rank as the best work their directors have done.

I've never gotten the hatred thrown at All that Jazz...I find it funny, heartbreaking, entertaining and really smart. If it is self-indulgent, it isn't so in an overly egotistical way, but more in the way an artist can vomit out everything inside of them, the good and the bad. Fosse never dilutes his alter ego, which makes the film fascinating. It is a monumental personal work, and one that I would probably vote for in most any year.

Apocalypse Now hovers over it, though, and I had to give both of my votes Coppola's way. The film is probably a bit messier than All That Jazz, but that is because the scope is so much wider and the leaps probably a bit more riskier. I know there is a lot to pick apart from Apocalypse Now, but every time I revisit it, I find myself loving every moment of it, even the much maligned final reels: late era Brando, wandering through foggy lines and seemingly phoning everything in, was never used to better effect; Dennis Hopper brings a much needed innocent energy to the proceedings; and, that art direction at the end is just terrifying. Along the way, Coppola paints such a frightening picture of not just war, but the people who allow war to happen and choose to jump in the middle of it. It's a masterpiece through and through, and my eager vote here.

[Heksagon]

Having recently seen La cage aux folles, i can finally vote in the Director category also, and it's another easy vote for Coppola. La cage aux folles isn't a great comedy, but it has its funny moments, and if anything, I think it has aged surprisingly well.

[Heksagon]

This is one of the easiest choices for me, as Apocalypse: Now is miles ahead of the four sub-par films with the other nominations. None of the films is actually that bad, but terms like "average" and "television movie" do come to my mind.

Granted, Breaking Away and Kramer vs. Kramer may have been dealing with themes that were rarely seen in films at the time, and they deserve credit for that reason, and the latter is also redeemed by its superb cast. But neither of them has aged very well, and in both films, I felt that the characters were rather artificial. Apparently, however, I'm the only one who felt this way.

On the other hand, Norma Rae has an excellent lead performance by Sally Field and much more realistic characters, but it isn't a complete film, and the story is rather forgettable. All That Jazz is, in my opinion, the weakest of these five; a film made by Bob Fosse to tell the world that Bob Fosse is a peerless genius. I'm not surprised artists like it, though. (Some individual scenes, however, are memorable, especially the audition for dancers)

[Sabin]

(Literally just graduated from a UCLA course so I'm enjoying my free time)

I watched Being There again for the first time in ages, and what struck me (and it's possible I suffer from watching it decades after its release) was that it's ever so faintly dull. Chance's arc is progressively ascendant as he is introduced to more and more people, his words taken more and more out of context, until the end. There aren't terribly many surprises. It's a cliché at this point to make a film about a simple man who inspires the best in people, but Hal Ashby really manages to create some lovely portraits of lonely people. Especially Shirley MacLaine who gives a beautiful performance.

Being There is the beneficiary of decades of hindsight. I don't view it as a satire of television but clearly as a political satire. It is a charming comedy about a dim-witted gardener who becomes the unknowing pawn of the illuminati. Chance walks on water because he doesn't know he can't, but also because he doesn't know he shouldn't. We're going to see a lot of people who take power in the coming years who walked on water to political office. Which makes Being There a movie that equates a messiah activity (walking on water) to one of alarming stupidity.

So, I admire Being There quite a bit but I can't help but feel like the film is essentially:

Situation (as defined by Powerful Man 1 + Powerful Man 2) + Chance, The Gardener = Chance, The Gardener (+1)

[Sabin]

I just watched The China Syndrome. Guess I'm trying to knock 1979 off the list.

I liked it. It does a lot of interesting things. It's paced like one of those procedurals that are praised for "The Case" being the antagonist. We start with the team arriving, checking out the plant, and then it happens. A different film would find a way to introduce Jack Lemmon greeting Jane Fonda and Michael Douglas (who barely has a character...commendably so) and then we see him in action. But The China Syndrome doesn't have time or interest in that. There are a few easy plot gooses, car chases, etc., but it's very engrossing. Even the ending which allows for Lemmon's televised vindication feels earned, although I would have preferred him to look like a kook on-air and there is nothing the efforts of these reporters can do to fight the system. Then it was would have been capital-7 70s. Apparently, Kimberly Wells was originally written as a man. The seemingly arbitrary switch to female actually gives Jack Lemmon a more moving arc. A likely never-married lonely man clearly slightly enamored by the beautiful woman sitting across from him at the bar.

I liked it. I could see it being talked up as a Best Picture nominee, but clearly its omission is nowhere near as egregious as Manhattan.

[Mister Tee]

I certainly feel like I understand the whys and hows of Manhattan's infuriating snub, but was The China Syndrome seen as a likelier nominee than All That Jazz and Norma Rae?

It was by me. Manhattan and The China Syndrome had been on the DGA list in their spots, and I'd predicted both to carry over to best picture nods (though I thought Fosse a far likelier directing nominee than James Bridges).

Norma Rae had been well-reviewed but only a middling financial success, and All That Jazz was at that point still iffy commercially, where both China Syndrome and Manhattan had been solid hits. That Fosse's film ended up tying for the nominations lead with the far more touted Kramer vs. Kramer came as a real (and propelled the film to a far greater level of success).

[Greg]

I certainly feel like I understand the whys and hows of Manhattan's infuriating snub, but was The China Syndrome seen as a likelier nominee than All That Jazz and Norma Rae?

I think at that time there was a lot of attention given to The China Syndrome because it opened just after the accident at the Three Mile Island nuclear power plant.

[Sabin]

I just finished All That Jazz, which means I can vote. It will not affect my vote, which is going to Apocalypse Now, although I will nod affectionately to Breaking Away and in the other direction to the empty chair in the room belonging to Manhattan.

There's something missing in All That Jazz for me. I haven't quite put my finger on it. It certainly is a movie for which the words "No apologies" come into play. Joe Gideon may shake his head at all the drinking, cigarettes, pills, and women throughout the years, but the movie is intoxicated on his life. As the film careens towards his demise, I felt slightly disappointed. I felt a degree of spectacle overkill. Throughout All That Jazz, Fosse uses narrative points as ellipses throughout: the Lenny Bruce stand-in, the TV host, Jessica Lange's death, etc. I thought it was more concerned with those than in bringing me into Joe Gideon's journey. And whatever beats were being made, were always being punctuated with so much other stuff that it felt overwhelming, devoid of rise and fall, and only the running time clued me in to the fact that yes, he is really dying. I think my real disappointment came from just how goddamn good Roy Scheider is in this film, often doing nothing at all. This is an incredibly difficult role of anchoring a film that is always struggling to break free, and he does a brilliant job of it. I haven't seen The China Syndrome yet, but I think I might be more on board with him winning than Hoffman and Sellers. I liked All That Jazz quite a bit for a good long while, but I also can't reconcile the fact that I didn't really like any of these musical numbers. "Everything Old is New Again" is lovely, but, I mean, this is Fosse, right?

Apocalypse Now gets my vote. I've seen it too much times, I've grappled with it, and I've come to appreciate it as a masterpiece. Even if it began as an elephant Ebert dragged over his shoulder until it became consensus, it flies on wings of genius today. Was Ebert's zeitgeist truly between Apocalypse Now's Palme victory and the prize he created for Chariots of Fire?

I certainly feel like I understand the whys and hows of Manhattan's infuriating snub, but was The China Syndrome seen as a likelier nominee than All That Jazz and Norma Rae?

[ITALIANO]

I'm not sure that La Cage aux Folles is such a homophobic, insulting movie. Or, at least, it's much less homophobic than other movies of that period - American movies at least. This was, after all, the time of Cruising, of Windows, and this light French farce - seen in the context of the era it belongs to, of course - it's rather affectionate and tender, though of course not politically correct at all (but then the American remake, while probably more "correct", is also blander and less funny).

But it's true that Molinaro didn't especially deserve a nomination. He wasn't a worse director than, say, Peter Yates, but still not nomination-worthy.

[Eric]

It's rare that the lone director nominee is the worst on the slate, but I think Edouard Molinaro definitely is.

I never thought of that, but this is so true. What a bizarre, horrible anomaly for what I guess is one of early mainstream/gay interaction's great "you had to be there" moments. (One that, I hasten to note, continues to be perpetuated today, given the Criterion announcement.)

Incidentally, if you want solid ammo for the argument that Americans don't like foreign films (or that Americans loved making fun of gays), observe this fact -- this 34-year-old movie is still among the top 10 highest-grossing foreign films: http://www.boxofficemojo.com/genres/cha ... oreign.htm

01. All That Jazz
02. The Warriors
03. The Marriage of Maria Braun
04. The Brood
05. Apocalypse Now
06. Nosferatu the Vampyre
07. Stalker
08. Manhattan
09. The Tin Drum
10. The China Syndrome

[Reza]

Voted for Breaking Away & Peter Yates.

My picks for 1979:

Best Picture
1. Breaking Away
2. Manhattan
3. Apocalypse, Now
4. All That Jazz
5. The China Syndrome

The 6th Spot: The Marriage of Maria Braun

Best Director
1. Peter Yates, Breaking Away
2. Francis Coppola, Apocalypse, Now
3. Woody Allen, Manhattan
4. Bob Fosse, All That Jazz
5. James Bridges, The China Syndrome

The 6th Spot: Rainer Werner Fassbinder, The Marriage of Maria Braun

[Reza]

I have a personal connection to Breaking Away, in that it was shot in the town where I was born.

And I went to University there so I have a very special connection too.

[Greg]

I have a personal connection to Breaking Away, in that it was shot in the town where I was born.