Previous Oscar nominees speak
-
Big Magilla
- Site Admin
- Posts: 19339
- Joined: Wed Jan 01, 2003 3:22 pm
- Location: Jersey Shore
From Saturday's Guardian. Some nice bitchy soundbites in there.
'You're a star until the moment you're not'
On the eve of this year's Oscar nominations, a new film is released spoofing independent movies that get caught up in the awards season buzz. Xan Brooks talks to those who have suddenly found themselves part of the circus
Emily Watson
British actor. Oscar-nominated for Breaking The Waves (1996) and Hilary And Jackie (1998)
Breaking The Waves was my first screen role; I signed off the dole to make it. The film was a very pure product, financed by a lot of people putting in a little money. It was distributed by October Films, which has now gone out of business. I had no publicist, nothing.
The studios spend millions promoting their Oscar contenders. You'd open up the trade mags and see full-page adverts; we had a quarter-page on page 15. So we had to rely on press coverage. I went on a two-week tour of meeting journalists before the film was nominated, then I went to LA to do Jay Leno and Letterman. It was terrifying.
I have to say that the Oscar parties were a disappointment. They're very corporate, posh and formal: "intimate dinners" with 150 people and valet parking. But it was also a fairytale experience. It's true what they say: those that have shall be given more. When I was nominated for Hilary And Jackie I had Valentino calling up offering to make me a dress and sending me sketches to choose from. A word of advice: if you're ever going for a fitting with Valentino, be sure to wear your best underwear. When I had my inside leg measured, I was wearing the worst knickers in the drawer.
Richard Linklater
American film-maker. Oscar-nominated for Before Sunset (2004)
I was nominated for the screenplay, which is the wild card category - the only place where truly small, truly independent films stand a chance. But we were up against Sideways, which had done 20 times the business we had. We weren't even in the same ballpark.
The Oscars are like a virus - you're basically being entered in a competition you didn't ask to be entered in. That creates a dissonance in your brain. You tell yourself the Oscars don't mean anything, but everyone else is whispering that they do, and eventually you get infected. I'd been down that route before, with Waking Life a few years earlier. Everyone told me that it would be nominated, and they were all really excited about it. And then, when it wasn't, there were protests on the internet, and I found myself sitting at home and sulking because I hadn't been chosen.
This time, I saw the Oscars as an excuse to go drink and party. I guess I should have promoted the film more. I could have visited the voters in the old folks' homes, but I didn't. Intellectually, I knew I never stood a chance. It's just that, when you're sitting there and they read out the nominees, you always have that moment when you think, "Well, maybe ..."
Simon Channing-Williams
British producer. Oscar-nominated for Secrets & Lies (1996)
It all started when we took Secrets & Lies to Cannes. Mike Leigh [the director] and I showed up for the premiere and were instantly bundled off the red carpet to make way for Arnold Schwarzenegger. He'd somehow heard this was a hot ticket, so he rolled up in the largest limousine in the world, paraded himself on the red carpet and then left before the film even started. That was a foretaste of things to come.
Secrets & Lies was nominated for five Oscars, and we thought Brenda [Blethyn] had a good chance of winning Best Actress. But Mike and Brenda didn't work the press. They chose to stay in London and get on with their lives, and in the end we didn't win anything. Rachel Weisz did far more publicity when she was nominated for The Constant Gardener and I'm very glad she did. I think it genuinely makes a difference.
When I went to the Oscars, I took my two children. We were picked up by a limo and it was wonderful, because the limo is yours to use how you want. The driver was amazing, a lovely chap - he drove us to all the big parties and entertained the boys when we weren't there, showing them the sights. But as soon as you lose it all changes. The limo was taken away from us that very night, and we had to get a people carrier back to the airport. That's how the Oscars work, at least for us common folk. You're a star until the moment you're not, and after that you're nothing.
Julian Fellowes
British screenwriter. Oscar-nominated for Gosford Park (2001)
In December I won the New York Critics Circle award. Until that moment, I'd never even won a fruit cake at the fair. I flew over to collect it, and thought, "Well, that's that." What I didn't realise is that, by winning that award, I had joined the great pack of Oscar hopefuls. The starting gun had been fired.
The build-up to the awards is rather like walking towards the sea. At first you can't hear it. Then the roar of the surf gets so loud you can't hear yourself think. I was in and out of LA in the run-up: you do the interviews and gatecrash a lot of parties, sneaking in like Billy Bunter to seize the free grub, but what you're really trying to do is make the film a topic, so the voters will watch it and vote for it. You're simply trying to get it into their frontal lobe. Meanwhile, you can't help but study the form of the other contenders. Even my friends were telling me it was a pity my script was nominated in the same category as Memento. I was convinced Memento was going to win, right up until the moment they read out my name.
What made my win so odd for most Americans was that here was this unknown fat bald man who had come out of the shadows to take the prize. In LA it is practically illegal to be over 35, and particularly illegal to be over 35 and a nobody. So I was living proof that you should read a script by anyone, no matter how ridiculous they look. I became an emblem of overlooked ability.
Todd Field
American film-maker. Oscar-nominated for In The Bedroom (2001)
The money was put up by two independent companies, Greene Street and Good Machine. I didn't even take a salary; I gave up every financial interest just to get the film finished. Then we took the print to Sundance, where it was snapped up by Miramax on the very first day - the first festival acquisition the company had made in two years. Miramax proceeded to work me non-stop. From April to April I did maybe 1,500 interviews. This was great, because it kept the film playing in cinemas, but I could never go through that again. It's a very dangerous process, because you become a living, breathing anecdote. Something that seems very personal and honest the first time you say it soon becomes your cliched sales pitch. It's very damaging to your psyche.
I never thought we were going to win, and I probably shouldn't have been there at all. I was just a rube who got into the final round of Jeopardy and was waiting to see if I'd won a prize.
All the signs were against us. If the Oscars had been a month earlier, we might have stood a chance. But by the time we hit the final round, it was all over. It's like when you stick a thermometer into a turkey to check its temperature. Two weeks before Oscar night, I could tell we were cooling down.
Alison Owen
British producer. Oscar-nominated for Elizabeth (1998)
On the day the nominations came out, I was having lunch with my sister. Afterwards, I was walking up Oxford Street and my fellow producer Eric Fellner was scanning the street, looking for me. He said, "We've been nominated." I said, "What for?" The Oscars just weren't on our radar.
After that, it all got rather stupid. I had designers ringing me up to offer me dresses to wear. Harry Winston gave me diamonds. Then there was that whole rollercoaster machine of publicity people and stylists trying to get the most out of you. The actual award campaign was handled by Polygram - they hired publicity people and placed adverts - but it was all done out in LA; I didn't know what was going on.
The strangest thing about Oscar night is the place-sitters at the theatre. You only have to get up from your seat for a second and someone in a pink dress promptly hops into it. It sounds silly, but it creates a real problem: you come back from the bar and see someone in your seat and naturally assume that you can't sit back down. It was very disorientating.
Elizabeth Karlsen
British-based producer of the Oscar-nominated The Crying Game (1992) and Little Voice (1998)
I've been to the Oscars, the Golden Globes and the Emmies, and it's interesting to see how the Oscars make sure they stay top of the pile. They definitely crank up the glamour factor.
The Crying Game was produced by Palace Pictures and distributed by Miramax. Palace and Miramax came up at the same time - they were young Turks, hungry cineastes, operating outside the corporate structure, and none of us knew quite what we had on our hands or how to deal with it. But a lot has changed since then. When we released Little Voice, it was definitely thought of as an "Oscar-timed" movie. Oscar campaigning has become much more orchestrated and professional. Maybe that takes some of the suspense out of it, at least for those involved. I remember last year being certain Brokeback Mountain was going to win Best Film. I emailed [producer] James Schamus and said, "I can't believe you didn't win." He emailed back and said, "Oh no, we knew about a week beforehand."
Donald Ranvaud
Brazil-based producer of the Oscar-nominated City Of God (2002)
Miramax officially supported City Of God from the beginning, but the money wasn't there and Fernando [Meirelles, the director] had to put up his home just to raise the funding. Then it played at Cannes at 3.30 in the morning. No one cared; people were sleeping in the cinema. The global buzz only began to build later in the year.
The movie came out and did OK. But when it wasn't selected for Best Foreign Film at the Oscars, Harvey Weinstein took it personally. He spent an enormous amount of money on advertising, sent out tonnes of videos to voters. We were witnessing the well-oiled Miramax machine, the thing they do so well. But once we had four nominations in other categories, Harvey had made his point. We had no chance of winning; the battle had been won.
Actually I think it's better not to win. I honestly do. When you are one of the nominees people identify with you and are on your side. But when you win you instantly make mortal enemies of the other nominees. All at once you have four people who are your enemies for life.
All kinds of #### got stirred up when the nominations were announced. City Of God is 100% a Fernando Meirelles movie, so it was right that he should be nominated as Best Director. But Fernando had given a co-director credit to Katia Lund, who had done a wonderful job working with all the favela kids who appear in the film. It's the sort of thing that would never happen in Hollywood, but Brazil is different: people are appreciated and rewarded and the co-director credit is recognised there; it doesn't mean that you are a glorified assistant. Except this meant there was controversy when Katia wasn't also nominated. I don't know how much of that came from her personally and how much from US lawyers who were out to make a quick buck. But it was such bollocks. I tried to ignore it, but Fernando was very disappointed. It just shows how the prospect of an Oscar can bring out the worst in some people.
'You're a star until the moment you're not'
On the eve of this year's Oscar nominations, a new film is released spoofing independent movies that get caught up in the awards season buzz. Xan Brooks talks to those who have suddenly found themselves part of the circus
Emily Watson
British actor. Oscar-nominated for Breaking The Waves (1996) and Hilary And Jackie (1998)
Breaking The Waves was my first screen role; I signed off the dole to make it. The film was a very pure product, financed by a lot of people putting in a little money. It was distributed by October Films, which has now gone out of business. I had no publicist, nothing.
The studios spend millions promoting their Oscar contenders. You'd open up the trade mags and see full-page adverts; we had a quarter-page on page 15. So we had to rely on press coverage. I went on a two-week tour of meeting journalists before the film was nominated, then I went to LA to do Jay Leno and Letterman. It was terrifying.
I have to say that the Oscar parties were a disappointment. They're very corporate, posh and formal: "intimate dinners" with 150 people and valet parking. But it was also a fairytale experience. It's true what they say: those that have shall be given more. When I was nominated for Hilary And Jackie I had Valentino calling up offering to make me a dress and sending me sketches to choose from. A word of advice: if you're ever going for a fitting with Valentino, be sure to wear your best underwear. When I had my inside leg measured, I was wearing the worst knickers in the drawer.
Richard Linklater
American film-maker. Oscar-nominated for Before Sunset (2004)
I was nominated for the screenplay, which is the wild card category - the only place where truly small, truly independent films stand a chance. But we were up against Sideways, which had done 20 times the business we had. We weren't even in the same ballpark.
The Oscars are like a virus - you're basically being entered in a competition you didn't ask to be entered in. That creates a dissonance in your brain. You tell yourself the Oscars don't mean anything, but everyone else is whispering that they do, and eventually you get infected. I'd been down that route before, with Waking Life a few years earlier. Everyone told me that it would be nominated, and they were all really excited about it. And then, when it wasn't, there were protests on the internet, and I found myself sitting at home and sulking because I hadn't been chosen.
This time, I saw the Oscars as an excuse to go drink and party. I guess I should have promoted the film more. I could have visited the voters in the old folks' homes, but I didn't. Intellectually, I knew I never stood a chance. It's just that, when you're sitting there and they read out the nominees, you always have that moment when you think, "Well, maybe ..."
Simon Channing-Williams
British producer. Oscar-nominated for Secrets & Lies (1996)
It all started when we took Secrets & Lies to Cannes. Mike Leigh [the director] and I showed up for the premiere and were instantly bundled off the red carpet to make way for Arnold Schwarzenegger. He'd somehow heard this was a hot ticket, so he rolled up in the largest limousine in the world, paraded himself on the red carpet and then left before the film even started. That was a foretaste of things to come.
Secrets & Lies was nominated for five Oscars, and we thought Brenda [Blethyn] had a good chance of winning Best Actress. But Mike and Brenda didn't work the press. They chose to stay in London and get on with their lives, and in the end we didn't win anything. Rachel Weisz did far more publicity when she was nominated for The Constant Gardener and I'm very glad she did. I think it genuinely makes a difference.
When I went to the Oscars, I took my two children. We were picked up by a limo and it was wonderful, because the limo is yours to use how you want. The driver was amazing, a lovely chap - he drove us to all the big parties and entertained the boys when we weren't there, showing them the sights. But as soon as you lose it all changes. The limo was taken away from us that very night, and we had to get a people carrier back to the airport. That's how the Oscars work, at least for us common folk. You're a star until the moment you're not, and after that you're nothing.
Julian Fellowes
British screenwriter. Oscar-nominated for Gosford Park (2001)
In December I won the New York Critics Circle award. Until that moment, I'd never even won a fruit cake at the fair. I flew over to collect it, and thought, "Well, that's that." What I didn't realise is that, by winning that award, I had joined the great pack of Oscar hopefuls. The starting gun had been fired.
The build-up to the awards is rather like walking towards the sea. At first you can't hear it. Then the roar of the surf gets so loud you can't hear yourself think. I was in and out of LA in the run-up: you do the interviews and gatecrash a lot of parties, sneaking in like Billy Bunter to seize the free grub, but what you're really trying to do is make the film a topic, so the voters will watch it and vote for it. You're simply trying to get it into their frontal lobe. Meanwhile, you can't help but study the form of the other contenders. Even my friends were telling me it was a pity my script was nominated in the same category as Memento. I was convinced Memento was going to win, right up until the moment they read out my name.
What made my win so odd for most Americans was that here was this unknown fat bald man who had come out of the shadows to take the prize. In LA it is practically illegal to be over 35, and particularly illegal to be over 35 and a nobody. So I was living proof that you should read a script by anyone, no matter how ridiculous they look. I became an emblem of overlooked ability.
Todd Field
American film-maker. Oscar-nominated for In The Bedroom (2001)
The money was put up by two independent companies, Greene Street and Good Machine. I didn't even take a salary; I gave up every financial interest just to get the film finished. Then we took the print to Sundance, where it was snapped up by Miramax on the very first day - the first festival acquisition the company had made in two years. Miramax proceeded to work me non-stop. From April to April I did maybe 1,500 interviews. This was great, because it kept the film playing in cinemas, but I could never go through that again. It's a very dangerous process, because you become a living, breathing anecdote. Something that seems very personal and honest the first time you say it soon becomes your cliched sales pitch. It's very damaging to your psyche.
I never thought we were going to win, and I probably shouldn't have been there at all. I was just a rube who got into the final round of Jeopardy and was waiting to see if I'd won a prize.
All the signs were against us. If the Oscars had been a month earlier, we might have stood a chance. But by the time we hit the final round, it was all over. It's like when you stick a thermometer into a turkey to check its temperature. Two weeks before Oscar night, I could tell we were cooling down.
Alison Owen
British producer. Oscar-nominated for Elizabeth (1998)
On the day the nominations came out, I was having lunch with my sister. Afterwards, I was walking up Oxford Street and my fellow producer Eric Fellner was scanning the street, looking for me. He said, "We've been nominated." I said, "What for?" The Oscars just weren't on our radar.
After that, it all got rather stupid. I had designers ringing me up to offer me dresses to wear. Harry Winston gave me diamonds. Then there was that whole rollercoaster machine of publicity people and stylists trying to get the most out of you. The actual award campaign was handled by Polygram - they hired publicity people and placed adverts - but it was all done out in LA; I didn't know what was going on.
The strangest thing about Oscar night is the place-sitters at the theatre. You only have to get up from your seat for a second and someone in a pink dress promptly hops into it. It sounds silly, but it creates a real problem: you come back from the bar and see someone in your seat and naturally assume that you can't sit back down. It was very disorientating.
Elizabeth Karlsen
British-based producer of the Oscar-nominated The Crying Game (1992) and Little Voice (1998)
I've been to the Oscars, the Golden Globes and the Emmies, and it's interesting to see how the Oscars make sure they stay top of the pile. They definitely crank up the glamour factor.
The Crying Game was produced by Palace Pictures and distributed by Miramax. Palace and Miramax came up at the same time - they were young Turks, hungry cineastes, operating outside the corporate structure, and none of us knew quite what we had on our hands or how to deal with it. But a lot has changed since then. When we released Little Voice, it was definitely thought of as an "Oscar-timed" movie. Oscar campaigning has become much more orchestrated and professional. Maybe that takes some of the suspense out of it, at least for those involved. I remember last year being certain Brokeback Mountain was going to win Best Film. I emailed [producer] James Schamus and said, "I can't believe you didn't win." He emailed back and said, "Oh no, we knew about a week beforehand."
Donald Ranvaud
Brazil-based producer of the Oscar-nominated City Of God (2002)
Miramax officially supported City Of God from the beginning, but the money wasn't there and Fernando [Meirelles, the director] had to put up his home just to raise the funding. Then it played at Cannes at 3.30 in the morning. No one cared; people were sleeping in the cinema. The global buzz only began to build later in the year.
The movie came out and did OK. But when it wasn't selected for Best Foreign Film at the Oscars, Harvey Weinstein took it personally. He spent an enormous amount of money on advertising, sent out tonnes of videos to voters. We were witnessing the well-oiled Miramax machine, the thing they do so well. But once we had four nominations in other categories, Harvey had made his point. We had no chance of winning; the battle had been won.
Actually I think it's better not to win. I honestly do. When you are one of the nominees people identify with you and are on your side. But when you win you instantly make mortal enemies of the other nominees. All at once you have four people who are your enemies for life.
All kinds of #### got stirred up when the nominations were announced. City Of God is 100% a Fernando Meirelles movie, so it was right that he should be nominated as Best Director. But Fernando had given a co-director credit to Katia Lund, who had done a wonderful job working with all the favela kids who appear in the film. It's the sort of thing that would never happen in Hollywood, but Brazil is different: people are appreciated and rewarded and the co-director credit is recognised there; it doesn't mean that you are a glorified assistant. Except this meant there was controversy when Katia wasn't also nominated. I don't know how much of that came from her personally and how much from US lawyers who were out to make a quick buck. But it was such bollocks. I tried to ignore it, but Fernando was very disappointed. It just shows how the prospect of an Oscar can bring out the worst in some people.