I've been so busy/unwell since after the Oscars that I never put a final button on this thread. A few things:
1) As far as the '52 comparison goes, it fell short. We did get the veteran director, but, with his film also winning (along with screenplay and editing), it made it a far more standard selection. The win by The Departed also spared us the Greatest Show on Earth-groan analogy that would have greeted either a Babel or Miss Sunshine win. We also didn't match the Bad and the Beautiful domination of victories, as Dreamgirls collapsed in three categories, Pan's failed to sweep as it might have, and The Departed had an unexpectedly solid roster of wins.
The best analogy turned out to be one I least expected: we did get an upset under supporting actor.
2) We also got the older character actress win for Helen MIrren, which had a side effect that few have noticed: the absolutely astonishing record achieved by the 20 acting nominees from 2001. A full 15 of them now hold Oscars -- three winning for the first time that night, four winning since -- and among the losers for now are Kate Winslet, Will Smith and Ian McKellen, making the situation likely to actually improve as time goes on. (Yes, Damien: Ethan Hawke also will have his chances) The only year that remotely bears comparison? The following year, '02, which has 13 winners (and could bump to 15 with a victory for double-nominated Julianne Moore -- though I guess you'd need an asterisk there).
3) I wanted to comment on what Dennis Bee said: that Harvey Weinstein/Miramax had for years masked the bitter conflicts between studios and indies, and that now the fighting is out in the open. I think this is quite true (I might throw in Eastwood and the Rings movies as also hiding the depth of the divide) -- Weinstein took movies that, while hardly envelope-pushers post '94, studios would have considered hard sells, and he flogged them for all he was worth. The result was several best picture prizes.
Right now, though, with empty-headed drivel like Ghost Rider, Wild Hogs and 300 dominating the box office, while enthusiastically-received movies like Children of Men and Zodiac continually hit a wall somewhere between 30 and 40 million...it's hard to see many films achieving the Weinsteinian balance. The situation is starting to resemble the mid/late 80s, when I used to snarkily say The studios only want one semi-serious movie a year, to gross $100 million and win best picture. The Departed filled the bill this year, as Million Dollar Baby did two years back...but Brokeback Mountain didn't quite make it; maybe that's why the Academy bailed on it in a way they didn't with American Beauty.
I fear this is only going to get worse. People online actually refer to critics' groups as "agenda-driven"; they don't seem to grasp that, putting aside critics' opinions, all that guides movie choice will be the marketing divisions. And even the greatest hope of those who love art -- enthusiastic word of mouth -- becomes a fading factor when films are scheduled for DVD 3-4 months after initial theatrical release (Black Snake Moan is set for June 26th, which may be a new short-window record for an indie).
I realize artistically ambitious movies have managed to survive many times throughout history despite being declared obsolete. But right now I'm finding it hard to come up with reasons for optimism.
Scattered Thoughts
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Mister Tee
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The New York Observer:
Oscar’s Riff-Raff Litters the Beaches
Who remembers the winners? Hollywood’s biggest week was about boozing and schmoozing.
By: Spencer Morgan
Date: 3/5/2007
"I find this environment disturbing, as someone who made a film that’s been nominated—because no one is paying attention to the awards,” said producer Hilary Shor, at the Oscar-viewing party at the Beverly Hills Four Seasons on Sunday, Feb. 25. She was seated at a chatty tableful that included self-proclaimed D-list comic Kathy Griffin, Page Six reporters Paula Froelich and Corynne Steindler and Men’s Health editor Dave Zinczenko.
Roughly three-fourths, or over three hours, of the Academy Awards had oozed by and Ms. Shor’s film Children of Men was having a rough night, dissed for best editing and adapted screenplay. In the moments leading up to the cinematography award, her film’s last shot at the gold trophy, the no-nonsense blonde kept both eyes intently fixed on one of the many flat screens in the hotel’s ballroom. “Pan’s Labyrinth,” called out Gwyneth Paltrow, wearing salmon Zac Posen and an asymmetrical curtain of blond hair. Ms. Shor immediately snatched up her cell. “So political, so fucking political,” she hissed into the phone.
“There goes our shot at getting into the Vanity Fair party,” said her friend, a money manager.
Oscar week in L.A. is famous for its luncheons, pre-parties, after-parties and after-after-parties. This year there were more than 40 Oscar-related events—and in some cases, the relationship was pretty tenuous. On Saturday afternoon, following the Independent Spirit Awards in Santa Monica, supermarket mogul Ron Burkle hosted a Giorgio Armani fashion show—complete with runway—at his Green Acres estate, attended by Clint Eastwood, Martin Scorsese, John Travolta, Katie Holmes, Leonardo DiCaprio and Quincy Jones, among others. There was the must-see Oscar weekend art show at Larry Gagosian’s outpost in Beverly Hills; this year Damien Hirst was the featured artist. And what would Oscar weekend be with out a few politically themed wingdings, like the third annual Global Green Pre-Oscar Party at the Avalon Hollywood? (Really more of a pre-pre-party, as it happened a full five days before the ceremony.)
And then there are the magazine parties, a drunken celebration of the long and queasy marriage between celebrities and journalism. This year GQ, BlackBook and Radar all self-indulged, with Entertainment Weekly, which usually confines its bacchanalia to the East Coast, also honoring Al Gore and An Inconvenient Truth at the home of Antonio Banderas and Melanie Griffith in Hancock Park. “You have to do this kind of stuff as an editor now,” said Mr. Zinczenko, who didn’t throw a party himself but felt compelled to make his presence known throughout the week. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve probably make like 30,000 contacts and inroads,” he said.
“Of course I love all these parties,” said director John Waters, smiling deviously under his trademark pencil-thin mustache at the Spirit awards after-party on Saturday afternoon at the swank Shutters Hotel on the Beach in Santa Monica. “It’s where I’ll find all the stars to my next movie.”
Mr. Waters sticks to a strict schedule every year, he said, lest he be overwhelmed. “I go to Gagosian, I go to Independent Spirit Awards, I go to Vanity Fair and then I get on a plane and get the hell out of here.”
“The Oscars are a fuckin’ celebration of success,” said former winner Cuba Gooding Jr., also in attendance “You know, I have fun at these parties. You gotta do it.” The actor, wearing a nifty bowler hat tipped to the side, was in good spirits.
Is all the gallivanting hard on him? “No, never hard, unless the wife is around, then it gets real hard,” he joked. “No, it was harder when I was nominated. I felt I had an image to uphold. Now I’m just having a good time and I feel blessed to be working.” What about the enormous line of sunburned people desperate to get into Shutters? “You gotta start somewhere,” Mr. Gooding said frankly. “Fuck ’em.”
At the Miramax party Thursday night for The Queen and Venus, director Taylor Hackford (Ray), was enjoying being the “professional escort” for his wife, Helen Mirren. “The Oscars have always been a weird combination of marketing and art,” he said, standing at the Sunset Tower Hotel, where fleshy-lipped Jennifer Garner and her husband, Ben Affleck, were mingling along with Peter O’Toole.
Mr. O’Toole said things had changed since the old days. “Nobody gets as pissed as they used to,” said the actor, enjoying his eighth Oscar nomination for playing a lecherous old boozehound in Venus. “It’s much more boring.”
Three days later, the fans lining Hollywood Boulevard leading up to the Kodak Theatre on Sunday were feeling Mr. Gooding’s “Fuck ’em” attitude in a big way.
“Not a single celebrity rolled down their window,” complained a schoolteacher who’d been waiting on that hallowed street for five hours. (That might have had something to do with the demonstrators 50 yards away wielding enormous “Hollywood Loves Hell and Degenerates” sign.)
Security was the order of the day. And police had introduced a new exercise for the ride up, a labyrinth of cement blockades. “It’s a like an obstacle course for limousines,” said After Innocence producer Jessica Sanders, peering out the window of her car.
By 10:30 p.m., the crowd had reassembled along Melrose outside Morton’s for the Vanity Fair party. In the press pen along the red carpet here, celebrities hammed it up for the paparazzi and talked to reporters at length about everything from dieting secrets—George Hamilton avoids bread!—to the “craziest questions” they’ve been asked throughout what is basically a glorified press tour.
The Observer asked Quincy Jones what he felt about political content of the Oscars that evening.
“Oh, who cares about that?” he said. “But you can’t avoid it.”
“Hello, Vanity Fair,” huffed a disgruntled and uncomfortable-looking Elton John. He had come from his own annual party, which he’d cut short this year and positioned perfectly—just down the block—so that guests could filter to where the real action was happening.
This year, a new group joined the winners and nominees, producers and agents, pop stars and music moguls under the enormous, specially constructed white tent in the Morton’s parking lot: New York socialites!
“Hell yeah, we’re representing,” chirped Tinsley Mortimer. Around midnight she and fellow socialite Fabiola Beracasa were the only ones on the tiles dancing crazy-wild-super-fun style. “This is only my second time in L.A., it’s so great,” Ms. Mortimer said. “We got a driver ’cause I don’t even know where the hell I am right now.”
Smiles bloomed, conversation flowed freely, odd juxtapositions abounded. “Did you see that video of Britney Spears shaving her head?” The Observer overheard Al Gore ask a fellow reveler. “God bless her, I hope it helps.”
John Travolta passed by Sean “P. Diddy” Combs on the way to where Oprah Winfrey had set up camp, in the back corner of the room. He stopped in his tracks and Mr. Combs stopped what he was doing—talking about his custom-made gray-and-black shawl-collared tuxedo—and the two began a discourse in the celebrity style of gang-signing.
“I love you,” mouthed Mr. Travolta, whose beautiful wife Kelly Preston was behind him, and whose weave has seen better days.
“No, I love you,” Mr. Combs mouthed back.
Or were they saying “olive juice”?
“This acting is hard,” said Mr. Combs, returning to his conversation with Daily News gossip columnist George Rush. “I have a lot of respect for these guys, I’m humbled to be in their presence.”
Was Mr. Combs going to bring back his “Vote or Die” campaign, The Observer wondered.
“Yeah,” he said, looking over at Mr. Gore in the midst of a crush of celebrities including Mr. DiCaprio. “Why not?”
Around 2 a.m., Ms. Beracasa, festively clad in vintage Chanel, was planning her departure to the next event, Endeavor agents Patrick Whitesell and Rick Yorn’s after-after-party.
“You’re leaving?” she said, sidling up to producer Damon Dash. “O.K., great. Let’s go together so we can be photographed,” she purred.
Getting to the agent’s all-night rager in the Hollywood Hills involved first stopping at a checkpoint at the bar Privilege, to pick up a wrist bands and directions, or hop the shuttle.
The sprawling modern white house sat atop the hill overlooking Hollywood and the rest of Los Angeles. It was packed with famous faces.
There was a dance floor upstairs and an enormous tent outside, under which revelers feasted on fresh-made waffles and eggs and beer.
Here was James Blunt dancing with an attractive blonde. “I want to dance with a real rock star,” she told The Observer later.
And there was Djimon Hounsou snuggling up to Cameron Diaz. “Oh, she’s gonna get some Black Snake Moan tonight,” hooted Vanity Fair writer George Wayne. Now Kid Rock and Brandon Davis were taking a little walk to another room, alone.
At around 4, Mr. Hounsou ran over to a bathroom, whose toilet was overflowing with toilet paper, punctuated by a black thong. “It’s sick, man,” he said. “But I’ve got to piss.”
It was like all of Oscar week: a big silly party.
Oscar’s Riff-Raff Litters the Beaches
Who remembers the winners? Hollywood’s biggest week was about boozing and schmoozing.
By: Spencer Morgan
Date: 3/5/2007
"I find this environment disturbing, as someone who made a film that’s been nominated—because no one is paying attention to the awards,” said producer Hilary Shor, at the Oscar-viewing party at the Beverly Hills Four Seasons on Sunday, Feb. 25. She was seated at a chatty tableful that included self-proclaimed D-list comic Kathy Griffin, Page Six reporters Paula Froelich and Corynne Steindler and Men’s Health editor Dave Zinczenko.
Roughly three-fourths, or over three hours, of the Academy Awards had oozed by and Ms. Shor’s film Children of Men was having a rough night, dissed for best editing and adapted screenplay. In the moments leading up to the cinematography award, her film’s last shot at the gold trophy, the no-nonsense blonde kept both eyes intently fixed on one of the many flat screens in the hotel’s ballroom. “Pan’s Labyrinth,” called out Gwyneth Paltrow, wearing salmon Zac Posen and an asymmetrical curtain of blond hair. Ms. Shor immediately snatched up her cell. “So political, so fucking political,” she hissed into the phone.
“There goes our shot at getting into the Vanity Fair party,” said her friend, a money manager.
Oscar week in L.A. is famous for its luncheons, pre-parties, after-parties and after-after-parties. This year there were more than 40 Oscar-related events—and in some cases, the relationship was pretty tenuous. On Saturday afternoon, following the Independent Spirit Awards in Santa Monica, supermarket mogul Ron Burkle hosted a Giorgio Armani fashion show—complete with runway—at his Green Acres estate, attended by Clint Eastwood, Martin Scorsese, John Travolta, Katie Holmes, Leonardo DiCaprio and Quincy Jones, among others. There was the must-see Oscar weekend art show at Larry Gagosian’s outpost in Beverly Hills; this year Damien Hirst was the featured artist. And what would Oscar weekend be with out a few politically themed wingdings, like the third annual Global Green Pre-Oscar Party at the Avalon Hollywood? (Really more of a pre-pre-party, as it happened a full five days before the ceremony.)
And then there are the magazine parties, a drunken celebration of the long and queasy marriage between celebrities and journalism. This year GQ, BlackBook and Radar all self-indulged, with Entertainment Weekly, which usually confines its bacchanalia to the East Coast, also honoring Al Gore and An Inconvenient Truth at the home of Antonio Banderas and Melanie Griffith in Hancock Park. “You have to do this kind of stuff as an editor now,” said Mr. Zinczenko, who didn’t throw a party himself but felt compelled to make his presence known throughout the week. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve probably make like 30,000 contacts and inroads,” he said.
“Of course I love all these parties,” said director John Waters, smiling deviously under his trademark pencil-thin mustache at the Spirit awards after-party on Saturday afternoon at the swank Shutters Hotel on the Beach in Santa Monica. “It’s where I’ll find all the stars to my next movie.”
Mr. Waters sticks to a strict schedule every year, he said, lest he be overwhelmed. “I go to Gagosian, I go to Independent Spirit Awards, I go to Vanity Fair and then I get on a plane and get the hell out of here.”
“The Oscars are a fuckin’ celebration of success,” said former winner Cuba Gooding Jr., also in attendance “You know, I have fun at these parties. You gotta do it.” The actor, wearing a nifty bowler hat tipped to the side, was in good spirits.
Is all the gallivanting hard on him? “No, never hard, unless the wife is around, then it gets real hard,” he joked. “No, it was harder when I was nominated. I felt I had an image to uphold. Now I’m just having a good time and I feel blessed to be working.” What about the enormous line of sunburned people desperate to get into Shutters? “You gotta start somewhere,” Mr. Gooding said frankly. “Fuck ’em.”
At the Miramax party Thursday night for The Queen and Venus, director Taylor Hackford (Ray), was enjoying being the “professional escort” for his wife, Helen Mirren. “The Oscars have always been a weird combination of marketing and art,” he said, standing at the Sunset Tower Hotel, where fleshy-lipped Jennifer Garner and her husband, Ben Affleck, were mingling along with Peter O’Toole.
Mr. O’Toole said things had changed since the old days. “Nobody gets as pissed as they used to,” said the actor, enjoying his eighth Oscar nomination for playing a lecherous old boozehound in Venus. “It’s much more boring.”
Three days later, the fans lining Hollywood Boulevard leading up to the Kodak Theatre on Sunday were feeling Mr. Gooding’s “Fuck ’em” attitude in a big way.
“Not a single celebrity rolled down their window,” complained a schoolteacher who’d been waiting on that hallowed street for five hours. (That might have had something to do with the demonstrators 50 yards away wielding enormous “Hollywood Loves Hell and Degenerates” sign.)
Security was the order of the day. And police had introduced a new exercise for the ride up, a labyrinth of cement blockades. “It’s a like an obstacle course for limousines,” said After Innocence producer Jessica Sanders, peering out the window of her car.
By 10:30 p.m., the crowd had reassembled along Melrose outside Morton’s for the Vanity Fair party. In the press pen along the red carpet here, celebrities hammed it up for the paparazzi and talked to reporters at length about everything from dieting secrets—George Hamilton avoids bread!—to the “craziest questions” they’ve been asked throughout what is basically a glorified press tour.
The Observer asked Quincy Jones what he felt about political content of the Oscars that evening.
“Oh, who cares about that?” he said. “But you can’t avoid it.”
“Hello, Vanity Fair,” huffed a disgruntled and uncomfortable-looking Elton John. He had come from his own annual party, which he’d cut short this year and positioned perfectly—just down the block—so that guests could filter to where the real action was happening.
This year, a new group joined the winners and nominees, producers and agents, pop stars and music moguls under the enormous, specially constructed white tent in the Morton’s parking lot: New York socialites!
“Hell yeah, we’re representing,” chirped Tinsley Mortimer. Around midnight she and fellow socialite Fabiola Beracasa were the only ones on the tiles dancing crazy-wild-super-fun style. “This is only my second time in L.A., it’s so great,” Ms. Mortimer said. “We got a driver ’cause I don’t even know where the hell I am right now.”
Smiles bloomed, conversation flowed freely, odd juxtapositions abounded. “Did you see that video of Britney Spears shaving her head?” The Observer overheard Al Gore ask a fellow reveler. “God bless her, I hope it helps.”
John Travolta passed by Sean “P. Diddy” Combs on the way to where Oprah Winfrey had set up camp, in the back corner of the room. He stopped in his tracks and Mr. Combs stopped what he was doing—talking about his custom-made gray-and-black shawl-collared tuxedo—and the two began a discourse in the celebrity style of gang-signing.
“I love you,” mouthed Mr. Travolta, whose beautiful wife Kelly Preston was behind him, and whose weave has seen better days.
“No, I love you,” Mr. Combs mouthed back.
Or were they saying “olive juice”?
“This acting is hard,” said Mr. Combs, returning to his conversation with Daily News gossip columnist George Rush. “I have a lot of respect for these guys, I’m humbled to be in their presence.”
Was Mr. Combs going to bring back his “Vote or Die” campaign, The Observer wondered.
“Yeah,” he said, looking over at Mr. Gore in the midst of a crush of celebrities including Mr. DiCaprio. “Why not?”
Around 2 a.m., Ms. Beracasa, festively clad in vintage Chanel, was planning her departure to the next event, Endeavor agents Patrick Whitesell and Rick Yorn’s after-after-party.
“You’re leaving?” she said, sidling up to producer Damon Dash. “O.K., great. Let’s go together so we can be photographed,” she purred.
Getting to the agent’s all-night rager in the Hollywood Hills involved first stopping at a checkpoint at the bar Privilege, to pick up a wrist bands and directions, or hop the shuttle.
The sprawling modern white house sat atop the hill overlooking Hollywood and the rest of Los Angeles. It was packed with famous faces.
There was a dance floor upstairs and an enormous tent outside, under which revelers feasted on fresh-made waffles and eggs and beer.
Here was James Blunt dancing with an attractive blonde. “I want to dance with a real rock star,” she told The Observer later.
And there was Djimon Hounsou snuggling up to Cameron Diaz. “Oh, she’s gonna get some Black Snake Moan tonight,” hooted Vanity Fair writer George Wayne. Now Kid Rock and Brandon Davis were taking a little walk to another room, alone.
At around 4, Mr. Hounsou ran over to a bathroom, whose toilet was overflowing with toilet paper, punctuated by a black thong. “It’s sick, man,” he said. “But I’ve got to piss.”
It was like all of Oscar week: a big silly party.
"Y'know, that's one of the things I like about Mitt Romney. He's been consistent since he changed his mind." -- Christine O'Donnell
Are Peter Sarsgaard and Maggie Gyllenhaal the loveliest couple in Hollywood? I think so.
The Goddess looks exquisite tonight.
The Goddess looks exquisite tonight.
"...it is the weak who are cruel, and...gentleness is only to be expected from the strong." - Leo Reston
"Cruelty might be very human, and it might be cultural, but it's not acceptable." - Jodie Foster
"Cruelty might be very human, and it might be cultural, but it's not acceptable." - Jodie Foster
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Dennis Bee
- Graduate
- Posts: 144
- Joined: Mon Jan 06, 2003 11:20 pm
- Location: Indianapolis, IN U.S.A.
Tee,
What a brilliant, elegant piece. I don't think we're in 1952, because the end-of-the-studio era panic started to resolve itself the following year and stayed that way as Hollywood through the fifties found its way in the new entertainment business as it began to shape up. (In fact, we're now in the ninth year of this era, much longer already than the late 40s-early 50s shake-up.)
The era we're in is a result of the split between indie Hollywood and the big studios; it's because studio establishment types share space in the Academy with artists and executives with a very different business ethic and aesthetic. I don't see ending this anytime soon. In fact, with the end of Weinstein-Miramax, which held varying degrees of sway and influence over the Academy from 1992 through 2004, we're this year and last in a totally confused period where there either are no clear favorites, as happens this year or a front-runner that the voters refuse to accept, like last year. Welcome to Wonderland, Alice. Expect to stay here a while.
Tee, I agree that if Pan's had been released earlier in the fall, it would have been nominated for Best Picture and Director, but I think it would have hit the same wall that Crouching Tiger encountered and its presence would have just helped The Departed, the way that CTHD probably helped Gladiator by providing the race with a yet lighter and more seemingly entertainment-oriented alternative.
What a brilliant, elegant piece. I don't think we're in 1952, because the end-of-the-studio era panic started to resolve itself the following year and stayed that way as Hollywood through the fifties found its way in the new entertainment business as it began to shape up. (In fact, we're now in the ninth year of this era, much longer already than the late 40s-early 50s shake-up.)
The era we're in is a result of the split between indie Hollywood and the big studios; it's because studio establishment types share space in the Academy with artists and executives with a very different business ethic and aesthetic. I don't see ending this anytime soon. In fact, with the end of Weinstein-Miramax, which held varying degrees of sway and influence over the Academy from 1992 through 2004, we're this year and last in a totally confused period where there either are no clear favorites, as happens this year or a front-runner that the voters refuse to accept, like last year. Welcome to Wonderland, Alice. Expect to stay here a while.
Tee, I agree that if Pan's had been released earlier in the fall, it would have been nominated for Best Picture and Director, but I think it would have hit the same wall that Crouching Tiger encountered and its presence would have just helped The Departed, the way that CTHD probably helped Gladiator by providing the race with a yet lighter and more seemingly entertainment-oriented alternative.
So true. I have to say, I caught a little of Jennifer Hudson on the Baba Wawa show and even though I still don't care for her performance at all, I can't deny that she is a sweet, likable person. And her speech at the Golden Globes was cute. If my only choice then is between the shallow performances of the obnoxious Breslin or the sweet Hudson, I guess I'll have to go with Hudson.Damien wrote:Those constant ads on the TV Guide Channel with Little Miss herself are a reminder how unpleasant this child is. She ain't no Anna Paquin.
A fine article, from the New York Daily News:
The business of Oscar
A lot goes into winning one of the prized statuettes.
A lot of money
By CHRIS ROVZAR
To whom does Helen Mirren, star of "The Queen," bow?
Who makes Will Smith, the $20 Million Man, look like a bargain?
Oscar's his name. At this time of year - with awards being handed out at the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles Sunday night - money and pressure are his game.
Movie studios traditionally spend up to $25 million a year per nominated film in an attempt to secure Hollywood's highest honor. This time around, Fox Searchlight ("Little Miss Sunshine," "The Last King of Scotland") and Paramount ("Babel," "Dreamgirls") are leading the pack. With marketing budgets commonly running around $40 million to $50 million for high-profile films, that extra $25 million smarts. But many studios feel it's worth it.
"It's about impression and awareness," says Paul Dergarabedian, president of Media by Numbers, a box-office analysis company. "It's about trying to not let people forget that their movie is in the running."
"It's a conversation with viewers," says Hollywood blogger Jeffrey Wells, "and keeping certain films in their mind as they mull over possible winners."
But it's not just the films: Their stars are often trotted out in various displays of showmanship to secure first a nomination and then a win (voting officially closed last week for Academy members). So every time Best Actress nominee Penelope Cruz ("Volver') appears as a spokeswoman for a beauty product, it helps. And when Best Actor nominee Forest Whitaker ("The Last King of Scotland') turns up in more places than President Bush, it's no accident.
It even affects Oscar legends: 74-year-old Peter O'Toole, up for Best Actor for the eighth time with "Venus," was resting in London after nominations were announced last month. Oscar bloggers suggested that he was hurting his chances by canceling interviews and not being visible.
What happened? Fast as a "Lawrence of Arabia" sandstorm, "Venus" publicists got O'Toole out there and talking to Newsweek, CNN.com and several other outlets.
When nominees don't make the effort, it does not go unnoticed. Witness one perceived front runner, Eddie Murphy, whose reluctance to glad-hand or do the media rounds might cost him the award (veteran character actor Alan Arkin, that's your cue).
"If Murphy had done that, who knows?" said Wells. "But he won't, and he didn't. But he sure as hell should have."
Unlike Oscar himself, who demurely hides behind his sword, studios try to cut through everything to win.
Print, television and radio ads are the first wave.
"The Oscar telecast is like a two- or three-hour infomercial for the movie industry. It exposes those films to an enormous audience," says Dergarabedian, who cites DreamWorks' "American Beauty" - which won five Oscars in 2000, including the Best Picture, Best Actor (Kevin Spacey) and Best Director (Sam Mendes) - as an example of a film that had opened six months earlier but then got a huge financial boost.
"It was basically played out. It was in seven theaters before the nomination," says Dergarabedian. "Then it got a bunch of nominations, and they added 1,280 theaters."
"Before its nominations, the film had grossed about $75 million. They ended up with $135 million. Had that movie not been nominated, they would have been left at $75 million.
"Those Oscars added $60 million to the bottom line," says Dergarabedian.
Today, Oscar-win buzz can boost revenue all around.
"It's not just about box office now, it's also about DVDs," adds Dergarabedian. " 'Babel' came out on disk this week. 'The Departed' hit stores last week. If a movie wins Best Picture, chances are people are going to want to see what all the fuss is about and go out and buy it."
The second wave of the offensive in Oscar campaigns includes actor appearances, interviews and intimate screenings with industry tastemakers.
"It works every time," says one New York film publicist, who has worked on Oscar campaigns for blockbusters and small indie films. "If an actor is out there working hard from the beginning - [but not being too] in-your-face - at Q-and-As and doing local and national radio, there's a 100 % [chance] you're going to be nominated."
Appearances to the contrary, those appearances aren't cheap. But it's all part of the cost of Oscar.
"It's traveling the talent. It's putting them up in hotels. It's stylists, hair and makeup, flying them not just one time to L.A. and New York, but several times," explains the publicist.
"It's not always in their contract, so first class and penthouses [help] convince them. I've never heard of anyone turning it down."
And that ultimately is because of the award itself.
The golden trophy, whose actual weight endlessly surprises winners on camera, also carries a symbolic heft that cannot be ignored.
"Russell Crowe really hit the circuit when he was nominated for 'Gladiator,' in 2000" explains Wells.
"He had a reputation [issue] - a perceived 'attitude problem.' He got over that by doing the dance, going around from party to party."
The last wave is simple: Anything goes.
"For 'Little Miss Sunshine,' Fox Searchlight really went all out," says Academy Awards expert Damien Bona, author of "Inside Oscar."
The studio had the usual "For Your Consideration" ads in trade papers as early as September of last year, and continued to keep the movie's stars in circulation on the talk-show and critics' groups awards circuit through the winter.
"They even had a Volkswagen van" —similar to the one used by the goofy family in the movie - "driving all around Los Angeles with 'Little Miss Sunshine' posters on it," says Bona.
Come Sunday night, the van might just take the film all the way to the podium at the Kodak. That's one expensive trip.
The business of Oscar
A lot goes into winning one of the prized statuettes.
A lot of money
By CHRIS ROVZAR
To whom does Helen Mirren, star of "The Queen," bow?
Who makes Will Smith, the $20 Million Man, look like a bargain?
Oscar's his name. At this time of year - with awards being handed out at the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles Sunday night - money and pressure are his game.
Movie studios traditionally spend up to $25 million a year per nominated film in an attempt to secure Hollywood's highest honor. This time around, Fox Searchlight ("Little Miss Sunshine," "The Last King of Scotland") and Paramount ("Babel," "Dreamgirls") are leading the pack. With marketing budgets commonly running around $40 million to $50 million for high-profile films, that extra $25 million smarts. But many studios feel it's worth it.
"It's about impression and awareness," says Paul Dergarabedian, president of Media by Numbers, a box-office analysis company. "It's about trying to not let people forget that their movie is in the running."
"It's a conversation with viewers," says Hollywood blogger Jeffrey Wells, "and keeping certain films in their mind as they mull over possible winners."
But it's not just the films: Their stars are often trotted out in various displays of showmanship to secure first a nomination and then a win (voting officially closed last week for Academy members). So every time Best Actress nominee Penelope Cruz ("Volver') appears as a spokeswoman for a beauty product, it helps. And when Best Actor nominee Forest Whitaker ("The Last King of Scotland') turns up in more places than President Bush, it's no accident.
It even affects Oscar legends: 74-year-old Peter O'Toole, up for Best Actor for the eighth time with "Venus," was resting in London after nominations were announced last month. Oscar bloggers suggested that he was hurting his chances by canceling interviews and not being visible.
What happened? Fast as a "Lawrence of Arabia" sandstorm, "Venus" publicists got O'Toole out there and talking to Newsweek, CNN.com and several other outlets.
When nominees don't make the effort, it does not go unnoticed. Witness one perceived front runner, Eddie Murphy, whose reluctance to glad-hand or do the media rounds might cost him the award (veteran character actor Alan Arkin, that's your cue).
"If Murphy had done that, who knows?" said Wells. "But he won't, and he didn't. But he sure as hell should have."
Unlike Oscar himself, who demurely hides behind his sword, studios try to cut through everything to win.
Print, television and radio ads are the first wave.
"The Oscar telecast is like a two- or three-hour infomercial for the movie industry. It exposes those films to an enormous audience," says Dergarabedian, who cites DreamWorks' "American Beauty" - which won five Oscars in 2000, including the Best Picture, Best Actor (Kevin Spacey) and Best Director (Sam Mendes) - as an example of a film that had opened six months earlier but then got a huge financial boost.
"It was basically played out. It was in seven theaters before the nomination," says Dergarabedian. "Then it got a bunch of nominations, and they added 1,280 theaters."
"Before its nominations, the film had grossed about $75 million. They ended up with $135 million. Had that movie not been nominated, they would have been left at $75 million.
"Those Oscars added $60 million to the bottom line," says Dergarabedian.
Today, Oscar-win buzz can boost revenue all around.
"It's not just about box office now, it's also about DVDs," adds Dergarabedian. " 'Babel' came out on disk this week. 'The Departed' hit stores last week. If a movie wins Best Picture, chances are people are going to want to see what all the fuss is about and go out and buy it."
The second wave of the offensive in Oscar campaigns includes actor appearances, interviews and intimate screenings with industry tastemakers.
"It works every time," says one New York film publicist, who has worked on Oscar campaigns for blockbusters and small indie films. "If an actor is out there working hard from the beginning - [but not being too] in-your-face - at Q-and-As and doing local and national radio, there's a 100 % [chance] you're going to be nominated."
Appearances to the contrary, those appearances aren't cheap. But it's all part of the cost of Oscar.
"It's traveling the talent. It's putting them up in hotels. It's stylists, hair and makeup, flying them not just one time to L.A. and New York, but several times," explains the publicist.
"It's not always in their contract, so first class and penthouses [help] convince them. I've never heard of anyone turning it down."
And that ultimately is because of the award itself.
The golden trophy, whose actual weight endlessly surprises winners on camera, also carries a symbolic heft that cannot be ignored.
"Russell Crowe really hit the circuit when he was nominated for 'Gladiator,' in 2000" explains Wells.
"He had a reputation [issue] - a perceived 'attitude problem.' He got over that by doing the dance, going around from party to party."
The last wave is simple: Anything goes.
"For 'Little Miss Sunshine,' Fox Searchlight really went all out," says Academy Awards expert Damien Bona, author of "Inside Oscar."
The studio had the usual "For Your Consideration" ads in trade papers as early as September of last year, and continued to keep the movie's stars in circulation on the talk-show and critics' groups awards circuit through the winter.
"They even had a Volkswagen van" —similar to the one used by the goofy family in the movie - "driving all around Los Angeles with 'Little Miss Sunshine' posters on it," says Bona.
Come Sunday night, the van might just take the film all the way to the podium at the Kodak. That's one expensive trip.
"Y'know, that's one of the things I like about Mitt Romney. He's been consistent since he changed his mind." -- Christine O'Donnell
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Mister Tee
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flipp, sorry I'm so late getting back to you. All history I've read -- including Inside Oscar -- says Richard Burton was considered a shoo-in for My Cousin Rachel (probably, since it was ever thus, because his role was clearly lead-size). Quinn -- who's quite good in Zapata, and has an Oscar-y final scene -- seems to have been an afterthought. (Quinn, like Maggie Smith, is the rare performer to win multiple Oscars and have been a surprise each time)flipp525 wrote:Mister Tee wrote:Harbinger alert 2: The supporting actor award was won in an upset
Tee, what's the background on this race? I wasn't aware that Anthony Quinn had won in an upset. If you perceive it as a true harbinger for this year, who's our spoiler by your estimation? Haley or Wahlberg? I've been hoping for a surprise Haley win since I saw Little Children.
I have no idea who the best candidate for an upset is -- I remain skeptical of how receptive voters will be to a discomfitting performance like Haley's, but if votes split every which way, who knows what could happen. I just found it interesting that the acting category most promoted as upset-prime this year is precisely the one in which there was an upset in '52.
Franz Ferdinand wrote:Penelope wrote:5. Letters From Iwo Jima
And only the last one, I think, has pretty much a zero chance of winning.
Hence the elation and joy we will all feel when it wins the night!
Just as long as it's not Blabble, I otherwise could not care less--personally--what wins.
"...it is the weak who are cruel, and...gentleness is only to be expected from the strong." - Leo Reston
"Cruelty might be very human, and it might be cultural, but it's not acceptable." - Jodie Foster
"Cruelty might be very human, and it might be cultural, but it's not acceptable." - Jodie Foster
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OscarGuy
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Tee, you make good points, but you've ignored the Editing correlation.
I really think you're discussion of the Hollywood Depression Era winners is succinct. We did have some bizarre occurrences during that period, but the '60s changed all that, just as did the box office doldrums.
Perhaps we're preparing to emerge form the same kind of dark period.
I really think you're discussion of the Hollywood Depression Era winners is succinct. We did have some bizarre occurrences during that period, but the '60s changed all that, just as did the box office doldrums.
Perhaps we're preparing to emerge form the same kind of dark period.
Wesley Lovell
"Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both." - Benjamin Franklin
"Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both." - Benjamin Franklin
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Franz Ferdinand
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You know, I look at history, statistics and the precursors only as a guide, I don't see any of it as set in stone, not anymore, not after this past decade of Oscars, in which the "rules" have indeed been thrown out the window. I look at those as a guide, but then I try to see what they tell us, and I'm sorry, they tell me that Little Miss Sunshine has a very, very strong chance of winning. Right now, less than 5 days to the ceremony, I'd rank the probability of winning as follows:
1. Little Miss Sunshine
2. The Departed
3. The Queen
4. Babel
5. Letters From Iwo Jima
And only the last one, I think, has pretty much a zero chance of winning.
1. Little Miss Sunshine
2. The Departed
3. The Queen
4. Babel
5. Letters From Iwo Jima
And only the last one, I think, has pretty much a zero chance of winning.
"...it is the weak who are cruel, and...gentleness is only to be expected from the strong." - Leo Reston
"Cruelty might be very human, and it might be cultural, but it's not acceptable." - Jodie Foster
"Cruelty might be very human, and it might be cultural, but it's not acceptable." - Jodie Foster
Mister Tee wrote:Harbinger alert 2: The supporting actor award was won in an upset
Tee, what's the background on this race? I wasn't aware that Anthony Quinn had won in an upset. If you perceive it as a true harbinger for this year, who's our spoiler by your estimation? Haley or Wahlberg? I've been hoping for a surprise Haley win since I saw Little Children.
Last year was just one of those unfortunate things that happen when people with questionable taste are given ballots.
Succinctly brilliant and so true.
Edited By flipp525 on 1172008422
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Mister Tee
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A few thoughts I’ve had that don’t fall neatly into already-established categories:
1. I’ve opined several times in recent years that this period at the Oscars resembles the ’48-’52 years. Are we about to finally reach 1952? Consider:
In '52, the DGA designated an old favorite for best director, John Ford, seemingly without reference to his film’s best picture prospects. Scorsese to match?
An older character actress was essentially unbeatable in the leading acting category -- Shirley Booth is Helen Mirren?
A film not nominated for best picture five (The Bad and the Beatiful) won the most awards. Couldn’t Dreamgirls – or even possibly Pan’s Labyrinth – easily match this?
Harbinger alert: Many in the audience groaned at the announcement of the best picture, The Greatest Show on Earth. Isn’t a recurrence all too possible?
Harbinger alert 2: The supporting actor award was won in an upset
2. Apropos Pan’s Labyrinth – does it strike anyone else that, had it been properly promoted, or, better, had it been in English, the film might have been a consensus choice to resolve the year’s best picture muddle? You have an impeccably crafted, beautifully conceived and executed film. Del Toro’s horror/violent elements provide just enough bite to give a slight edge, but not enough to prevent the film being a soothing piece of traditional story-telling. The setting is the mid-40s – catnip for older Oscar voters – and the subject is an innocent girl among the horrors of wartime (cue Forbidden Games). The film is on the side of the angels (imagination over fascism) in a political cause long drained of any nasty controversy. There’s a little You Go Girl element, as female characters drive most of the action (Mercedes even proving the only rebel capable of withstanding the Captain). There’s a lovely, bittersweet ending that’s either wish-fulfilment triumph, or noble sacrifice -- with the amibiguity around this adding to the film's narrative richness. And the whole thing looks and feels gorgeous (in period fashion), with a memorably romantic theme.
Does any of that not sound like a best picture Academy members could get behind?
3. A number of the people I've heard predicting Little Miss What's-Her-Name for best picture acknowledge the big handicap in the film's missing the director nod, but they say they're ready to go ahead anyway because No rules apply anymore -- specifically, "After Crash beat Brokeback Mountain, anything can happen".
Now, I've done my share of chronicling the breakdown in traditions over the past decade-plus, but this strikes me as a bit of a misreading of what's actually gone on. People seem to fell that Brokeback's loss, after PGA/DGA/WGA/Globe/NY-LA Critics etc. represented some unprecedented rupture with history. But this is because they see history where it's never really been.
To wit: There have been, at various times, some sporadic correlation between
many of those groups and the best picture Oscar winner…but never enough that they merited status as solid-gold precursor. PGA has been very hit-and-miss, only once (2000) picking a best picture the other Guilds missed. The Globes had a period from the late 70s to the early 90s where they matched the Oscars substantially -- but then they started diverging, with no discernible pattern. "The film with most nominations wins" was a mantra for 20 years -- then just as suddenly it stopped working (we're now sure to have our third consecutive year it won't be true).
In Cat's Cradle, Vonnegut talks about how some things seem to exist in mystical connection -- they form karasses, he says. The best Oscar precursors fit that definition. But Vonnegut also warns of false connections being pushed; he expresses contempt for such effort by giving them the ridiculous name gonfaloons. Oscar prognostication has had a lot of gonfaloons forced upon it in recent years. (Tom O'Neil has advocated so many, we might call him the Prince of Gonfaloons) A lot of the recent "shattering of precedent" has, in fact, been the law of averages catching up with things that only accidentally or tangentially matched up with the Oscars.
There are, however, a few precursors that I -- and long-time watchers -- take as truly gold-standard. Two, in fact:
First, the nominations themselves. As is well documented, from almost the earliest years, it's been essential, for a film to win best picture, that it be nominated for best director (and vice versa). The Driving Miss Daisy exception is well known (and endlessly cited); less talked about are two films on either side of it -- The Color Purple and Apollo 13 -- which won DGA prizes in spite of their directing-omits and became as a result quite popular best picture predictions (Apollo 13 was easily the most widely-made call in '95). In the end, though, the missing director turned out fatal for both. That's something to remember over the next few days.
A secondary element of the nominations is the screenplay category. Mostly from the earliest days -- and definitely since the establishment of the two-screenplay-category system in 1957 -- a screenplay nod has been part of the best picture profile. There are only two exceptions in, now, nearly 50 years: The Sound of Music and Titanic. So, let's set the rule: if you're the most phenomenal blockbuster of your era, you can withstand a screenplay snub; otherwise, your film had better get nominated.
A somewhat less stringent rule: Unless you're a certain sort of less-verbal film (a musical or sweeping epic) you probably want to win best screenplay if you're looking to take best picture. I say less stringent because this rule has weakened just a bit in recent years: Clint Eastwood's had two best picture winners fail at best screenplay, despite fitting the normal contours. But on the whole, the rule has applied.
The second precursor is, of course, the Directors' Guild award -- the only independent-of-the-Academy group that can be truly said to have a karass-like bond with it. The deal: From the founding of the DGA till 1968 -- a 20-year period -- the DGA winner always won the directing Oscar. After the Oliver! Exception, the rule was violated again in 1972 (though the DGA winner did go on to take best picture). But for the 27 years after that, the tradition held: every DGA winner with an Oscar nomination went on to take the best director Oscar (the exceptions being those fluky '85 and '95 contests). Most times -- 8 or 9 of every 10 -- the film also went on to win best picture, and that congruence is what has given the award its legendary status. But the key match-up was always with the directing category.
Since those years, we've of course had two quick disagreements ('00 and '02). It's entirely possible we're witnessing the end of an era. But the history of this as an indicator has been so strong that I think it merits consideration -- on an ongoing basis -- that other precursors do not.
So -- how does all this apply to the Crash/Brokeback disaster of a year ago? Well, what it says to me is, that choice may have been appalling (actually, no doubt about it) and it may have been shocking…but it was not in any way unprecedented. Ang Lee won the directing award -- precisely as DGA winners are promised. The film that topped him for best picture had all the necessary film/director/screenplay nominations -- it even WON the last of those. It was an upset, but of the same sort previously achieved by An American in Paris, The Greatest Show on Earth, Around the World in 80 Days, In the Heat of the Night, Chariots of Fire and Shakespeare in Love. The wins in 2002, and especially Gladiator's win in 2000, are a far better argument for "all the rules are out the window". Last year was just one of those unfortunate things that happen when people with questionable taste are given ballots.
I'm not, believe me, flatly declaring that Little Miss Thing CAN'T win -- like Sky Masterson, I know I could end up with an earful of cider. What I'm saying is, if you're predicting that outcome, you're out on more of a limb than you imagine. Last year's outcome is not nearly enough on which to base your argument.
1. I’ve opined several times in recent years that this period at the Oscars resembles the ’48-’52 years. Are we about to finally reach 1952? Consider:
In '52, the DGA designated an old favorite for best director, John Ford, seemingly without reference to his film’s best picture prospects. Scorsese to match?
An older character actress was essentially unbeatable in the leading acting category -- Shirley Booth is Helen Mirren?
A film not nominated for best picture five (The Bad and the Beatiful) won the most awards. Couldn’t Dreamgirls – or even possibly Pan’s Labyrinth – easily match this?
Harbinger alert: Many in the audience groaned at the announcement of the best picture, The Greatest Show on Earth. Isn’t a recurrence all too possible?
Harbinger alert 2: The supporting actor award was won in an upset
2. Apropos Pan’s Labyrinth – does it strike anyone else that, had it been properly promoted, or, better, had it been in English, the film might have been a consensus choice to resolve the year’s best picture muddle? You have an impeccably crafted, beautifully conceived and executed film. Del Toro’s horror/violent elements provide just enough bite to give a slight edge, but not enough to prevent the film being a soothing piece of traditional story-telling. The setting is the mid-40s – catnip for older Oscar voters – and the subject is an innocent girl among the horrors of wartime (cue Forbidden Games). The film is on the side of the angels (imagination over fascism) in a political cause long drained of any nasty controversy. There’s a little You Go Girl element, as female characters drive most of the action (Mercedes even proving the only rebel capable of withstanding the Captain). There’s a lovely, bittersweet ending that’s either wish-fulfilment triumph, or noble sacrifice -- with the amibiguity around this adding to the film's narrative richness. And the whole thing looks and feels gorgeous (in period fashion), with a memorably romantic theme.
Does any of that not sound like a best picture Academy members could get behind?
3. A number of the people I've heard predicting Little Miss What's-Her-Name for best picture acknowledge the big handicap in the film's missing the director nod, but they say they're ready to go ahead anyway because No rules apply anymore -- specifically, "After Crash beat Brokeback Mountain, anything can happen".
Now, I've done my share of chronicling the breakdown in traditions over the past decade-plus, but this strikes me as a bit of a misreading of what's actually gone on. People seem to fell that Brokeback's loss, after PGA/DGA/WGA/Globe/NY-LA Critics etc. represented some unprecedented rupture with history. But this is because they see history where it's never really been.
To wit: There have been, at various times, some sporadic correlation between
many of those groups and the best picture Oscar winner…but never enough that they merited status as solid-gold precursor. PGA has been very hit-and-miss, only once (2000) picking a best picture the other Guilds missed. The Globes had a period from the late 70s to the early 90s where they matched the Oscars substantially -- but then they started diverging, with no discernible pattern. "The film with most nominations wins" was a mantra for 20 years -- then just as suddenly it stopped working (we're now sure to have our third consecutive year it won't be true).
In Cat's Cradle, Vonnegut talks about how some things seem to exist in mystical connection -- they form karasses, he says. The best Oscar precursors fit that definition. But Vonnegut also warns of false connections being pushed; he expresses contempt for such effort by giving them the ridiculous name gonfaloons. Oscar prognostication has had a lot of gonfaloons forced upon it in recent years. (Tom O'Neil has advocated so many, we might call him the Prince of Gonfaloons) A lot of the recent "shattering of precedent" has, in fact, been the law of averages catching up with things that only accidentally or tangentially matched up with the Oscars.
There are, however, a few precursors that I -- and long-time watchers -- take as truly gold-standard. Two, in fact:
First, the nominations themselves. As is well documented, from almost the earliest years, it's been essential, for a film to win best picture, that it be nominated for best director (and vice versa). The Driving Miss Daisy exception is well known (and endlessly cited); less talked about are two films on either side of it -- The Color Purple and Apollo 13 -- which won DGA prizes in spite of their directing-omits and became as a result quite popular best picture predictions (Apollo 13 was easily the most widely-made call in '95). In the end, though, the missing director turned out fatal for both. That's something to remember over the next few days.
A secondary element of the nominations is the screenplay category. Mostly from the earliest days -- and definitely since the establishment of the two-screenplay-category system in 1957 -- a screenplay nod has been part of the best picture profile. There are only two exceptions in, now, nearly 50 years: The Sound of Music and Titanic. So, let's set the rule: if you're the most phenomenal blockbuster of your era, you can withstand a screenplay snub; otherwise, your film had better get nominated.
A somewhat less stringent rule: Unless you're a certain sort of less-verbal film (a musical or sweeping epic) you probably want to win best screenplay if you're looking to take best picture. I say less stringent because this rule has weakened just a bit in recent years: Clint Eastwood's had two best picture winners fail at best screenplay, despite fitting the normal contours. But on the whole, the rule has applied.
The second precursor is, of course, the Directors' Guild award -- the only independent-of-the-Academy group that can be truly said to have a karass-like bond with it. The deal: From the founding of the DGA till 1968 -- a 20-year period -- the DGA winner always won the directing Oscar. After the Oliver! Exception, the rule was violated again in 1972 (though the DGA winner did go on to take best picture). But for the 27 years after that, the tradition held: every DGA winner with an Oscar nomination went on to take the best director Oscar (the exceptions being those fluky '85 and '95 contests). Most times -- 8 or 9 of every 10 -- the film also went on to win best picture, and that congruence is what has given the award its legendary status. But the key match-up was always with the directing category.
Since those years, we've of course had two quick disagreements ('00 and '02). It's entirely possible we're witnessing the end of an era. But the history of this as an indicator has been so strong that I think it merits consideration -- on an ongoing basis -- that other precursors do not.
So -- how does all this apply to the Crash/Brokeback disaster of a year ago? Well, what it says to me is, that choice may have been appalling (actually, no doubt about it) and it may have been shocking…but it was not in any way unprecedented. Ang Lee won the directing award -- precisely as DGA winners are promised. The film that topped him for best picture had all the necessary film/director/screenplay nominations -- it even WON the last of those. It was an upset, but of the same sort previously achieved by An American in Paris, The Greatest Show on Earth, Around the World in 80 Days, In the Heat of the Night, Chariots of Fire and Shakespeare in Love. The wins in 2002, and especially Gladiator's win in 2000, are a far better argument for "all the rules are out the window". Last year was just one of those unfortunate things that happen when people with questionable taste are given ballots.
I'm not, believe me, flatly declaring that Little Miss Thing CAN'T win -- like Sky Masterson, I know I could end up with an earful of cider. What I'm saying is, if you're predicting that outcome, you're out on more of a limb than you imagine. Last year's outcome is not nearly enough on which to base your argument.