Exigent circumstances prevented me from watching the majority of this year’s Academy Awards ceremony, an event to which I had (to my own surprise) been looking forward. In the decade since I actually sat through one, my enthusiasm for the movies has done anything but wane. I had to consider why this event should stir some remnant of my adolescent wonder at the glitzy, self-serving pomp of a bunch of celebrities handing each other statuettes. In light of the ongoing degradation of the American Experiment, the encroachment of artificial intelligence, ever more rapacious greed in the artform being celebrated and the looming end of humanity, awards shows cannot but seem more irrelevant (or at least superfluous) than ever. And then, of course, there is all the self-congratulation and that the Oscars themselves were created as a sop from the keepers of the cash to disincentivize artists from strengthening their collective bargaining.
Still, the movie business seems to be in the throes of another awkward adolescence, of rediscovery, with tradespeople banding together to protect each other’s livelihoods andto celebrate the Herculean task of making popular art that speaks to the better parts of human nature, even if its financial success is anything but assured. Their victories may well be pyrrhic, and time could prove the industry was bought and paid for long ago, but it is, maybe in spite of itself, doing something good.
As one example, Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, which I liked very much but would not have tapped as a standard-bearer, streaked to the head of the pack with more nominations than any single movie had ever garnered. A vestige of a bygone (possibly apocryphal) era in American film, Sinners is a large-scale, larger-budget genre experiment that uses monster-movies as a keyhole into this country’s oft-odious, inescapable recent past. Simultaneously, it is wholly original, a product of the imagination and a truly good time at the movies, accessible to and exciting for the wider audience.
And, of course, One Battle After Another, the presumptive (at least in this household) heir to the throne of Best Picture, is similarly fueled by decades of action-comedy propellant in service of a cogent, incisive commentary on the necessity of compassion and togetherness.
As I said, I missed most of the telecast (stream, in my case) but was able to tune in for the final third or so, which saw the apportioning of trophies for best female and male actors, cinematography, director, picture and original song.
A note on the song: “Golden,” from KPop Demon Hunters, with music and lyrics by Ejae, Mark Sonnenblick, Joong Gyu-kwak, Yu Han Lee, Hee Dong Nam, Jeong Hoon Seo and Teddy Park, took home the hardware (as they say), but the producers of the Oscars saw fit to play the recipients off-stage and dim the lights before the vast majority of them had a chance to give their speeches. Never a good look, but especially not when the win is something of a watershed for cultural recognition.
Before I hopped on, Sean Penn won Best Supporting Actor for One Battle, but was not in attendance, which I’ve always thought is a pretty cool move. I would have liked to see Benicio Del Toro or Delroy Lindo win; alas. Amy Madigan was awarded Best Supporting Actress for Weapons (which was fun enough, but kind of much ado about nothing), a category in which Chase Infiniti should have been a sure thing.
Jessie Buckley gave a lovely, heartfelt speech honoring women and motherhood after winning for Hamnet, a movie I have yet to see and which, as I’ve said, holds little interest (more a comment on me than it). Buckley has astounded me in everything I’ve seen, so even if I’d have liked to see Rose Byrne pick up the award, I at least got to see her work out with her costars from Bridesmaids.
Michael B. Jordan’s win was entirely deserved, as his performance in a dual role in Sinners was truly riveting and he is a standard-bearer for canniness and decorum in a market segment that can sometimes be cluttered with distastefulness and fame-whoring. But Wagner Moura being nominated for Best Actor for his role in The Secret Agent is the good kind of also-ran.
Coogler and Paul Thomas Anderson each won writing Oscars, for Original and Adapted Screenplay, and that seems just as it should be. And each time Sinners picked up another prize, including the history-making one for Best Cinematography by Autumn Durald Arkapaw, it seemed like Coogler was prouder and happier than he would have been winning them himself.
Likewise, Anderson, who, after a 30-year career of consistently excellent work, finally won for Best Director and Best Picture and, in so doing, gave credit to his cast and crew, to the innately collaborative nature of the artform, and to the ongoing legacy of film-art that led him to this moment. And he had jokes.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
NOW PLAYING
THE BRIDE! Frankenstein’s monster (Christian Bale) bids Dr. Euphronius (Annette Bening) to make him a monster’s moll (Jessie Buckley) in 1930s Chicago. R. 126M. BROADWAY.
GOAT. Animated sports comedy about an ungulate underdog with the unfortunate slogan “Smalls can ball.” PG. 100M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
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For showtimes, visit catheaters.com and minortheatre.com.
This article appears in The Foilies 2026.