Kudos season is upon us with its ever-evolving rules and rituals. The various filmgoing juries are delivering their lists of favorites, while the media weighs in on the star performances: Which actors have pitched most persuasively? Are upsets in the wind?
Timothée Chalamet has clearly emerged as this season’s hustling icon, his campaign for Marty Supreme as manic as his movie. While George Clooney presents himself as the calm senior superstar in Jay Kelly, the once-reserved Chalamet has become an over-caffeinated orange banana who out-blitzes even Amanda Seyfried, Sydney Sweeney and Jennifer Lawrence.
No longer a complete unknown wrapped in the Bob Dylan mystique, Chalamet has energized a balky awards circuit whose stars and filmmakers years ago had retreated from the rigors of self-promotion, with some still preferring to avoid it.
“It seemed like a good opportunity to back away,” observed a wary Paul Mescal, who said he’s looking forward to a PR-free life until his 2028 turn in as Paul McCartney Sam Mendes’ untitled Beatles biopics.
But in 1999, “backing away” didn’t serve either Steven Spielberg or Tom Hanks. Both were impelled to launch ninth-inning pushes to persuade Oscar voters that Shakespeare wasn’t really in love and Private Ryan needed serious saving.
Spielberg reluctantly embarked on a five-city tour, but it was too late and Private Ryan lost anyway. The fervid Harvey Weinstein era of awards campaigning was suddenly about to blast off.
A generation ago, Oscar winners like Marlon Brando and George C. Scott were unwilling even to attend kudos events, no less accept the statuettes. Neither would have agreed to portray a skinny ping pong hustler with a surly disposition and bad complexion.
This season, Michael B. Jordan briefly represented a throwback to that era, initially downplaying the awards hustle for his well-reviewed Sinners before hitting the circuit yet again.
On the female side of the acting ballots, competitors this season exercised no such constraint especially in challenging critical slights. Lawrence’s testy performance in Die My Love caught critics’ barbs in Cannes, and one Venice guru even suggested Seyfried seemed “anti sex” as Ann Lee, the feisty founder of the Shaker sect, in Mona Fastvold’s The Testament of Ann Lee. Sweeney had to overcome the “great jeans” stigma in capturing the surreal twists and turns of The Housemaid.
George Clooney confronted vastly different issues as Jay Kelly, with a few critics even challenging the star’s impeccable interview skills. “It is hard not to laugh at his self-absorption,” wrote Kyle Smith of the Wall Street Journal. “Kelly cannot avoid defining himself by his own success,” observes Noah Baumbach, Jay Kelly‘s director, reflecting the challenges of a star portraying a star.
While stars and filmmakers this season tried to cope candidly with questioners, their impact was nonetheless inhibited by the rigors of Oscar rules. Academy members are free to identify themselves as voters but cautioned not to reveal their preferences. Hence the lavish screening parties and fierce arguments that characterized the Weinstein epoch no longer obscure the landscape.
Even Golden Globes voters are now publicly identified, and rumors about secret rewards and travels have vanished.
Chalamet is thus liberated to paint his landscape whichever shade of orange he favors. Bob Dylan likely would have kept on his shades.