The 1996 Academy Awards
Hollywood loves the epic. There are very few axioms to forecast Oscar voting, and this is one of them. In 1996, the category of Best Picture nominees presented as diverse a field as there had been in nearly a decade. In the forefront was Braveheart, Mel Gibson's Wlliiam Wallace saga. It was an epic, yes, but in a very strange sense of the term. Epics are large in scale and paint a historical tale of passion and strategy, of courage and adversity. Braveheart covered these bases, but only scantily. It's the dream of a free Scotland during quasi-barbarism; Mel and his men didn't compare admirably to the gentlemanly warfare of more "American" engagements, and both the film and its content were rougher and less polished that its predecessors. The scope was wide and foreign, though, and blood was shed in the name of freedom — always a must for voters looking for a moral. In a standard year, Braveheart would have won the award for effort and execution, but not necessarily for je ne sais quoi.
This was no typical year, though. Tom Hanks attempted to push another film — this time Apollo 13 — through to greatness and a Best Actor nomination, and he failed. Il Postino, the Italian piece about Massimo Troisi's passion for the word of Pablo Neruda, gained double the standard reward for posthumous recognition: Troisi received what may have been Hanks' nomination and Postino landed a Best Picture nod.
Sense and Sensibility slid into the wild-card fifth slot that recognizes either a class of actors and the synergy of their contribution (i.e. the occasional Daniel Day-Lewis or Anthony Hopkins film) or a popular production that manages to infuse enough critical spirit to merit recognition (Four Weddings and a Funeral, Full Monty). For these three films, as is often the case, the nomination was a reward unto itself.
Which brings up the topic of Babe, the pig raised by sheepdogs. Director Chris Noonan managed to hatch open Aesop on film in a tale that reached all ages and demographics. Babe was bogged down with the weight of a children's movie in critical circles (see also Beauty and the Beast, 1992) to such an extreme that it wasn't considered seriously in more mature arenas. The film was a visual and narrative spectacle, propelling viewers through the growth and education of Babe to a climax that drew applause in many theaters.
The Academy crowned Forrest Gump the previous year; why not reward Noonan for adding intellect rather than erasing it from a film? This was "Charlotte's Web" and "Animal Farm," light and dark, politic and ethic, all rolled into dialogue simple enough for children to catch on to and witty enough to keep adults thoroughly engaged. Complemented by a nominated performance by James Cromwell and Colin Gibson's jaw-dropping art direction, this was the movie to see. It had that shimmer, that extra quality that elevates medium-budget movies to the same level of notoriety as big-studio glamour pieces.
But Braveheart steamrolled through the warm-up awards and carried on right through Oscar night. Was it the most Oscar-friendly movie, with its thousands of extras and winding tale of the rise of a legend? Clearly. Was it the best movie? Perhaps not. The tale of a Scottish legend rising from the ranks of the pauper didn't offer nearly as much as the tale of the pig who could herd sheep. Braveheart won, probably easily, and Babe was eased back into its pen, to be filed next to Beauty and the Beast as little more than a kid movie.
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Andy Stilp
(andy.stilp at gmail dot com)
