Aftersun: Too Intimate for the Oscars, Rant Part II
Aftersun deserved best picture & directing Oscars this year, but it had no shot. The Academy doesn’t like to award intimate little stories about relationships. They like loud message films, and loud action films, and stories about men being men. And when they (rarely) pivot their patterns (Moonlight), it’s never for a woman helmer: It’s no accident that the only females who’ve won directing Oscars did so for stories about war, community job loss, and cowboys.
Academy voters like to throw a screenplay bone at the original, lovely intimate stories–though they occasionally alter that with acting (as with Aftersun) or song nominations/wins (as with Once). Even when a quiet, intimate little film like Il Postino is nominated for best picture, it wins for something else (in its case, score). That’s why when I’m searching for good films I don’t know from past Oscars, I go straight to the screenplay category. There I can find films that weren’t about the Academy trying to prove something, or the fact that many of them are too lazy to view all but blockbusters and movies with their friends in them.
What strikes me most about Academy voters is their fear. They’re afraid of being seen as racist, as they should be (#OscarsSoWhite), but they actually prove they are with nominations for movies like The Blind Side and Crash and Green Book. The pernicious roots of racism don’t lie in big headlines or loud messages or overt acts, but in the everyday moment, and the everyday moment is where all of us make mistakes of every kind. We are vulnerable there. Academy voters don’t like that space.
To nominate Aftersun for best picture or its writer-director Charlotte Wells would take guts. It’s not Oscar bait, and at first appears far less skillfully managed than it is. It fools you, posing as a student film, or just a kid’s camcorder records of her vacation with her dad. It’s slow. If you’re inattentive, you might find it boring. You don’t know at first the reasons for pauses; for impressionist shots; for quick flashes. You must be patient. But if you let the film in, you are caught up in the relationship between a charming young girl, Sophie (Frankie Corio), and her sweet dad, Calum (Paul Mescal). You soon sense, as when reading a book by Marilynne Robinson, that every little choice by the writer-director counts, that each choice has layers of meaning that build upon one another, and that the very everyday nature of the story is the point of the film. That’s what our relationships are about, our love, our pain, our loss, our joy. It’s missing the details of moments that haunt us later if the relationship is lost or even if it alters over time.
Aftersun is poignant because it’s about that, but more. About looking back and examining what you were too young or focused on understanding your own growing-up moments to understand, to see your father as human, with needs, pain, and insecurities. And Paul Mescal’s understated performance is much of what makes the film unforgettable.
This movie will stay with me a long time, will remind me to cherish the loved ones in my life, to try to be a more understanding person. I wonder how many people could say that about Avatar: The Way of Water.
