"This is the kind of bogus picture that would get people to say 'I saw myself in those pictures. What's infuriating about it is the calculated humanity. At the end, the picture says: 'Go home, you've laughed, you've cried."-Pauline Kael
Some people gave up on the Oscars when they expanded their Best Picture nomination field from five films to ten. My personal disillusionment began after an investigation of Best Picture winners in the mid 2000s. The 1980s gave us some gems right off the bat with quality pieces in Ordinary People, Chariots of Fire, and Gandhi. I was content, until my enthusiam ground to a screeching halt with 1983's Terms of Endearment. I could sniff out the fake, sentimental bullshit immediately. And for context, I was only 15 years old. When I was 15, I thought Clint Eastwood's Million Dollar Baby and Mystic River were powerful films because they were total downers, even though they didn't have much to them beside their grimdarkness. But even then, even with my tiny, impressionable pubescent brain, I could see the Rube Goldberg at work on screen. A machine I knew, even then, was designed for one purpose: to churn out Oscars. And with five wins at the '83 ceremony, it looks like it succeeded. They probably laughed all the way to the bank.
Terms of Endearment follows the relationship a widowed mother (Shirley McClaine) and her daughter (Debra Winger). At the beginning of the film, McClaine is a shrill, unrealistic archetype from the school of Mommie Dearest. She's uptight toward her daughter, controlling her upbringing in some obvious ways. But that's the point: she is supposed to undergo the transformation to learn to become a better person; a contemporary '80's Ebenezer Scrooge. She meets her new neighbor, an astronout (Jack Nicholson). Him being an astronaut is, I suppose, writer/director James L. Brook's idea of absurdity. They start an affair, as her daughter languishes in a marriage with an aloof husband (Jeff Daniels). You can see it coming from a mile away: the mother becomes the daughter, the daughter becomes the mother (yawn). And, to top it all off, Brooks has to resort to striking poor Winger down with terminal cancer. A scene where McClaine screams as loud as she can for her daughter to get her injection is facepalmingly painful. Brooks appears to only view and think of life within the confines of a sitcom. Apparently, he just couldn't think up anything less pandering than a cancer diagnosis to wrap up his little dramedy. If you cry because Winger died, look down to see Brooks reaching out of the television; pulling ever so hard at your heartstrings. If there are any positives, I would say Jack Nicholson could never be completely wasted. You could listen to him read the phonebook for two hours and be engaged. He brings some improvovisational moments that are subtle in his courting of McClaine, and I'm frankly surprised Brooks allowed it with his square box aesthetic. All in all, this lackluster film, of course, went on to sweep the '83Ooscars, winning Best Picture, Best Actress for McClaine (please), and Best Supporting Actor; Nicholson deserving about 20 more Oscars if he won for this.
The 1980's got back on track the next year with Milos Forman's opus Amadeus, followed up by other strong entries in Platoon and The Last Emperor. Then: another brick wall. 1989's Driving Miss Daisy is just as lazy in its calculated setup as Terms of Endearment. Sweeping shots of the Georgia skyline are used to trick the audience into thinking it's about something all American (therefore important). But don't let that push you into its trap; it's stuck in the same formulaic, sitcom box mentality James L. Brooks employed to maximum effect in 1983. The story of this one is widowed old Miss Daisy (Jessica Tandy) is given a personal chauffeur named Hoke (Morgan Freeman) by her son (Dan Aykroyd). After thirty years of staged back and forths on race in America, Hope helps Ol' Miss Daisy learn to accept African Americans as equals, understand the power of friendship, and discover the true meaning of Christmas. How heartwarming and instantly forgettable. Again, look for those attacks on your heartstrings. Similarly to Nicholson, Morgan Freeman can not be totally wasted. The angelic demeanor he radiates in his quiet submissiveness to Daisy's wishes can be testing. A more forceful performance, such as in Lean on Me, showcases his talents more thoroughly. Tandy is as shrill as McClaine, going though the same arc. So, of course, she also won Best Actress. Sigh. If there's any lesson to be learned from all this: pander to your audience, push mediocrity, and you will have untold fortunes as your reward.
Ratings:
Terms of Endearment: *1/2 stars out of 4
Driving Miss Daisy: * star out of 4
Alternative Suggestions:
The Big Chill: 1983's Best Picture runner up is a more honest and complex look at the struggles of middle age.
Do the Right Thing: Spike Lee's 1989 masterpiece is a more honest and nuanced portrayl of contemporary racial tensions than Driving Miss Daisy.
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