After a year in which men dominated the casts of the most critically acclaimed and high profile films, I was especially struck, as I settled down with a bowl of ice cream and a beer to enjoy the ball gowns, long thank you speeches, and John Stewart, by how this trend was echoed (perpetuated? sustained?) by the format of the Oscars. I suppose the fact that There Will Be Blood and No Country For Old Men were the two most celebrated films this year could be chalked up to coincidence. Perhaps they just happened to be the two best films. Period and end of story. But (and this is not meant to challenge Daniel Day-Lewis' much deserved win) it did not escape my notice that the final three awards given Sunday night were, in this order: Best Actor, Best Director and Best Picture. Marion Cotillard had been awarded Best actress at least 30 minutes prior to the highly anticipated moment when Helen Mirren read Day-Lewis' name off the inside of the envelope. Seems as though the headliners, the reason for watching the awards in the first place, the grand finale, are the men's awards. Though women are supposedly considered for two out of the three categories, only three women in the 80 year history of the Oscars have ever won for Best Picture and no woman has ever stood up and thanked the academy for her Best Director statuette.
Sarah Churchwell addresses this topic in her piece for The Guardian today. While I agree that women are not taken as seriously in Hollywood and that separate is not equal, Churchwell also points out that when women compete with men they are often ignored (ahem, Sophia Coppola is the only woman I can name off the top of my head who was even nominated for Best Director). So what the hell do we do?
Luckily, I think I still have some Ben and Jerry's in the freezer. And a bottle in the fridge.
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