First of all, I want to make something abundantly clear: the Academy Awards are not about recognizing the most excellent films of the year. The Academy Awards are an industry promotional vehicle, and are set up in such a way that excellence in filmmaking generally has very little to do with who is nominated or wins. I’m not saying this because I am a bitter cynic, I’m saying it because it’s true.
James Cameron, apparently high from sniffing $100 bills, thinks that 3D is the wave of the future. Is this 1952? Maybe more aptly, didn’t he learn anything from the virtual reality debacle of the 90s?
What do you know, it’s Oscar time yet again. The truth is that I tend to consider the Oscars a poor representation of excellence in filmmaking, but as I am officially a film studies student, it’s my business to give a shit about them now.
This week in one of my film studies classes, we’ve been discussing D.W. Griffith’s Broken Blossoms, a silent-era film about a Chinese immigrant who falls tragically in love with an abused London waif. I’d never seen the film before, and while I stand by my rating and review as posted yesterday to Filmikaze, I’ve also had to complete a critical analysis of the depiction of race, gender and class within the film, and feel it’s fair to offer that here as a sort of companion piece to the review.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who is still clinging to Ralph Macchio and Pat Morita.
