New York City, baby.

Wednesday, February 25, 2004



When Henry Fonda was nominated for On Golden Pond, we sucked it up. When Paul Newman won for Color of Money, we kept a cool hand. And when John Wayne won for True Grit, we let it go. (ok, had we been alive, that one might have made us sick.)

But we're Oscar-savvy. We know the drill. Those loopy voters love to recognize the achievement of an old-timer's career by nominating him for a strong, but unworthy performance.

Albert Finney also deserved to have his entire body of work recognized, but the real crime is that his performance in Tim Burton's Big Fish was worthy on it's own. Worthy and beautiful.

Playing a spinner of tall tales, Finney demands your attention even as he lies immobile in a bed. He makes no apologies for the life he has lived, but does so without the stubborn self-satisfaction that a guy like Pacino would have surely brought to the screen.

For once, the voters didn't go with the sentimental choice. With Finney, they didn't have to.

Just the right one.


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