The Oscar season unfolds like a three-act movie―setup, buildup, payoff.
Most people only tune in for the payoff―the star-studded night at the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood. Nominees sit in suspense as the presenter announces the winner. Cheers erupt, tears flow, gratitude pours out. If the audience is lucky, they get an awkward moment or a blunder that fuels weeks of water-cooler conversation.
Feeding the hype machine: Director Alfonso Cuarón attending Netflix’s ‘Roma Experience’ exhibition in Los Angeles in 2018 | Getty Images
But the real drama? That happens long before the envelopes are opened.
Like any great film, the Oscars begin with the setup. Take last year: seven months after Oppenheimer premiered, its star Cillian Murphy sat down for a quiet CBS interview. He spoke about his wife of 20 years, their two teenage sons, and Scout, their Labrador (named after the character in To Kill a Mockingbird). The timing was no accident―it was December, the start of the Oscar season. From that moment on, the bright-eyed Cillian (pronounced “Kill-ee-an”, meaning bright-headed in Irish) was everywhere: talk shows, magazine covers, roundtables, red carpets. Until, finally, he stood on stage at the Dolby Theatre, Oscar in hand, and said, “I am a very proud Irishman standing here tonight…. Go raibh míle maith agat.” Or, in English: “Thank you very much.”
Peak drama: Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer.
Karla Sofia Gascon could have been this year’s Cillian. Nominated for Best Actress for Emilia Perez, she delivered a career-defining performance as a notorious drug lord who transitions into a woman. As a trans woman playing a trans character in Jacques Audiard’s genre-blending crime-comedy-musical, Gascon became the first openly trans actor nominated for an Oscar. Liberals championed her. The setup was perfect.
Karla Sofia Gascon in Emilia Perez.
But she stumbled in the second act―the buildup.
This phase begins after nominations, when narratives collide and campaigns intensify. Nominees promote their films and compete for the spotlight. The playbook dates back to the 1999 Oscars, when producer Harvey Weinstein successfully waged a whisper campaign against Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan, saying its brilliance lay only in the first 15 minutes, unlike the “sweeping achievement” of Shakespeare in Love.
Anora
With Emilia Perez backed by Netflix―known for its aggressive Oscar campaigns―Gascon could have followed the Cillian playbook. But then a Canadian journalist unearthed damning social media posts. Old tweets showed Gascon denigrating Islam, George Floyd and, unpardonably, the Oscars’ diversity efforts. “When someone in a historic position representing a film built on progressive values has a history of racist and bigoted tweets, it exposes the hypocrisy of it all,” the journalist wrote.
Gascon’s campaign collapsed overnight. She deleted her X account, issued a public apology, and broke down on a talk show in a desperate attempt at damage control. Netflix, scrambling to contain the fallout and protect other nominees, erased her from the Emilia Perez campaign―removing her from events, pulling her images from billboards, and distancing itself from the scandal.
For two decades, this phase―the battle to convince 10,000 Oscar voters that a nominee not only can win, but should―has been the most electrifying part of the season.
Certain narratives have proven irresistible to voters. There is the “celebration of cinema” (Oppenheimer, Argo, The Artist, La La Land); the “little movie that could” (Nomadland, Moonlight); the “movie that speaks to the times” (Crash, Green Book); the “exotic film” (Slumdog Millionaire, Parasite); the “very important history piece” (12 Years A Slave); and the “genius long overdue” (The Departed finally winning Martin Scorsese an Oscar in 2007).
Campaigns have also leaned on eye-catching ‘For Your Consideration’ ads. In 2003, Weinstein ran ads quoting an op-ed by legendary director Robert Wise, arguing that Scorsese deserved Best Director for Gangs of New York. It later turned out that the article was not written by Wise, but a publicist paid by Weinstein. In 2011, Melissa Leo, then 50, paid for her own Oscar ads featuring her in fur coats with the word “Consider…” above. “The entire awards process,” she said, “is about pimping yourself out.”
More recently, campaigns have become extravagant productions. In the 2019 season, Netflix spent $30 million promoting Roma for Best Picture, spending twice the film’s budget to set up a museum-style exhibit where voters could chat with the director and crew, have gourmet meals, and take home customised chocolates. Universal, backing First Man, sent Oscar voters a bound volume of five books and an annotated screenplay.
Yet, like in politics, Oscar voting comes down to the trivial. “People vote for the strangest reasons,” said Mathew Belloni, a former Hollywood Reporter editor, in a podcast. “This guy that Hollywood Reporter did a ballot with, he says that he voted for Robert Downey, Jr, because Downey was nice to him at a party.”
This year, one film has aced the second act: Anora, a Cinderella story about a Brooklyn sex worker who marries a Russian oligarch’s son. The film began its campaign last May by winning the Palme d’Or at Cannes, and has since paced itself expertly, weathering criticism about its ‘knight in shining armour’ plot. After the Emilia Perez scandal, Anora has only gained momentum, sweeping honours from the Producers Guild, the Directors Guild, and Critics Choice Awards. When Oscar voting closed on February 19, it was the front runner for Best Picture, Best Actress and Best Original Screenplay.
The season’s real drama is now over. You can tune in for the payoff on March 2―at least, that is what most people do.