The Oscars

by Neil Vowles on 11.02.09

Tears at Oscar ceremonies tend to be treated unsympathetically. The standard response to Gwyneth Paltrow’s or Halle Berry’s sodden acceptance speeches was either cringing embarrassment or disdainful laughter.

Many are dreading the prospect of Kate Winslet winning this year for fear of a rerun of her hysterical and forgetful receipt of a Golden Globe.

But if the entire Hollywood Kodak Theatre comes over all misty-eyed upon hearing the nomination of Heath Ledger, few will doubt the sincerity or poignancy of that grief.

Should the Academy award the Best Supporting Actor statuette posthumously to Ledger, as predicted by most pundits and bookies, it will in part be recognition of the tragedy of the young man’s death.

The tragedy that it will mark is neither the loss of a devoted if absent father to a young child nor the tragedy of parents burying their son way before his time. The statuette will mark a lesser tragedy, and compared to the human suffering a more trivial tragedy.

It is the tragedy of losing a fine actor just as he was beginning to establish himself. In many ways the legacy of Heath Ledger, like so many artists who have died young, is the recognition that his best work was still to come and is now lost to us.

Of course, sentimentality in theory should not enter into it. The Oscar is for the quality of the performance not for the human intrigue that surrounds it. And yet it would take an Academy voter with a heart of stone not to be influenced with all that surrounds the Ledger performance in The Dark Knight.

Crudely put, it is the last opportunity for the Academy to recognise Ledger’s talent and in many eyes rectify the failure of the Academy to garland him for his performance in Brokeback Mountain in 2005 (losing out to Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote).

There is also the macabre intrigue that Ledger’s total immersion into the role of the Joker was a contributing factor to his death. Speculation was rife at the time of his death last January that he had become consumed by the dark nature of his character and had trouble removing himself from this alter-ego.

Friends and work colleagues who point to more prosaic contributory factors of chronic back problems, insomnia, the loss of access to his daughter and poorly supervised prescription drug use have dismissed this conjecture.

Still a morbid, speculative myth lingers around his death; an actor so dedicated to a role that he paid the ultimate price for it.

The Academy judges may also feel the pressure to recognise the achievements of The Dark Knight in becoming one of the highest grossing films of all-time.

Nominated in 8 categories but mainly for technical achievements (cinematography, editing, make-up and sound) and snubbed for the major Best Film and Director awards, the Academy may attract accusations of elitism should it ignore the popular will and snub Ledger as well.

History suggests that Oscars are not handed out as a mark of respect for deceased actors. There have been six previous nominations for posthumous acting Oscars (seven if you include Jeanne Eagels who was under consideration in 1929) but only Peter Finch in 1976 won.

James Dean, who like Ledger died far too young and with far too few performances to reflect his enormous talent, was an unsuccessful posthumous nominee in both 1955 and 1956.

However there are instances where arguably votes have been cast with hearts ruling heads.

Of course, which performances are deserving of Oscars is purely subjective but few would argue that Paul Newman’s win in 1986 for The Colour of Money was recognition of the finest performance of that year or of Newman’s best work. Instead it was recognition for a fine career where he had been overlooked for more deserving performances in his 60s pomp.

Certain decisions, such as first-time Oscars in their senior years for John Wayne and John Gielgud, appear to be motivated by the Academy’s desire to recognise previously over-looked legends while they are still alive.

So maybe not all Academy voters have hearts of stone.

If the Best Supporting Actor Oscar recognises a talent lost, the Best Actor statuette could herald a talent rediscovered.

If Mickey Rourke were to win, it will mark a remarkable return to prominence of a career which once sparkled with potential only to collapse into complete anonymity.

Part of what is so fascinating about Mickey Rourke’s portrayal of Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson in The Wrestler is the amazing parallels in the life stories of character and actor.

Both lives follow that most loved of narrative arcs; to rise, to fall and to rise again. Randy the wrestler, Mickey the boxer. Both willing to endure pain, to soak up punishment for entertainment as payment for the pain they feel and the pain they cause others.

As Randy deliberately slices his finger at the deli counter, so Mickey claimed he deliberately removed the tip of his finger in a bout of depression. The battered face of Randy the Ram testament to one too many panes of glass over the head is the puffed-up face of Mickey who had to have his nose reconstructed using cartilage from his ear.

These similarities are the driving force upon which Rourke based his superb performance. It is clear that the suffering of Mickey Rourke is channelled into portraying the suffering of Randy the Ram.

Speaking to the Guardian, Rourke said: “Randy’s living in a state of shame. Living in a state of disgrace. The humiliation that I’ve lived with for five, six, seven, eight, nine, 15 years. That I’ve brought upon myself.”

For Rourke, who trained with Robert De Niro at the famous Actor Studios in New York, it is the ultimate in method acting. 15 years of self-destruction and self-recrimination in preparation for a role.

History smiles kindly on Rourke’s prospects for an Oscar. In the last 50 years, 31 of the winners of the Golden Globe for Best Actor have gone on to pick up the Oscar.

You would have to go back over 20 years to Bob Hoskins to find an actor who won both the Golden Globe and the BAFTA Best Actor nods and then didn’t pick up the Oscar. For Heath Ledger, the omens are less promising.

Not just in terms of posthumous Oscars but less than half of Golden Globe winners in his category in the last 50 years have gone on to take the Oscar.

Will history and sentiment play a role in the judges’ decision? The opening of the envelope and the reading of a name won’t tell us that. In a way it is grossly unfair that the human intrigue around the actor’s life stories should in anyway deflect attention away from the performances themselves.

Both actors have created timeless characters through dedicated immersion, acute observation and sheer magnetism. Should Rourke and Ledger both win on February 22nd, it will be two richly deserved Oscars for two compelling performances.

But it will also signify two Oscars to commemorate a life lost and a life reborn, in other words two Oscars worthy of tears.