Thursday morning when I learned the Academy's list of nominees, I spent the rest of the day alternating between despair and rage. In fact, I have loved movies unabashedly since I was 18 months old and my mother took me to see my first feature.
Thursday morning was a wonderful and terrible morning for Hollywood. Some filmmakers got the once-in-a-lifetime thrill of hearing their names called as Oscar nominees (or, if you're Meryl Streep, 19-times-in-a-lifetime). Others were left empty-handed.
It's not like Michael Keaton's career was kaput, but it seems like he raised himself from the dead with this invigorating performance. Mexican director/writer Alejandro González Iñárritu gave Keaton a plum role.
Engagement comes in the unfolding of these richly drawn lives, and the nostalgic reviewing of our own. It all seems so real, and yet, Boyhood is scripted in its major moments, with improvisation from the actors.
Is Boyhood the best film ever made? Doesn't matter. Will it make a lot of money? Probably not tons, and that's a shame, because the subject matter speaks to anyone who can remember growing up and/or has aspirations to do so.
Haiti has been a microcosm for all that could go wrong in the advancement of human potential. Before the country was ravaged by an earthquake, it was ravaged by a nonexistent educational system and no sanitation system whatsoever.