Catching Up With Readers' Comments

TO MY READERS:

Just a quick acknowledgment and big THANK YOU to those who have followed me here and commented, especially on my extended series on the Oscar films of 1970.

I appreciated every one of your articulate and interesting contributions to the year, the films, and my views on them.

I did my best to go back and reply to all of you as completely as I could to your kind comments on the series, as well as the in-between interludes about the current Oscar race.

So, my special thanks to Ben at Runs Like a Gay, Walter at Silver Screening Room, Eric at Daventry Blue, Andrew at Encore's World of Film and TV, Luke at Journalistic Skepticism, Bill at Bill Up Close, as always Mark Johnson, and my "anonymous" visitors whose support and presence I sense here, and appreciate.

I suppose I will be here analyzing the 2010 Oscar Race, offering my opinions on the contests between Colin Firth and Jesse Eisenberg, Annette Bening and Natalie Portman, and Black Swan and King's Speech, when I look back at this year 40 years from now, in 2051!!

Coming Up:  A Look at a New stage production at Chicago's Goodman Theater: "The Trinity River Plays".

Oscar 1970, The Finale: Best Movie

The five nominated "Best Picture" films can be identified by a line (or two) that defines each of them:

-"My late husband played the violin. Not professionally, but he was very good. He once played the Minute Waltz in 58 seconds." Helen Hayes (Ada Quonsett) "Airport"
-"Love means never having to say you're sorry". Ai McGraw (Jenny) and Ryan O'Neal (Oliver) "Love Story"
-"I want you to hold (the chicken) between your knees." Jack Nicholson (Bobby DuPea), "Five Easy Pieces"
-"Suicide is painless; it brings on many changes."  (Mike Altman and Johnny Mandel's theme from "M*A*S*H")
-"Oh Frank my lips are hot. Kiss my hot lips."  Sally Kellerman (Major Margaret Houlihan) "M*A*S*H"
-"No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country." George C. Scott (General George Patton) "Patton".

In 1970 America was in the middle of an impossible war that divided the country.  Sexual roles and mores were changing, and the battlefields of love were ever more treacherous.  The older generation fought to protect their values and ideals against a younger generation that sought to expose hypocrisy and change everything.  The news was filled with riots, crime, even airline hijackings.  People wanted to root for heroes, lampoon the status quo, cry at bittersweet, old-fashioned romance, feel the vicarious thrills of a dangerous world. They came to the movies to make sense of things, feel a part of something, share an experience, be altered in some way.  All they needed to do was attend the Oscar-nominated Best Pictures.

~  ~

"Airport" was sort of an anomaly in the Oscar race, an attempt by the old-guard members of the Motion Picture Academy to cling to the star-studded, crowd-pleasing melodrama that was an Oscar staple since "Grand Hotel".  Based on a popular novel by Arthur Hailey, this movie was old-fashioned all the way, from its improbable subplots down to its veteran crew.  Alfred Newman, who won 9 Oscars for music, composed his final, Oscar-nominated score here (he died soon after the film was released). George Seaton, who wrote and directed many classic films through the 1940's (including "Song of Bernadette" and "Miracle on 34th Street") wrote the screenplay and directed.  The cast was a roster of movie heavyweights, including Burt Lancaster, Jean Seberg, George Kennedy, Jacqueline Bissett, Dean Martin (!), Van Heflin, Lloyd Nolan, and Oscar nominees Maureen Stapleton and this year's Supporting Actress winner Helen Hayes.  If you're in the mood for giddy, mindless fun and suspense, there are the requisite love affairs, your typical cute old lady stowaway, a sinister, desperate bomber, innocent passengers in mortal danger, and an impressive explosion that rips a hole in the plane, causing a pressure imbalance that sucks anyone or anything out into the freezing atmosphere. The crisis unites the all of the (surviving) members of the cast in a suspenseful climax, as a snowbound plane must be forced off the Chicago runway to make room for an emergency landing for our frightened passengers. This was the beginning of the hugely popular disaster-film genre that invaded theaters and Oscar competitions throughout the 1970's. "Airport" was technically well-made (it received a total of 10 nominations, tied with "Patton" as the most of any film in 1970) and makes a concession to modern film technique with its use of the split screen (so well-used in "Woodstock", a movie that is light years apart from "Airport" in style and ideology.) But films were moving in so many exciting new directions, after the win last year for the ground-breaking "Midnight Cowboy", that it seemed like too big a step backward to hold up "Airport" as the finest example of professional filmmaking.  It's nomination, which could easily have gone to "Women in Love" or "Woodstock" or "Fellini Satyricon" or "Joe" , would have to suffice.  It was perhaps one of the most purely entertaining films of the year, and it was a last hurrah for a veteran Hollywood elite, and so its nomination makes historical, if not artistic, sense.

"Love Story" made it cool for hip modern film audiences to cry again at movies. What could you say about a 25-year-old girl who died? Whatever it was, audiences in 1970 were fascinated by the tender and tragic account of a privileged Harvard Law student and a poor Radcliffe music major who found a love that defined a generation.  Viewers willingly wept their way to making this the biggest box-office hit of the year. If it sounds maudlin by today's standards, it had its naysayers even then.  But a couple things elevated "Love Story" into a realm worthy of attention. First were its occasional convention-defying attitudes and sequences: Until now, a sympathetic heroine did not use words like "bullshit"  (Eric Segal loosened the language even more in his best-selling novelization of the screenplay);  the lead romantic couple was not supposed to reject God, especially in front of her sweet Italian-Catholic father;  and couples in movies never before argued about love and forgiveness of one's in-laws.  Second was the look of the film.  Ali McGraw became a fashion role-model for countless co-eds around America.  The snow-frolics and the ice skating, the montages of their drudgery as they struggled without familial wealth or support, look commercial-glossy today, but then were powerfully reassuring images of what modern love without sexual experimentation or drugs looked like.  Finally, the one thing that made "Love Story" the smash success it was, aside from its attractive protagonists, was its music score. Francis Lai's theme has been parodied so often that it is almost impossible for viewers of a certain age to watch the first few minutes of this film without snickering.  And yet the score was as well-known and identifiable as any film music ever written.  Sure, the swelling strings and piano add an unnecessary level of melodrama to the story.  But notice how there is no music at all playing during the final scenes between Jenny and Oliver and soon after as Oliver meets Jenny's father in the waiting room.  It is to the filmmaker's great credit that they realized the resolution to the story was moving without resorting to artificial emotional heighteners.  (In the 1960's and 70's, popular music and especially movie music that sought to be "modern" used the harpsichord, which is heard here in several key sequences.  Does anyone else miss the harpsichord in movie soundtracks like I do?)  The music for "Love Story" accounted for its only win in 7 nominations.  ( I still think Clint Eastwood borrowed the quiet little tune that underscored Jenny's final walk in his score for "Million Dollar Baby.") "Love Story" is no longer taken very seriously, and is never mentioned in lists of greatest Oscar-nominated films.  I would say that the movie has been underrated, even if its attitudes and style may appear less relevant to today's tech-loving film-goers.


"Five Easy Pieces" appealed to the same maverick film buffs that reveled in the bawdiness of "M*A*S*H"  but preferred their subversiveness scored to classical or country music. Like the anti-hero protagonist Bobby DuPea, portrayed brilliantly by Jack Nicholson, "Five Easy Pieces" is a film of continual contradictions and constant surprises, leading up to a deliciously ambiguous finale. It is certainly one of my favorite films of 1970, one that I have grown to admire more every time I re-visit it.  The Academy could not deny the brilliance of the writing or acting, but somehow failed to cite Bob Rafelson in the Director's category, so its Best Picture nomination seemed doomed from the start.  It is a solid film that certainly deserves each of its four nominations, and it was the only one of the five nominated Best Pictures in 1970 that went home empty-handed.  Still, "Five Easy Pieces" did not need Academy recognition to become an iconic work of the era, or one of the most popular and well-remembered movies of the 1970's.  Almost everyone knows and loves the raucous showdown between Nicholson and a waitress who guards her wheat toast like her virtue, and Jack's slow dismantling of her hostility. It is a hard film to warm up to at first, in spite of these wildly funny moments in the midpoint.  The movie constantly shifts perspective, as we see revealed to us more of Bobby's past, his resultant ennui and desire to keep running to something new.   As I stated earlier, this is Nicholson's best work.  It is almost a companion piece to "Easy Rider": the appearance of Nicholson, the BBS production group that created both films, its alienated central character who is unsure of who he is or where he belongs, even the word "Easy" in the title.

I used to think that the five easy pieces referred to coins, or gold pieces, as Bobby appears to want to keep his life uncomplicated, and earns money in ways well beneath his talents. But the best interpretation is the reference to five classical songs played within the film; Bobby is so talented that these often complicated compositions are easy for him to play; and as is pointed out by him, and later to him, he can play them without feeling them because he doesn't know who he is.  He goes home to visit an ailing father and has a sort of reconciliation.  As he reflects on the prospect of returning to his oil-rigger existence and life with his sexual but intellectually unsatisfying girlfriend, Nicholson makes one of the most controversial choices ever to conclude an American film.  It's a movie to ponder, and it is easy to identify with Nicholson in the lead.  This would have received my vote, if not for the appearance in this category of one very unusual war film. 




For anyone who went to the movies in 1970 to be a part of something, to feel part of a movement of some kind, or feel like they were in on the revolutionary joke, or to feel like they were invited to the hippest party in town and send up the Establishment, the place to be was Robert Altman's Vietnam-by-way-of-Korea mind-blower, "M*A*S*H".  This is a funny, politically incorrect,  brilliant piece of controlled anarchy that will have you either seething with political offense, or laughing at its original (and now familiar) set-pieces while you  avert your eyes from some shocking and gruesome operating room dramatics.  So many ingredients went into making this my favorite film of 1970.  Part of it was that I felt left out of the cinematic conversation then, because the rating system rendered the important, life-altering work on American screens forbidden to me.  When I got to see "M*A*S*H", I was finally invited to the party and it was more fun than I imagined...and it made me think more deeply than I had ever done before. 

These characters were heroic in their effort to save the lives of their friends--even some enemies--from the ravages of battle. In order to maintain their sanity in the gruesome and often boring Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, they resort to outrageous and often cruel pranks that have the effect of building morale and bringing them closer as a medical unit.  At the same time, they are such talented life-savers (and so compassionate under the bravado) that they can give the finger to conventionality, and thumb their noses at the brass who stupidly ordered them into the mess they are in.  Every scene is a classic, and a few--like the suicidal "Last Supper", or the revelation of Major Hot Lips Houlihan's true colors in the shower, caused a big stir at the time.  I especially loved: Lieutenant Dish's wistful smile into the camera, as she ascends in her helicopter after a splendid night with Painless, the best equipped dentist in the army; the hilarious loudspeaker announcements and musical interludes by Radio Tokyo; the subplot that takes our heroes to Tokyo, complete with purposely badly-dubbed Japanese dialog; and a fabulously underhanded football game involving the whole cast. Every social topic, from racism, sexism, homophobia, religious zeal, even cheating and protecting the underdog, got irreverent treatment.  The film took chances with its recorded sound to replicate the din of many conversations, was shot with excellent muddy camerawork and great use of zoom lens, and surprised us with the satirical spoken credits at the end.  "M*A*S*H*" was ignored by 20th-Century-Fox on the studio back lot, (while "Patton" and "Tora Tora Tora" were being made at the same time) and the fact that it got made and distributed is testament to its subversive good humor. The TV series is a sorry imitation with none of the savage wit and political devil-may-care.  This would get my Oscar vote. Finest kind.  That is all. 




Combining a lucid WWII historical drama, pageantry and excellent battle sequences, witty and intelligent writing, and a lead performance that masterfully held it all together, "Patton" satisfied the Hollywood old-guard while intriguing younger members who could see Patton as both a lunatic who represented all military,or a rebel who fought against his own command for his beliefs.  While it was not the most creatively inspiring work for me on a personal level, its Best Picture win makes a lot of sense in retrospect.   Producer Frank McCarthy had been in discussion with the Patton family and the US military since the early 1950's in order to get this film made.  He commissioned recent film-school graduate Francis Ford Coppola to co-write the screenplay and scored the coup of landing George C. Scott in the title role. 

"Patton" was almost universally praised, from its mastery of logistics in moving casts of thousands in battle sequences, complete with heavy arms and no computer-generated effects, to its clever and witty dialogue,  much of it revealing detail about the controversial figure that was George S. Patton.  Scott lobbied to place the film's famous opening speech at the end, feeling it would too heavily dominate the rest of the film.  As it turned out, the opening speech with an older Patton laid the groundwork for the profane, funny, dangerous and mysterious character we would follow for the next three hours.  This is a big epic that Hollywood loves to reward, for the effort usually, but here the effort resulted in one truly intelligent and moving portrait of a figure who represented the troubling state of the world at war, then and now.  Aside from the speech, I enjoyed Patton's first encounter with his slack army, as he laid down the ground rules to late risers, and cleaned barracks walls of all pinups (after allowing himself an admiring peek).  Scott also demonstrates Patton's vulnerability when his careless public speaking results in him losing command for a time. This was a big winner in 1970 with 7 of its 10 nominations resulting in wins, including Director (Franklin Schaffner) Screenplay, editing and Sound.  It is a rousing and absorbing film that I enjoy watching..even though it does not represent to me the groundbreaking excellence of a MASH or Five Easy Pieces. But "Patton" is a worthy recipient of Oscar's best.

Thank you for following my 1970 Series.  Next up: a review of a novel, "Another Enchanted April"; John Barry; a Ground-Hog Day bittersweet memory; and how we survived the upcoming blizzard.

Oscar 1970--Best Actor

Two interesting parallels exist between the Best Actor races of 1970 and 2010.  First, both years' front-runners portray important WWII-era figures, whose speaking ability (or lack thereof) resulted in very different problems for each.  Second, Harvard University serves as a backdrop for two of the nominees' characters: one, a story of an advantaged young man involved a special relationship to the exclusion of the outside world; and the other, the story of an advantaged young man who had thousands of "friends" but not one special person in his life.

Rounding out the top five were three heartfelt portrayals of men fighting life's battles: a championship boxer fighting for love and honor against racist attitudes; an aging father fighting for his dignity against a well-meaning son; and an alienated dropout fighting for his place in a world divided by generations and social class.

In what I consider to be Jack Nicholson's finest performance, in one of my favorite films, the confusion and alienation of youth in a time of social and political absurdity is perfectly captured by his portrayal of Robert Eroica Dupea in "Five Easy Pieces".  We first meet Bobby working as a roughneck in a California oil field, living with Rayette, an uncomplicated and good-hearted waitress-girlfriend, drinking with his working-class buddies, and picking up women for dalliances in hotels.  When his sister contacts him and informs him that their father is ill, he drives to Washington with Rayette, and confronts his past, where he gave up a career as a concert pianist and ran away from a life of privilege.  Robert (as he is called in this section of the film), must then choose between two worlds that promise little fulfillment for him.  "Five Easy Pieces" keeps unfolding in surprising ways, and Nicholson's portrayal is complete and unforgettable.

After "Easy Rider" the previous year, Jack Nicholson became an icon for young people who were struggling to break free of the stifling conformity of their parents' generation, and create a future that, as Dustin Hoffman said in "The Graduate", was "different".  In the early 1970's, Nicholson's name on a film meant something relevant and important that spoke to the zeitgeist.  In "Five Easy Pieces" we see many of Nicholson's signature moments: his sudden explosions of anger, his devil-may-care tenderness, his cynically arched brow, and his silent musings where the camera studies him contemplating life and all of its complexities.  Nicholson provided some certified classic moments in this film:  his defense of Rayette against the pompous dinner guests in his family home; his impatience during a traffic jam in which he climbs on the bed of a truck and plays a piano he finds there; and his insistence that he felt no emotion while playing Chopin for a snobbish new love interest ("it was the easiest piece I could think of").  Best of all is Nicholson's now-famous tirade in a restaurant where company rules prevent him from ordering a side of wheat toast.  His slow burn and eruption of protest delighted the counterculture and eveyone else who was fed up with bureaucracy, especially in a diner. Even his confrontation with a barking dog was classic Jack in an era where he did not revert to self parody. Finally, Nicholson's monologue in front of his crippled, non-responsive father, in which Bobby lets go of years of regret, should convince audiences once and for all that his work in this edgy, difficult, and terrific film was worthy of accolades and recommendation to future generations.

A whole generation may have never actually seen James Earl Jones, but know him as the voice of Darth Vader in the "Star Wars" franchise.  Even those who only remember him as the cranky ex-hippie and Kevin Costner's road-trip companion in "Field of Dreams" will have missed this actor's remarkable presence first on display in "The Great White Hope".  In it, Jones reprises the role that brought him a Tony award, as Jack Jefferson, the world's first black heavyweight boxing champion. Completely mastering the requirements of the role, Jones is a surprisingly physical actor.  Behind his wide charmer's smile and ingratiating manner is the coiled anger of a powerful athlete about to be hounded and brought down by the racists among him.  Jones' scenes with the marvelous Jane Alexander convey the tenderness and hurt of a man conflicted by the prejudice of both blacks and whites who object to his love for the white Eleanor.  In the exciting boxing sequences, Jones moves with strength and determination; one understands why opponents and naysayers are frightened of him, as he pummels his opponents with a treacherous wide grin.  Jones was favored in many circles as the likely winner here, but it was a small film, and his competition was too strong for his gem of a performance to score the knockout punch.

Melvyn Douglas, a well-known Hollywood veteran, won his first Oscar for "Hud" in 1963.  As the wise old rancher-father of Paul Newman, Douglas' character lamented the moral decay of an America embraced by his self-serving son.  In 1970, Douglas  played another father, this time of retired professor Gene Hackman, in "I Never Sang for my Father".  Once again, Douglas portrays a man struggling against the hazards and diminishments of age, and battles a well-meaning son who has delayed his own life plans, out of guilt or loyalty, to find his father proper care. Melvyn Douglas inhabits this role as naturally as the cardigan sweater he wears.  Masterfully hiding his fear of powerlessness behind a fierce roar of belligerence, Douglas shifts quickly between confusion and angry denial, and fights back out of fear of having to give up his independence. This role may cut close to home for anyone whose father can no longer take care of himself, but is outraged at any suggestion that he needs help.  Hackman is a perfect foil, playing a son who has never been able to find a pathway to his father's heart, and harbors regrets of never having "sang for" him.  Like "Five Easy Pieces,", this movie treats the contemporary dilemma of the generation gap, and its more personal and emotional implications.  Because of Douglas' long history as a respected Hollywood performer, and his career-capping work in this film, he might have won the Oscar hands-down, except that his competition proved undeniably strong.  He would wait another 9 years before capturing his second statuette for "Being There."

In 2010, the Oscar-nominated "The Social Network" tapped into popular culture and told the story of a Harvard student who could not find love among his thousands of network friends and winds up alone.  Forty years earlier, Hollywood nominated a film about a Harvard student who found deep, profound love, until tragedy intervenes and he, too, winds up alone.  The world changed by gigabytes, but matters of the heart remained constant.  "Love Story" allowed audiences to return to simple, cathartic romance after a decade of turmoil and movies that assaulted the senses in bringing current events to the screen.  Ryan O'Neal, who plays rich and eligible Oliver Barrett III, dwells in the character rather than acting it.  While O'Neal may be the least strong of the five nominees in this category, in 1970 he probably made the biggest impression.  The young actor was hugely popular from his recent regular role on the prime-time TV soap opera "Peyton Place".  He was the right type to portray Oliver, a smart athletic pre-law student with a background drenched in wealth and protocol, but who nevertheless rejected the values and advantages his father offered him by marrying the poor Italian baker's daughter (Ali McGraw) he truly loved.  Again, the Generation Gap provided diverse material for the movies.  (While they would seem to have little in common stylistically, "Love Story" might be the straight-laced, traditional cousin of "Five Easy Pieces", and may be the more subversive for couching its ideology in conventional film aesthetic!)

O'Neal, like McGraw, was swept up in "Love Story" hysteria. But I would not dismiss this nomination outright. Given the role, O'Neal was a convincing Oliver, soft-spoken and headstrong, playful in the snow and devastating on hockey-skates, and we know why Jennifer would love him apart from his wealth.  One might wish he could have been more expressive in the final moments, when, leaving the hospital and finding his repentant father (Ray Milland), they reconcile but part company.  However, in his scenes with McGraw, O'Neal truly is believable as a guy surprised and smitten by this wise-cracking girl, enough to rebel against a stuffy and formidable family. He was still an unknown quantity to Oscar voters, and he would never get another role as influential--nor another Oscar nomination.

In 1970, George C. Scott's commanding and blustery portrayal of the title role in "Patton" was about as sure a bet as this year's odds for Colin Firth in "The King's Speech".  Both have in common stories about men who changed history during World War II.  And both would gain fame---or infamy--for their speeches.  Scott could have claimed the prize for his opening speech alone, which has become almost a classic short-film in its own right.  Based on biographies written by military historian Ladislas Farago and Patton's colleague General Omar Bradley, "Patton" was an accurate portrayal of the North African, Sicilian and European theaters of war, and the rich variety of incident during Patton's command of Third Army.  While Scott's husky delivery is said to be different from Patton's actual high-pitched nasal voice, Scott forcefully recreated well-known moments from Patton's life in an unbeatable performance that was more than just a triumph of makeup and costuming.  Scott was both amusing and frightening as a Commanding Officer who used profanity like an instrument and intimidated anyone who fell out of line.  Scott is breathtaking in a notorious incident as he slaps a soldier in a hospital for nervous stress, and then silently prays over and kisses a badly wounded purple-heart recipient. I will never forget his sidelong glance at a Russian general as they drink a toast, or his reply when asked by a priest if he reads the Bible: "I do...every goddamn day."  Also, Scott is spellbinding in a mysterious monlogue in which Patton insists that he was a reincarnated Greek leader who fought at Carthage.

Only one thing emerged as a possible obstacle to Scott receiving the award.  Notorious for his distaste for pitting actors against each other in awards competitions (going back to "The Hustler" in 1961), Scott flatly refused his nomination. The Academy ruled that it was the performance, not the actor, that was eligible for the award, and the nomination stood.  Would voters take offense to Scott's snub, and not mark their ballots for one of the best pieces of acting in movie history?  In one of the all-time classic moments in any Academy Award broadcast, Goldie Hawn (1969's Supporting Actress winner for "Cactus Flower") opened the envelope and squealed in spontaneous surprise and glee, "Oh my god, it's George C. Scott!"

Oscar 1970--Best Actress

Love was the dominating theme of the 1970 Best Actress race.  Each of the characters in this category had, as a central conflict, a love relationship: two were newly married and one would meet an untimely end; two sought love outside of marriage; one was subject to emotional and physical abuse by the men in her life; one destroyed her lover with cerebral games and icy passion; and one saw her love doomed by the unfortunate effects of racism. The irony evident in the films of 1970 is that in a time of burgeoning feminism, there were  few strong leading roles for women.  These five nominated roles were perhaps the only substantial characters for leading women in 1970, and it is to the credit of all of these actress that they were up to the demands their parts required of them.  All were first-time nominees.

Few sports have captured the attention of Oscar more than boxing.  Beginning with Kirk Douglas in "Champion" in 1949, films about boxers in and out of the ring have flirted with Oscar, including: "On the Waterfront", "From Here to Eternity", "Rocky", "Raging Bull", "Pulp Fiction", "Million Dollar Baby", "Cinderella Man", this year's "The Fighter", and 1970's "The Great White Hope".  Based on a Pulitzer-Prize- and Tony-Award-Winning play by Howard Sackler, the film reunited Tony-Award-winning leads James Earl Jones and Jane Alexander, who made her film debut here. Alexander played Eleanor Bachman, a white woman whose love affair with Jack Johnson, the world's first black heavyweight champion, unleashed racial hatred that lead to Johnson's downfall.  The film's title refers to the boxer who whites hoped would take Johnson's title from him.  As civil rights legislation divided Americans and racism remained prevalent and dangerous, "The Great White Hope" deserved support for bringing these issues to the big screen.  Alexander's was almost a character part, and she was excellent in the role of Johnson's lover. One cannot helped but be moved by the tragic consequences of Eleanor's just wanting to love her man. But this was James Earl Jones' film and Johnson's story, so Alexander would  be overshadowed in this year's Oscar competition. Even the posters of the film (above) seem to place her in a secondary role. By the time I saw this film, years after its initial release, I had already loved Alexander in her appearances in "Kramer vs. Kramer" and "All the President's Men".  She never won an Oscar despite her four nominations, but is admired in the industry for her political and charitable work.

 The most controversial of this year's Best Actress Nominees was probably Ali McGraw in "Love Story".  It was thought that McGraw was carried on a huge wave of popularity for a film which many others considered maudlin and manipulative.  McGraw's later career would prove her limited range as an actress; however, the role of Jennifer Cavalleri was perfectly suited to her talents, and it is impossible to think of the film without her.  I liked "Love Story" better than most critics, and happen to think it has aged rather well.  More than just a weeper about a Radcliffe co-ed whose Cinderella romance with a handsome and rich Harvard jock was cut short by fatal illness, this is an edgy story about late '60's silent-majority youth torn between the conventions of their families and the changing mores and lifestyles of their peers.  Jennifer was a cocky, profane young woman who spoke her mind and charmed Oliver, her straight-laced boyfriend, with her brashness and occasional glimpses of sincere vulnerability. McGraw's sarcastic delivery of wisecrack dialogue, which some found annoying and difficult, actually served the character well.  I think McGraw does a good job hiding Jennifer's fear of dying behind a hard exterior.  In the sticky final half-hour, it is McGraw's skill in maintaining Jennifer's hard edge that prevents this sentimental story from falling into sappiness.  Most Academy voters were not yet convinced of McGraw's Oscar-worthiness, and she would in fact never receive another Oscar nomination.  But she should be well-remembered for her legacy that is Jennifer.

Sarah Miles' Rosie Ryan is almost overwhelmed by the natural spectacle of "Ryan's Daughter", so exquisitely captured by Frddie Young's lens: the impossibly beautiful vistas, the craggy and interesting faces of the townspeople, the oddity that is Michael the town mute, the coastal beaches, and the incredible seaside storm. Yet this is a small, intimate story about a young Irishwoman who marries the schoolteacher (attractively played by Robert Mitchum) as duty dictates; and then is shaken to her foundation by tidal waves of love for a mysterious British soldier (Christopher Jones) during World War I.  As Sarah Miles inhabits Rosie, she must convey her character's torn allegiance and infidelity, and suggest her new-found passion without giving voice to it; hers is a role that depends less on dialogue than on subtle shifts in posture, body movement and facial expression.  "Ryan's Daughter" is an epic treatment about the mysteries of the heart, and uses nature to suggest what words cannot.  David Lean was widely criticized for overblowing this simple love story. Actually, I think passion does take one by storm, can make the world look like a sweeping vista; I thought Lean's method was appropriate, even if the story dragged in spots.  The GP-rated film became infamous for a bare-breasted love scene in a forest teeming with symbolism. Miles role requires her to express various intensities of physical love, "act" like a perfectly happy wife, spurn with sympathy the attentions of an innocent man-child, and suffer at the hands of an angry mob.  She gets to play angry, she gets to experience ecstasy, and she gets to weep with regret. While her character is not always easy to recall in retrospect, while watching Miles is on-screen, she leads us through this soap opera effectively. 

Carrie Snodgress, a Chicago native, made a huge splash in her first major motion picture role as Tina in "Diary of a Mad Housewife". This is a fascinating film about a woman who was
"mad"- as- in- "angry",  and possibly on her way to losing her mind to boredom, frustration, and abuse, first from her snide and demanding husband (Richard Benjamin), and then from her adulterous relationship with a violent narcissist (Frank Langella). I recall that Snodgress' performance was widely discussed and highly touted.  In addition to it being the only nominated performance to confront the changing roles of modern American women, it was one of the few movies in 1970 to make women's liberation its central premise, and the seething frustration of being taken for granted.  The men were caricatures, which lent the film an air of comic resignation.  Snodgress was uninhibited in her service to this part, and although she appeared in various stages of undress, one was captured by her penetrating gaze, and incredible gravel-deep voice. She had one of the most interesting faces and voices in movies. The movie was a showcase for her, a big, big role, and she was heavily favored to win, especially after capturing the Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Comedy.  (Ali McGraw, above, captured the drama Golden Globe).  Surprisingly, this movie has fallen off the radar, and is almost impossible to find today.  Snodgress would never again be nominated, as she retreated from acting to deal with her own relationships, first with musician Neil Young, and later with film composer Jack Nitzsche.  A note of trivia: Sylvester Stallone tried hard to recruit Snodgress to play Adrian in "Rocky", which she turned down to accept a role in a Robert Altman film that never materialized.   I still think that her performance in "Diary of a Mad Housewife" had all the ingredients for an Oscar win, but the Academy was atypically cerebral that year.

Maybe because it is one of the most unlikely and unusual performances ever to triumph at the Academy Awards, it is truly a wonder that England native Glenda Jackson took home the gold for her portrayal of the wounding, sensual artist in Ken Russel's film of D.H. Lawrence's "Women in Love". Perhaps because of her win in this category, I always watch Jackson's performance carefully, to pick up the subtleties that brought her performance to the attention of an often shallow Academy.  What Jackson achieves foremost is the fleshing out of a character that was written as a sexual idea, an archetype.  Her Gudrun Brangwen is above all a physical being, and Jackson acts with her entire body.   Mysterious, playful, strong, even cruel, Gudrun can be as icy as the Matterhorn; and yet her fearless, artistic sexuality is hypnotic enough to transfix and then frighten even a formidable herd of cattle, in what is one of the film's many unforgettable set-pieces. Jackson herself is fearless, and she moves with balletic precision.  Above all are the voice, and the singular intelligence in her gaze.  Jackson plays Gudrun like she has the answer to a question you don't quite know how to ask.  This is the key to the book's successful translation to the screen.  (The film itself might have just missed landing a Best Picture nomination, as it scored in Directing, Screenplay and Cinematography categories.)

The story involves the love affairs of two sisters, Gudrun and Ursula (Jennie Linden) with men of a higher social stratum: Gerald, the owner of the local mine (Oliver Reed) and Rupert, a schoolteacher who is ending an oppressive relationship of his own (Alan Bates).  Jackson's Gudrun finds formidable expression in her romance with Reed's Gerald.  Whether it is a cunning exchange of dialogue or  a startling sequence of violent sexuality, we cannot take our eyes off her, and must discover what it is that motivates Gudrun's unusual romantic behavior.  Jackson has since retired from acting and has been a member of the British Parliament for many years. I miss her intelligence and unusual screen presence, and despite winning another Oscar in 1973 for the screwball comedy "A Touch of Class" (a real departure!) I happily keep returning to Glenda Jackson's utterly fascinating interpretation of Gudrun.  

Oscar 1970--Best Supporting Actor

Fathers, sons, a "grandfather", and a wordless wanderer:  the 1970 Supporting Actor race was as notable for its broad variety of roles as for the diversity of the actors who inhabited them.  Two nominees, each playing lovable fathers, one comic, one tragic, would team up two years later in "The Godfather" as decidedly sinister men.  One nominee, portraying a regretful son, would know Oscar glory one year later as a hot-headed cop breaking up "The French Connection".  Liberal righteousness helped recognize the first Native American nominee for a worthy performance.  And a seasoned British veteran, whose daughter was even more popular to American audiences, silently captured Academy hearts..and votes.

"Lovers and Other Strangers" was a delightful comedy of manners, a gentle social comment on romance, marriage, and divorce in that transitional year of 1970.  With an all-star cast that included past-and future-Oscar winners Diane Keaton, Gig Young and Cloris Leachman, well-loved comic actors like Anne Meara, Bea Arthur, and Harry Guardino, and  hot contemporary performers like Bonnie Bedelia, Michael Brandon, and Marian Hailey, it was a wonderful coup for character actor Richard Castellano to emerge as the film's sole acting nominee.  While Castellano will be forever remembered as Clemenza, the cannoli-loving gangster in "The Godfather", I prefer his performance as Frank Vecchio, the world-weary working-class father of  two sons, one a groom, one a divorcee. Playing off of Bea Arthur as his ever-cooking, always-serving wife Beatrice, Castellano's portrayal of a perplexed Italian patriarch is as true and funny a portrait I've seen on film (until "Moonstruck" 18 years later).  I loved his banter with Arthur in which they proudly proclaim that they're not happy--they're content.  Castellano finds so many nuances in his constant question, "So, what's the story?" that the line feels legendary.  His unassuming simplicity finds full impact in his centerpiece monologue, when he tries with inarticulate charm to explain how "we're all strangers", and that after years of marriage two people become "deeper strangers, which is a kind of love."  Critics raved about Castellano, and it seemed that this could be the favorite to win.  It ranks as my favorite among the five nominees.

"Love Story" had the most acting nominations (3) of any film in 1970.  One of these, John Marley, had a small role in this film, but was so essential to the emotional arc of the story, and so beautifully played, that the Academy could not ignore him.  (Two years later, Marley would wake up to a nasty surprise in "The Godfather"s most notorious scene.)  Marley is Phil Cavalleri, a modest Italian baker and loving father to Radcliffe co-ed Jennifer (Ali McGraw).  Has there ever been a more loving and agreeable dad in the history of movies?  Indulgent to a fault, and willing to do anything for his daughter, he drops the formality of their relationship, and allows Jennifer to call him by his first name. He accepts her relationship with Oliver (Ryan O'Neal), and tries his best to understand all of its modern permutations.  Marley is especially effective in a controversial scene in which Oliver and Jennifer inform Phil, a devout Catholic, that they don't believe in God and that they will not be married in a church.  Without histrionics, Marley registers unshakable disappointment, then resignation and even support. I held my breath the whole time.  "Love Story" tells of a marriage doomed by Jennifer's untimely death.  It wasn't the deathbed scene as much as Marley's regret that he "promised to be strong" that got millions of tear ducts flowing in theaters the world over. 

"I Never Sang for My Father" is playwright Robert Anderson's autobiographical memoir of his final days with his contentious, aging father, and his struggle to make sense of the pain of that relationship. Gene Hackman continued his rise to fame which began with "Bonnie and Clyde" with this, his second Oscar nomination.  This is probably the biggest role of the five nominees, and occupied enough screen time to have been considered a lead.  The film is not screened much (and is not yet available on DVD).  While the movie is stage-bound and subject to the cinematic cliches of that period, the writing is excellent.  Hackman is perfect as a retired professor who regresses back to old ways of feeling and relating to his demanding yet vulnerable father. He projects the frustration of a mature man at a crossroads, delaying his own happiness out of a sense of obligation.  Hackman's bland, everyman persona allows viewers to project themselves into this story and identify with Hackman's character.  There is not an easy resolution here, but the satisfaction that one is not alone in a world where children, even in 1970, have become caretakers.  While Hackman's role may have been too low-profile to be favored for a win (and overshadowed by the power of Melvyn Douglas) it was a worthy nomination.

Director Arthur Penn continued his string of successful social comment, after "Bonnie and Clyde" and "Alice's Restaurant", with "Little Big Man", a tall tale told by Jack Crabb, a 125-year-old survivor of Custer's Last Stand (Dustin Hoffman in great makeup and Dorothy Michaels' phrasing).  Among the cast was an elderly Native American actor with authentic presence and an amusing deadpan delivery named Chief Dan George, who was himself an author, poet, and chief of a tribe in Vancouver.  He played Old Lodge Skins, the kindly leader of a Cheyenne tribal village, who takes in the young Crabb and becomes his "grandfather".  Chief Dan George mesmerized audiences with his unique brand of wisdom and subtle humor, and was a shoo-in for a nomination; many thought that he would be a favorite to win.  "Little Big Man" is a big, episodic, humorous epic that successfully, I think, tells an honest story of the Native American experience and fight for independence.  Penn gave play to the exaggerations and pomposity of his narrator, but did an admirable job offering a more sympathetic portrayal of Native Americans than had been attempted before.  The renewed interest in battles like Little Big Horn may have been a result of American involvement in Vietnam.  By masking the horrors of Southeast Asia in tales of the American West,  Hollywood, which was not prepared to deal with these events directly, could allude to tragedies like the My Lai massacre.  Young people who were attuned to mind-altering experiences turned to Native American mysticism and fashion (and drugs).  In this atmosphere, a film like "Little Big Man" was very successful.  The appearance of Chief Dan George, with his wonderful portrayal, gave the film the credibility to be taken seriously.

John Mills' victory for his portrayal of Michael, the unfortunate brain-damaged mute inhabiting a WWI Irish coastal town in "Ryan's Daughter", was somewhat of a surprise.  Other nominees had more critical support in high-profile, even leading, roles.  And David Lean's film, although admired for its brilliant photography and technical achievement, was not a critical success.  In retrospect, however, Mills' win makes sense.  He was a long-time film veteran, appearing in scores of British and American productions; Hayley Mills, his daughter, was an extremely popular child-actor in the 1960's; and Oscar had a penchant for rewarding mute and disabled characters (Jane Wyman for "Johnny Belinda" in 1948, and later Marlee Matlin for "Children of a Lesser God" (1986), Daniel Day-Lewis for "My Left Foot" (1989) Holly Hunter for "The Piano" (1993) come to mind).   This was also a departure for Mills, who played against type and was nearly unrecognizable as the "village idiot", whose simple love for the newlywed schoolteacher (Sarah Miles) proved the catalyst for her downfall and the town's political upheaval. Mills effectively used his entire body to suggest a misshapen misfit, and even under heavy makeup, drooling and with a perpetual grin, he communicated enormous longing with his eyes, and conveyed the innocence of a prince trapped inside a broken body.  It is the showiest performance of all 20  acting nominees in 1970. Mills had the respect of his fellows in the Academy, and they recognized the gruelling physicality and level of difficulty he endured to pull the role off.  Even though my personal preference would be for Richard Castellano, Mills created an unforgettable character, and the award here was well-deserved.

Oscar 1970--Best Supporting Actress

The race for Supporting Actress in 1970 contained two classic characterizations, one solid performance, one old veteran playing "cute" (irresistible to Academy voters then),  and a well-known actress in an all-but-forgotten oddity.  This category perfectly encapsulated the schism in Hollywood as reflected in the Oscar race: established actresses in conventional roles nominated alongside risky, cutting edge work in more ambitious, relevant films.

Maureen Stapleton received her second* Academy Award nomination playing Inez Guerrero, the worried wife of a disturbed man (Van Heflin) in "Airport".  Inez comforts her struggling-businessman husband as he departs for Rome, and anxiously awaits news of the flight as it is revealed that a bomb has exploded in the cabin. Stapleton is so believable as an ordinary working woman and loving wife, masterfully modulating her reactions, as Inez slowly realizes that her husband may be responsible for the disaster.  Later, desperate and alone, she earns our sympathy in her final stages of collapse, pleading for forgiveness of the passengers disembarking into the terminal. Stapleton's nomination was doomed from the start.  First, she shared the category with her co-star Helen Hayes, which usually results in votes cancelling each other out.  Second, in this case, Hayes played a more endearing character,and was herself a popular and sentimental favorite. Even with a strong performance, it would have been nearly impossible for Stapleton to win the category. I think Stapleton gave the best performance of the whole cast of "Airport".  It was a relatively brief appearance that nonetheless lent the film a modicum of real emotion, a supporting performance in the best sense.  

Sally Kellerman was responsible for some of the most notorious and well-loved classic sequences in "M*A*S*H".  Her statuesque embodiment of a sincere military professional, undone by the outrageous antics of a group of irreverent doctors in a Korean War    M(obile) A(rmy) S(urgical) H(ospital) unit, is still one of my all-time favorite movie characters.  Months before I was finally able to convince my parents to take me to this, my first R-rated film, word-of-mouth spread about the character of Margaret Houlihan, and how she came by her nickname Hot Lips.  This is not the cute TV-sitcom Hot Lips, but a full-blooded no-nonsense nurse who is a victim of unmerciful, politically incorrect pranksters driven by equal parts bloodshed and boredom.  After a primal and wickedly funny breakdown in Colonel Blake's tent, she comes around to the madness, chucks her hypocrisy, leads a football cheerleading squad, and connects in a tender way with her fellow surgeons.  No longer a "regular Army clown", she proudly bears her nickname in the spirit of blessed insanity.  Kellerman perfectly balances a self-righteous smirk with a healthy and explosive sexuality, and delivers her lines with a throaty, sensual strength. I suppose if I had a ballot I would have voted here, for the sheer pleasure this role gave me in my overall love for this film.  

   But then, there is Karen Black's terrific portrayal of Rayette, the working-class waitress-girlfriend of Jack Nicholson in one of 1970's very best films, "Five Easy Pieces".  Black was an interesting presence in the cutting-edge and quirky films of the 1970's, and "Five Easy Pieces" was a perfect showcase for her unique talents.  She would go on to do interesting work in unusual films like "Day of the Locust" and "Nashville".  After the debacle that was "Airport 1975", her star fell a little, and with few exceptions, it never again shone as brightly.  Her Rayette was a woman of simple pleasures, unsophisticated and good-hearted, with an almost childish demand for love from her brooding partner Bobby, (a triumphant role for Jack Nicholson). It's soon apparent that Bobby has surprising layers of complexity, and may regard Rayette as a symbol of his rejection of a privileged upbringing.  Black knows this character perfectly, and loves her.  She understands the wounds that manifest themselves in annoying behavior, and the deep need to be good to her lover.  Her best scene occurs when Rayette crashes Bobby's childhood home and shakes up the pseudo-intellectuals gathered there.  In this category, Black would be Kellerman's most serious competitor.  My heart would go with Hot Lips, but my vote might go to Rayette.

"The Landlord" was a modest critical success, and found a cultish audience, but it seems to have evaporated from movie-buffs' consciousness. The nomination for Lee Grant in this category might have been a welcome-back-to-the fold after her 1950's era blacklisting for refusing to testify against alleged Communists; or maybe it was a result of few good supporting roles for women in 1970. The film was the directorial debut for Hal Ashby, who would helm "Shampoo" five years later and nab Lee an Oscar.  "The Landlord" examines racial tensions between blacks and whites, as well as within the black community, of a neighborhood in Brooklyn.  Beau Bridges is a trust-fund kid who buys a tenement to overhaul and gentrify, but winds up befriending and caring for the tenants he set out to evict.  Grant plays his flighty, incredulous mother, who disapproves of her rich son's behavior, but winds up playing a marvelous drunk scene with Pearl Bailey. The film, and this nomination, remain intriguing curiosities.  It is a credit to the Oscar that a nomination like this in a major category will save an unusual, quality film from permanent obscurity. Still, Grant had no chance to win here. 

The victory for Helen Hayes as Best Supporting Actress in 1970's "Airport" was a foregone conclusion.  The 70-year old veteran of stage and screen had won her first Oscar for Best Actress in 1932 for "The Sin of Madelon Claudet". She became the first performer to win a Supporting Oscar after a Lead Acting victory; and her 38-year gap between wins still holds a record, over Katharine Hepburn's 24 and Gene Hackman's 21.  Beloved by the entire industry, Academy voters and the general public enjoyed watching Hayes have a grand time playing airport stowaway Ada Quonset.  On the lam from airline officials, she is finally recruited to clandestinely assist in the apprehension of a desperate bomber.  This was clearly a sentimental award; the "cute old lady" role was nowhere near Oscar-calibre, and is never mentioned among lists of greatest Oscar performances.  Still, Hayes was fun to watch, and voters responded to her being such a good sport. 

*I originally indicated her first nom, until astute reader Eric Arvin kindly noted the error...

Next: Best Supporting Actor

Movies in 1970--Big Names, Interesting Oscar Races

Almost every category in the 1970 Oscar race had colorful personalities or strong nominees.  Even (or especially) in categories other than Acting or Picture, the 1970 Academy Awards are a compelling history of how far movies had come, and a snapshot of Old Hollywood's desire to preserve its traditions while new talents (not all of them young--Robert Altman was already 45) were taking the art of cinema in exciting directions.



Before I tackle some of the more interesting categories, here's a brief summary of some of the trends I noticed in the movies of that year...



The treatment of sexual themes and violent content was still not (for the most part) a no-holds-barred proposition, which meant that the introduction of explicit nudity, sexuality, or violence had to be approached in a context of quality in order to be acceptable---usually.



Just about any important film you could name in 1970 took cinema a little bit further, either thematically or by a memorable or controversial scene.  Political themes, too, were plentiful.  Reading the marquees of theaters in a big city  was like a social network of sorts...you could share your political affiliation with others at a screening of a particular film, often for repeat viewings.  (Remember, there was no home video then, and no multiplex theaters.)  Lots of movies appealed to the activism prevalent in young moviegoers.  It seemed that certain films could actually change the world, and people of a certain idealistic worldview tended to align with each other through these films.


Or you could champion a new look or style or cinematic groundbreaker. 



An "important" movie of that era was often known as being the first one to try something new, or one with "that must-see scene", or one that called the Establishment to question.  Many were Oscar hopefuls, but not all. 

"Women In Love" had the infamous nude wrestling scene between Oliver Reed and Alan Bates.  It would also prove to feature the first performance by an actress (Glenda Jackson) who played a nude scene to win an Oscar.



"The Boys in the Band" was an unabashed story about homosexuals; and Liza Minneli's follow-up movie after her first Oscar nomination (see "the Sterile Cuckoo")  featured a (horribly stereotyped) gay character in "Tell Me That You Love Me, Junie Moon."

The historic mistreatment of Native Americans drove films like "Little Big Man", "Soldier Blue" and "A Man Called Horse".   The first two featured bloody scenes of slaughter that were obvious parallels to the My Lai massacre (viewers were outraged by the brutality in "Soldier Blue"); the latter became notorious for an initiation rite featuring Richard Harris' pectorals and two chicken claws.

The otherwise sentimental "Love Story" broached the uncomfortable subject of young adults rejecting religion, and startled viewers with the heroine's brash dialogue.  "Patton" was well-known for it's profanity (so mild today it might pass completely unnoticed).  "M*A*S*H" was even more profane, and forced viewers to look at battlefield bloodshed even as they were convulsed with laughter...it was anarchic, it was a party, and nothing like it had been seen before.



Mike Nichols directed an all-star cast (Alan Arkin, Tony Perkins, Jon Voight, Art Garfunkel, Orson Welles, among others) in the film of the classic anti-war novel "Catch-22".  It should have appealed to the same crowd as "M*A*S*H" but somehow its clunky cynicism and heaviness (and the explicit treatment of  the book's horrifying Snowden sequence) turned off audiences.

"The Revolutionary"  (Jon Voight again), "The Strawberry Statement" (with "True Grit"s Kim Darby), and Michaelangelo Antonioni's "Zabriskie Point" functioned as a rallying cry for youthful alienation and activism started by "Easy Rider" the previous year.  While none of these proved very popular,  Antonioni's film in particular was widely dismissed and misunderstood even by those who loved "Blow-Up" in 1966 (although I really enjoyed it's originality, its beauty, its music, and its vision of an aridly commercial society).

The burgeoning urban film, or "blackxploitation film", which stereotyped the criminal culture of the inner city, got its start in 1970 with the fairly well-made "Cotton Comes to Harlem", reaching an apex of sorts the next year with "Shaft".  Civil Rights and more sensitive treatment of race relations could be found in pictures such as "The Landlord" and "The Great White Hope".



Best Director Nominees Arthur Hiller ("Love Story") and Robert Altman ("M*A*S*H") both made lesser films of varying success in 1970: Hiller added his own venom to New York City in "The Out-of Towners", a raucous, popular but critically lambasted comedy starring Jack Lemmon and Sandy Dennis;  Altman made the far more quirky and interesting "Brewster McCloud", starring a pre-"Harold and Maude" Bud Cort on a flying contraption in the Houston Astrodome.  Audiences ignored it.

"Joe", very dated now, but one of my favorite films of 1970 or any other year, was directed by former soft-core porn-filmmaker John Avildsen ("Rocky") and  starred Peter Boyle (the "Young Frankenstein" monster) and Susan Sarandon, (in her film debut) portraying, respectively, a bigoted hardhat and a runaway hippie involved in the drug scene.  It was such a powerful film, that the then-Chicago Censorship Board refused admission to anyone under 18.  It drew the battle lines between the working class "silent majority" and an underground movement of anti-establishment activists.  Norman Wexler's screenplay copped "Joe's" only nomination.

Speaking of soft-core porn, Russ Meyer, the "King of the Nudies", got big studio support (and money) to create the bloody, sexy and satirical  cult classic "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls", scripted by Meyer's friend and Chicago film critic, Roger Ebert!  And 1930's movie diva Mae West joined Raquel Welch and John Houston in the abominable guilty pleasure "Myra Breckinridge", in which Rex Reed's female alter ego Myra sets out to destroy Hollywood by first sodomizing a vacuous hunk and then...oh, forget it.  Both from 20th-Century Fox.
Incredible.

*     *      *      *      *      *      *     *     *     *


Here are more highlights from some of the more interesting Oscar categories in 1970:


Best Director:  Robert Altman had been working in television for over a decade before Fox gave him the task of directing "M*A*S*H*.  His method was so freewheeling, that cast members Donald Sutherland and Elliott Gould tried to have him removed from the film, but came around when they saw what he captured on celluloid...


My hero Federico Fellini scored a nomination for the phantasmagorical "Fellini Satyricon", sort of a "Dolce Vita" of ancient Rome, or to paraphrase Fellini, a science fiction film of the past.  It was a wallow in color and grotesque imagery and sound, and Fellini's direction was the film's only nomination.....


Ken Russell, with "Women in Love", made perhaps his best film.  Known for ever-increasingly eccentric and over-the-top pictures, "Women in Love" showed what I call passionate restraint.  It was lush with invention and color and gorgeous set pieces and dead-on performances....


And Arthur Hiller was underappreciated for bringing "Love Story" to the screen, a movie that nailed a portrait of a generation and a new kind of relationship, and moved people, deeply, and with quiet sensitivity, in spite of the sentimental (and Oscar-winning) music score....


All of them lost to Franklin Schaffner for the admirable, conventional triumph of logistics, "Patton".

"Woodstock": a category all its own.  This astounding 3-hour Oscar-winning Feature Documentary of the 1969 rock concert nabbed nominations in technical categories usually reserved for fiction films: editing and sound.  Editor Thelma Schoonmaker, who would go on to collaborate with Martin Scorsese, shaped hundreds of hours of film into a brilliant amalgam of musical performance, concertgoer interviews, portraits of the promoters and workers, and commentary by the locals.  Split-screen has rarely been used so effectively. Scorsese, by the way, was a co-editor on the film.

Screenplay, Adapted:  Ring Lardner Jr. won his first writing Oscar in 1942 co-scripting "Woman of the Year" (Hepburn-Tracy).  In the 1950's he was blacklisted for refusing to "out" Communist sympathizers and became one of the infamous Hollywood Ten.   In 1970, he was back at the winner's podium for his adaptation of Richard Hooker's comic war novel "M*A*S*H".  Lardner resented Altman's riffs on the screenplay and willingness to let actors improvise their dialog.  He failed to thank Altman in his acceptance speech....


Larry Kramer, who would become an important playwright ("The Normal Heart") and AIDS activist, did an admirable job adapting the impossible-to-adapt D.H. Lawrence novel "Women in Love"......


And George Seaton, who was snubbed in the Director category for "Airport", got a nod here for  screenplay, which never met a cliche it didn't love, but still managed to be entertaining.  Seaton was an old-guard Hollywood-type, who some might recall directed Natalie Wood in 1947's "Miracle on 34th Street" and Bing Crosby in 1954's "The Country Girl".


Story and Screenplay--Based on Factual Material or material Not Previously Published or Produced:--(In 1970, THAT was the name of what we now call "Original Screenplay"!)  Former Brigadier General Frank McCarthy (and film producer) commissioned Roger Corman alumnus Francis Ford Coppola to co-write the eventual Oscar-winning screenplay for "Patton".  Coppola would return twice more in the 1970's to accept writing honors for the first 2 "Godfather" films...


Erich Segal was eligible for a nomination in this category because his novel, "Love Story", was not published until after the screenplay was finished. This was one of the first novelizations of a film.  The book was one of the biggest sellers of the decade...

Original Song Score: This is a discontinued category, along with Best Adapted Musical Score, which recognized songs from original musicals as well as adaptations of Broadway hits, classical themes, and others.  The Beatles took home Oscars for their music from the documentary "Let It Be", a record of the group's final recording session together.  This is impossible to find nowadays; I remember seeing this on a VHS rental years ago, and thought it to be a well-made cinema-verite.  The win in this category is sort of unusual, probably the Academy's attempt to remedy snubs of the group's work in such classics as "Help" and "Hard Day's Night." (Note the G-rating on the poster!)

Cinematography: Freddie Young scored a hat-trick in his collaboration with David Lean.  He followed his previous two wins ("Lawrence of Arabia" and "Doctor Zhivago") with this one for "Ryan's Daughter".  Young's work was typically magnificent, although the film was an atypical critical and box-office bomb for Lean, who was so discouraged, that it would be 14 years before he would return to filmmaking (and "A Passage to India".)  Although it was about 30 minutes too long, I found "Ryan's Daughter" to be a sweeping and entertaining love story, which used natural landscapes stunningly to symbolize the passion of the young wife of a schoolteacher in 1916 Ireland.

Finally...the Irving Thalberg Award in 1970 went to another hero of mine...Ingmar Bergman.


Next up: Supporting Actor and Actress....which honored two veterans, one of whom had not a word of dialogue in his winning performance.