Two films would compete all year for Best Picture: A film by Richard Linklater called Boyhood, in which a boy comes of age in real time over a 12-year period, going up against a film called Birdman, supposedly shot entirely in one take, about an aging actor who doesn’t want to be a superhero anymore and just wants to make art. I was Team Boyhood that year, though looking back, I don’t think either Boyhood or Birdman was a worthy winner. Instead, the movie that would stand the test of time and the movie I was obsessed with that year wasn’t even nominated. The year was 2014, and that movie was Gone Girl. 2014 was a time of great change; only very few of us realized it then. We were still climbing a mountain, and by the time we reached the top, there was nowhere to go but down. It was the beginning of both the Great Feminization and the Great Awokening that sought to reorder society to elevate marginalized groups and smash the white male patriarchy. It was also the beginning of the two Hollywoods at a crossroads: making lots of money with superhero movies and IPs, and making art that almost no one saw or even knew about. The Oscars were caught there, too, though they chose the road less traveled, and that would eventually lead to a decline in ratings and the necessary jump to streaming, for movies and, for the Oscars, which have just announced they will be moving to YouTube in 2029. I was ahead of the curve, you might say, back in 2014. I’m not sure exactly when my site went from being just an awards site to an activist one. Everybody had a loud microphone on social media, Black Twitter, Trans Tumblr, and a growing activist movement that meant we all had to look at how this new frontier was settling, who had power and who didn’t, who mattered and who didn’t. Who was to be protected and who was to be destroyed? In the years I was advocating, I counted among my successes ushering in the first Black actress to win in 2001, Halle Berry for Monster’s Ball. She is still the only Black actress to win in the category. I patted myself on the back for having overseen the first woman to win the Picture and Director awards, Kathryn Bigelow, and The Hurt Locker in 2009. Then, the first film directed by a Black director, 12 Years a Slave, released in 2013. But still, no Black director has won — even now as Oscar heads into its 98th year. After all of their attempts to add new members, diversify, and install inclusivity mandates, the song remains the same. Power hasn’t really shifted so much as people of color were used as shields to protect the people at the top from the simmering unrest on social media. 2009 was the first year of the Obama administration, which had a significant impact on Hollywood, especially the Oscars. Obama is counted as among the new Left’s ruling class, joining Hollywood every year as he puts out his top ten lists and currently has a production deal with Netflix, which in turn donates generously to the Democratic Party. It’s all one happy, insular, perfect little paradise that has mostly forgotten that they still need audiences to show up if they want their films to be successful. If you went back earlier than, say, 2009 and backwards in time, you’d see more powerful American directors helming big studio movies, like Clint Eastwood, Steven Spielberg, Ron Howard, and Robert Zemeckis. It was less about where they were born and more about the studios and their choices to put their trust in the best and most successful directors. It isn’t like that now, obviously, because the Oscars became disconnected from the economics of Hollywood. What began to matter more was identity: how do those who win best represent the Hollywood elite? Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire was the last movie to win because it penetrated American culture. That was 2008, before the Obama era. By 2009, The Hurt Locker would win without grossing more than $15 million, and almost no one had heard of it. It didn’t matter if audiences had seen it or not. What mattered was that Kathryn Bigelow was making history. In 2010 and 2011, we saw prominent American directors who made big studio movies lose to international directors making smaller films. David Fincher’s The Social Network lost to Tom Hooper’s The King’s Speech in 2010, and Martin Scorsese’s Hugo lost to Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist in 2011. Ben Affleck made Argo but missed a Best Director nomination, which then meant he dominated the season and won everything. By 2013, however, we were about to enter what we called the “Three Amigos” phase. It went something like this. 2013—Alfonso Cuaron would win Best Director for Gravity.2014—Alejandro G. Iñárritu would win Picture and Director for Birdman2015—Alejandro G. Iñárritu would win Best Director for The Revenant, and Spotlight would win Best PictureThe one exception would be:2016—Damien Chazelle, who would win Best Director for La La Land, and Moonlight would win Best Picture.2017—Guillermo Del Toro would win Best Director and Picture for The Shape of Water.2018—Alfonso Cuaron would win his second Best Director Oscar for ROMA, and Green Book would win Best Picture. That Boyhood was the frontrunner in 2014 was an oddity, given that it only made $25 million. I was called upon to be an early advocate for the movie. I even drove out to Malibu to interview Patricia Arquette. I had no illusions about my role in this. I knew I wasn’t being asked to go to parties with them and hang out with them because I was interesting or because I loved their movie. No, I was there to help them win. Boyhood spoke to my generation, Gen X, probably more than any other movie. It’s all about ramblings on life, ruminations, and trying to find an identity. The whisper campaign at the time, likely put out by a rival publicist, was that it was “just a gimmick.” Maybe it was a gimmick but so was Birdman shot entirely in one take. More or less. Linklater filmed Boyhood over 12 years, and many of us marveled at the commitment. But I have to admit my friendship with the publicist did color my reaction to the movie. I wanted it to win because I wanted him to win. But Boyhood was pretty good. But Birdman spoke to voters in a way Boyhood never could. It wasn’t just the cinematic style of the film, all in one take; it was the subject. An aging actor choosing between selling out as a superhero for what audiences wanted and being an artist for no money. It spoke right to the heart of your average Academy voter. But the romance of the Three Amigos was in there, too. They were in love with Iñárritu by this point, so any film he made was instantly elevated. This scene was one of those most talked about for sticking it to film critics. Birdman gave them a chance to remember their glory days before Hollywood was making ungodly sums on branded content. Their fanbase had been raised since birth to be just the kinds of audiences who would turn out to see movies like they turned out to eat fast food: fewer choices, expectations met. The kind of money they were making in 2014 was shocking. $10 billion a year, with the number one film Guardians of the Galaxy, and here was the Oscars about to give their awards to Birdman, completely cut off from the rest of the country, and sucked into this insular bubble Hollywood became. Birdman was their escape. They could pretend they still cared about art, just like the main character, even if they knew they were trapped. It was kind of like the First Class section of the airplane vs. Coach. Or how McDonald’s makes money selling Big Macs but also offers salads to show they still care about your health. These two Hollywoods would run on parallel tracks but exist in completely separate worlds until 2020, when the ship would hit the iceberg and the industry, along with everything else, would collapse. But we’re not there yet. Another movie nominated for Best Picture in 2014 was Clint Eastwood’s American Sniper, which blew away the competition at the box office and probably was the movie most people outside the bubble thought should have won Best Picture. Why wouldn’t it? Don’t they reward success? No, they don’t. Not anymore. The Academy probably would have wanted to omit American Sniper for obvious reasons, but how could they? Eastwood was still mostly a respected icon, even as his legacy was moving in the opposite direction. The box office couldn’t be denied. It was a phenomenon. American Sniper - $350 millionThe Imitation Game - $91 millionThe Grand Budapest Hotel - $59 millionSelma - $52 millionBirdman - $46 millionThe Theory of Everything - $35 millionBoyhood - $25 millionWhiplash - $14 million I wasn’t much of a fan of Birdman, but it did feature one great monologue by Emma Stone that telegraphed everything about to happen to the industry and society as we barreled toward 2020. The internet and social media especially became a panopticon, which meant the people at the top, the ruling class, those who run Hollywood, were suddenly exposed. What mattered to them was being seen as good people trying to make the world a better place. They weren’t just celebrities; they were also activists with an online platform, and they had to use it to support the popular progressive causes of the day. If they didn’t, they would be called out. Cancel Culture was in its early stages back then with the Tumblr blog, Yr Fave is Problematic, which called out celebrities for perceived crimes - thought crimes, cultural appropriation, sending the wrong message. We had no idea what was coming next as we naively participated in this game of purging society of thought criminals. It was a way to purify and sanctify this brand-new frontier online. Who would be allowed to participate? Who should have a platform? The word “canceled” came from Black Twitter as a kind of joke at first. Eventually, it became the catch-all term for a toxic invader that need
