Michael Sheen, Frost/Nixon
Langella, Shmangella. Too often in this industry, credit goes to the wrong people. And while the heaps of praise thrown onto Frank Langella’s astute portrait of Nixon aren’t undeserved, they’re a tad out of balance. Sheen plays the figure with whom the general public is far less familiar, so he’s not getting graded on accuracy of tics. Like in The Queen, Sheen creates wonderful moments from scenes in which his character is getting more than he bargained for. His quest is to be taken seriously, but it also fueled by his naive curiosity in the politics (and the entertainment!) of it all. He’s all charm, with bravado simmering under its surface.
Tilda Swinton, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Langella, Shmangella. Too often in this industry, credit goes to the wrong people. And while the heaps of praise thrown onto Frank Langella’s astute portrait of Nixon aren’t undeserved, they’re a tad out of balance. Sheen plays the figure with whom the general public is far less familiar, so he’s not getting graded on accuracy of tics. Like in The Queen, Sheen creates wonderful moments from scenes in which his character is getting more than he bargained for. His quest is to be taken seriously, but it also fueled by his naive curiosity in the politics (and the entertainment!) of it all. He’s all charm, with bravado simmering under its surface.
Tilda Swinton, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Swinton is always reliable (and is consistently cast as women with icy edges). In Button, though, I found myself actually rooting for her over Blanchett’s Daisy, who came off far more chilly. Swinton brings a genteel warmth to her role that makes her the perfect mentor-in-love for Brad Pitt’s Benjamin. The character’s sadness and joy come from such a similar place, that they land with the same restrained softness. It’s a performance that’s so genuinely delicate, it seems to capture the film’s intent better than the film itself.
Max Richter, Waltz with Bashir 
The animators do a vivid job of taking you to a time and place (the 1982 Lebanon War); the film is about, after all, reconstructing memories and animation is a brilliant tool for such an undertaking. The music, though, punctuates those visuals with the perfect blend of machismo and melancholy. Whether using simple piano pieces—especially for the unforgettable sequence that inspires the film’s title—or rougher, more experimental sequences with synthesizers, Richter’s music pulls you into the fractured memories and underscores the anxiety of those trying not to fully remember.
Kristen Bell, Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Even Judd Apatow-driven romantic comedies usually peg the female as a user-friendly archetype: the princess, the loon, the “shrew.” But Forgetting Sarah Marshall requires its title character to be a far more complicated creature. She’s a cheater, but she’s not evil. She’s shallow, but she’s trying not to be. She’s wildly confident and deeply insecure. Bell nails this woman with her shaded deliveries; it’s a performance of subtleties yet it never feels out of place is a slightly manic film. It’s proof that Bell could easily anchor a film of any genre, as long as it requires more from her than playing a female stereotype, something she’s deftly avoided so far.
Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler
I can’t remember the last time a role was so perfectly suited for the actor that played it. Rourke’s own career is certainly fodder for his character (a way past-his-prime pro wrestler), as is his over-charged body and bludgeoned-to-disfigurement face. You couldn’t have cast it any better. But beyond casting, there’s great acting, and Rourke gives Randy the Ram more gravitas than just a teddy bear with demons. He’s grabbing onto every human soul that passes through his life, desperately trying to make a connection. It’s more than a fear of loneliness; he quietly battles the fear of becoming irrelevant. Even though The Wrestler requires so much physical work from Rourke, it’s ultimately a very internal performance, a man not so much haunted by what he’s become as a man yearning to be something once again.
Jack Black, Kung Fu Panda
A vocal performance that belongs in the annals alongside Robin Williams in Aladdin and Eddie Murphy in Shrek. Black energizes the out-of-his-elements Po without ever making him manic or too silly. He’s a dreamer getting a dose of reality and Black does a superb job tracing that battered optimism. It’s a performance that undeniably, infectiously joyful.
The Women of Rachel Getting Married
That runway ready Hepburn-in-the-making you know from unapologetically commercial flicks is nowhere to be seen in Rachel Getting Married. Anne Hathaway’s Kym references herself in a
wedding toast as “Shiva the Destroyer” and, as Kym’s emotional showboating cuts deeply into those around her, you understand how little she was kidding. Hathaway is a can’t-take-your-eyes-off-her wonder and she understands how Kym, out of rehab for the weekend, needs to make everything about her, despite (or because of) the fact that it’s her sister’s wedding. As the sister in question, Rosemarie DeWitt is wonderful; she gives Rachel’s psychoanalytical jabs an deep emotional touch. And Debra Winger, as the estranged mother both girls seek affection from, would be an Oscar frontrunner in a perfect world. Winger gives us a cruelly honest portrait of a woman we know: she’s able to fake her way through the life by clinging to its routines and never truly emotionally investing in anything or anyone.
Danny Boyle and Chris Dickens, Slumdog Millionaire
I am so amazed at how brilliantly this film was put together because so much could have been lost. I think, to be quite honest, the script is getting too much credit; the dramatic tension, the beats of romance and terror and excitement and wonder, work so well because of how Boyle (director) and Dickens (editor) brought them to life with thrilling energy that shrewdly combines Bollywood romanticism, gritty realism, and an (early) MTV pacing without the MTV gloss. Dickens splices together the beautiful footage to pull you into the slums and then push you back out, to guide you from present to past without losing any bearings. It’s no wonder it’s become such an accessible, stand-up-and-cheer film.
Robert Downey, Jr., Tropic Thunder and Iron Man
By rooting itself in Downey’s smart-alecky, wordy egotism, Iron Man became the best superhero film of all time. I can’t remember the last time I saw a hero that I got so excited to root for. And as Kirk Lazarus, in the gut-bustingly hilarious Tropic Thunder, Downey captures Hollywood narcissism with controlled glee. He’s so far in character (in another character) that you’re willing to believe that he was once actually found “in a refrigerator box in an alley in Burbank trying to re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere.”
The animators do a vivid job of taking you to a time and place (the 1982 Lebanon War); the film is about, after all, reconstructing memories and animation is a brilliant tool for such an undertaking. The music, though, punctuates those visuals with the perfect blend of machismo and melancholy. Whether using simple piano pieces—especially for the unforgettable sequence that inspires the film’s title—or rougher, more experimental sequences with synthesizers, Richter’s music pulls you into the fractured memories and underscores the anxiety of those trying not to fully remember.
Kristen Bell, Forgetting Sarah MarshallEven Judd Apatow-driven romantic comedies usually peg the female as a user-friendly archetype: the princess, the loon, the “shrew.” But Forgetting Sarah Marshall requires its title character to be a far more complicated creature. She’s a cheater, but she’s not evil. She’s shallow, but she’s trying not to be. She’s wildly confident and deeply insecure. Bell nails this woman with her shaded deliveries; it’s a performance of subtleties yet it never feels out of place is a slightly manic film. It’s proof that Bell could easily anchor a film of any genre, as long as it requires more from her than playing a female stereotype, something she’s deftly avoided so far.
Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler
I can’t remember the last time a role was so perfectly suited for the actor that played it. Rourke’s own career is certainly fodder for his character (a way past-his-prime pro wrestler), as is his over-charged body and bludgeoned-to-disfigurement face. You couldn’t have cast it any better. But beyond casting, there’s great acting, and Rourke gives Randy the Ram more gravitas than just a teddy bear with demons. He’s grabbing onto every human soul that passes through his life, desperately trying to make a connection. It’s more than a fear of loneliness; he quietly battles the fear of becoming irrelevant. Even though The Wrestler requires so much physical work from Rourke, it’s ultimately a very internal performance, a man not so much haunted by what he’s become as a man yearning to be something once again.
Jack Black, Kung Fu PandaA vocal performance that belongs in the annals alongside Robin Williams in Aladdin and Eddie Murphy in Shrek. Black energizes the out-of-his-elements Po without ever making him manic or too silly. He’s a dreamer getting a dose of reality and Black does a superb job tracing that battered optimism. It’s a performance that undeniably, infectiously joyful.
The Women of Rachel Getting Married
That runway ready Hepburn-in-the-making you know from unapologetically commercial flicks is nowhere to be seen in Rachel Getting Married. Anne Hathaway’s Kym references herself in a
wedding toast as “Shiva the Destroyer” and, as Kym’s emotional showboating cuts deeply into those around her, you understand how little she was kidding. Hathaway is a can’t-take-your-eyes-off-her wonder and she understands how Kym, out of rehab for the weekend, needs to make everything about her, despite (or because of) the fact that it’s her sister’s wedding. As the sister in question, Rosemarie DeWitt is wonderful; she gives Rachel’s psychoanalytical jabs an deep emotional touch. And Debra Winger, as the estranged mother both girls seek affection from, would be an Oscar frontrunner in a perfect world. Winger gives us a cruelly honest portrait of a woman we know: she’s able to fake her way through the life by clinging to its routines and never truly emotionally investing in anything or anyone.Danny Boyle and Chris Dickens, Slumdog Millionaire
I am so amazed at how brilliantly this film was put together because so much could have been lost. I think, to be quite honest, the script is getting too much credit; the dramatic tension, the beats of romance and terror and excitement and wonder, work so well because of how Boyle (director) and Dickens (editor) brought them to life with thrilling energy that shrewdly combines Bollywood romanticism, gritty realism, and an (early) MTV pacing without the MTV gloss. Dickens splices together the beautiful footage to pull you into the slums and then push you back out, to guide you from present to past without losing any bearings. It’s no wonder it’s become such an accessible, stand-up-and-cheer film.
Robert Downey, Jr., Tropic Thunder and Iron ManBy rooting itself in Downey’s smart-alecky, wordy egotism, Iron Man became the best superhero film of all time. I can’t remember the last time I saw a hero that I got so excited to root for. And as Kirk Lazarus, in the gut-bustingly hilarious Tropic Thunder, Downey captures Hollywood narcissism with controlled glee. He’s so far in character (in another character) that you’re willing to believe that he was once actually found “in a refrigerator box in an alley in Burbank trying to re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere.”
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