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Here we are, knee-deep in the 2003 Awards Season, and one thing is shaping up as a certainty: Steven Spielberg is not getting the love.
Despite directing two widely lauded films, Señor Spielbergo hasn't earned a single nod from any of the critics' groups. He wasn't even nominated by the Director's Guild of America. Meanwhile, at the Golden Globes, he had to sit by and watch as Chicago's neophyte director, Rob Marshall, was heralded repeatedly as the second coming of Cecil B. DeMille, with a sprinkle of Orson Welles on top. Then Martin Scorsese took the award.
Now here's the early line on the Oscars: Scorsese, the director everyone loves, will take Best Director for Gangs of New York, the film no one can get excited about. Chicago will take everything else. (It's starting to take on that Gladiator aura of inevitability, isn't it?) Steven Spielberg, on the other hand, will sit in the audience and smile politely while surrounded by his posse: Kate Capshaw, Tom Hanks, and a few rows of WWII vets, ready to rumble with anyone who looks askance at them.
And so we say it: Pity poor Steve Spielberg.
It's not that he needs more acclaim. He's already got two Best Director Oscars and one Best Picture award. He won the Irving G. Thalberg way back in 1987. He's long been established as Hollywood's ultimate name brand, more famous than all but a handful of stars. He's so famous that "Spielberg" is in the spell-check of your computer.
So we won't be crying tiny tears for Mr. Spielberg. And we also know that many of you, faithful readers, likely wrote him off a long time ago. In fact, you've probably used the phrase "Spielbergian" in a conversation over coffee to sneeringly dismiss some treacly piece of Hollywood pap. We certainly have.
We're also old enough to remember when Spielberg was churning out Spielberg-branded movies like Gremlins and The Goonies, directed by his clone army of underlings. We also remember sitting through Always, his sad and sappy firemen-in-airplanes movie in 1989. We also remember SeaQuest DSV.
So we understand that Spielberg neither needs more love nor, in many eyes, particularly deserves it. But we do think it might be nice if someone pointed out that, in 2002, Spielberg made two of the best movies of his career, and two of the best movies of the year.
Sure, that Matlock ending kind of soured Minority Report (call it Murder, She Precogged), but up to that point the film was fast and fun and smart and pretty to look at. And Catch Me If You Can was even better.
For which we can thank the fact that, apparently, Spielberg just doesn't give a rat's ass about his reputation anymore. He's got all the awards. He's got all the money. Now he can do whatever the hell he wants.
Which, of course, is great news. It's especially great news for anyone who endured such leaden grabs at respectability as Amistad and A.I. Spielberg spent most of the '90s trying to convince everyone he was a Serious Director, and not just the late 20th century's answer to Walt Disney. Thankfully, he now seems to be over that. He's decided instead to make expertly crafted, really fun movies. Last year he made two of them. We would be happy if, next year, he made two more.
He could hardly be more famous. But he's finally putting all that fame to good use, rather than using it to further the career of Robert Zemeckis. So we'll say it proudly, even if none of the award juries will: Bravo, Señor Spielbergo!
And gracias.
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