Plummer in Barrymore.

Christopher Plummer is, without contest, one of the greatest, most versatile and most distinguished actors of our time. Unbelievably, he was 82 years old when he won an Academy Award for Beginners, in the Best Supporting Actor category. It was the wrong prize, for the wrong film. What he really deserves is a Best Actor Oscar, for recreating his Tony Award-winning stage triumph as John Barrymore in William Luce’s dazzling one-man show Barrymore. Adapted to film by Canadian director Erik Canuel, it’s the role—and the performance—of a lifetime, and Plummer plays every color, nuance, mood and variety of vocal power and body language in his enormous range. The artistry leaves you with your mouth wide open.

The year is 1942, and America is still reeling from the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Barrymore is well past his prime and showing in his dewlaps the bitter ravages of nearly three decades of alcohol abuse. Diminished but still capable of holding attention, he desperately wants to make a comeback in one of his biggest triumphs, Richard III,a role he played to great acclaim in 1920. Times have been rough, jobs are scarce, and the once-great star of screen and stage is considered unemployable. So he rents an empty New York theater for one day, drags in his props, costumes and greasepaint, and dives in to brush up on his Shakespeare.

What he assumes will be a private rehearsal with only his long-suffering prompter Frank hidden in the darkness offstage actually turns out to be an extravagant, self-indulgent monologue acted out in front of a full house of imaginary fans. Sipping “vital life-sustaining potions from my pharmacist and the Jungle Club on Seventh Avenue,” he can’t even remember the opening “winter of our discontent” line. But as soon as his loyal yet frustrated prompter arrives to help him with the line readings he’s long forgotten, he warms to his audience of sycophants with such gusto that it’s clear he’s more interested in playing the ham than the hunchback king. “I need to be taken seriously once more—before the man in the colored nightgown takes me away,” he says, but he fills up the time by sharing rude limericks and irreverent show business in-jokes about the legends he’s worked with. Shaking with the tremors of a massive hangover while mixing giant Manhattans from his portable bar, he keeps the audience entertained with ribald jokes, including self-deprecating one-liners at his own expense. (“When I get out of bed in the morning, I sound like Carmen Miranda’s castanets.”)

Once his prompter arrives, it’s clear how far gone he is. He takes a break after only four lines, confuses Richard with Othello and Hamlet, and is constantly distracted by invasive memories of childhood, incarceration in a German sanitarium for drunks run by a Wagnerian crone he calls Frau Himmler, and working with Garbo in Dinner at Eight—launching into a vaudeville turn singing “I’ve Got a Gal in Kalamazoo.” Each line from Shakespeare cues another memory, and Mr. Plummer invests a physically and vocally demanding role with so much passion, pathos and wit that Barrymore becomes a celebration of not just one legendary star, but two. Conjuring images of theatrical rooming houses, toxic affairs with, and four disastrous marriages to, glamorous women who all turned out to be near-lethal—“Each one lasted seven years, like a skin rash”—he is never less than mesmerizing. At one point, he even falls asleep and begins to snore in the middle of a sentence. Reminiscing about the horror of his own father’s death from absinthe and syphilis, his pain is palpable. And he does cruel but hilarious impersonations of Louella Parsons, siblings Lionel and Ethel, and producer Samuel Goldwyn. When Goldwyn was planning to turn Lillian Hellman’s The Children’s Hour into a movie, Barrymore asked him, “You know it’s about two lesbians?” Goldwyn replied, “Well, we’ll make them Americans.”

When he emerges in full makeup and costume as the menacing, deformed Richard, you see vestiges of the old genius resurface—until he breaks character to sing “You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby.” Like Tallulah Bankhead, Barrymore became a caricature of his former self, captivated more by his own mad sense of humor than his fading art. Still, Mr. Plummer shines a light on every corner of his turbulent self-destruction with heartbreaking candor. He compares his failures in both Hollywood movies and the New York theatre as “Gomorrah with palm trees, or Sodom with subways—it’s the same thing.” And the film offers the best description I’ve ever heard of the relationship between actor and audience. “Whether it’s Barnum and Bailey or Broadway, it’s still the same great hulking monster—2,000 eyes and 20,000 teeth breathing out there in the darkness—withholding, teasing, waiting to make or break men like me.” Mr. Plummer was electrifying in the play, but with the camera’s circling movements on the empty stage, swooping in for elegant close-ups, he seems looser, freer and more inspired. You see both the violent rages and the subtle tears in his eyes with an intimacy you could never get on a proscenium, yet the star understands both mediums completely. Camping up an imitation of Louella Parsons or investing some of Shakespeare’s historic speeches with fury and panache, Christopher Plummer is the one-man show at the center of this one-man vehicle. He will leave you stunned and cheering. So bring out the Oscar. He deserves another one.

BARRYMORE

Running Time 83 minutes

Written by Erik Canuel (screen
adaptation) and William Luce (play)

Directed by Erik Canuel

Starring Christopher Plummer
and John Plumpis

4/4

rreed@observer.com

Plummer with his contemporary.

As we were otherwise unoccupied on Sunday night, we turned on the television to watch the 84th Academy Awards. “You’re only two years older than me,” Christopher Plummer crooned to his newly acquired gold statue, “Where have you been all my life?” Mr. Plummer won Best Supporting Actor for his role in The Beginners, giving him the distinction of being the oldest actor to ever win an Oscar. But by the end of the telecast, we’d all aged at least a couple of decades, as did Billy Crystal, who seemed to have peeked inside the Ark of the Covenant right before the broadcast.

The whole night was full of non-surprises. Meryl Streep won. The Artist won. And while Martin Scorsese didn’t exactly win for Hugo, the sound editing was really, really good! Robert Downey, Jr. pretended he was making a documentary about himself, which would have been more amusing had he actually been making a documentary about himself, and Angelina Jolie’s right leg made a special cameo, as did Jennifer Lopez’s nipple, if the Internet is to be believed. (And when is it not?) Before the end of the telecast, Ms. Jolie’s leg had its own Twitter feed. Sample tweets: “Look at me!” “I’m over here!!!!” “Look at meeee!!” If nothing else, it beautifully captures that very special strain of Hollywood narcissism, which can only be described as “MEEEEEE!!!!!!”

Octavia Davis, who may have been the only person involved immune to the dreaded MEEEEEE virus, gave the night’s most moving speech and looked radiant in Tadashi Shoji, while Ms. Streep effectively summarized the entire evening in her speech with, “But … whatever.” Woody Allen won for the first time since Hannah and Her Sisters, and didn’t show up, as always. We were expected to be impressed when Cirque du Soleil did a short “History in Cinema” aerobatic routine, but were dampened by the sight of Mr. Clooney rolling his eyes in the front row. To get his attention these days you can’t be a French-Canadian acrobat or an Italian model. He’s moved on to American wrestlers, which seems like a natural evolutionary sequence of sorts; we’re just not sure in which direction.

And as Mr. Crystal attempted to joke, “nothing can take the sting out of economic problems like watching millionaires collecting gold statues.” And nothing can take the entertainment out of the entertainment industry like doing the same.

Viola Davis at the SAG Awards (Getty Images)

Last night's Screen Actors Guild Awards shook up the Oscar race insofar as it was able to be shaken up. Sure bets in the supporting categories Octavia Spencer (The Help) and Christopher Plummer (Beginners) cleaned up again, while frontrunning lead actors George Clooney (The Descendants) and Meryl Streep (The Iron Lady) were dethroned.

The beneficiaries were Jean DuJardin, star of The Artist, and Viola Davis of The Help. Both Best Actor and Best Actress races remain occluded going into the Oscars. Mr. DuJardin's speech was charming but Benignivian in its loose grip on the English language, making him an uncompelling threat for the biggest trophy despite the fact that he's already won a Golden Globe. Ms. Davis's speech was brief and moving--dealing with her lifelong dream of acting and her late-in-life breakthrough--but may not be enough to push her ahead of Meryl Streep. (Ms. Davis, a friend and former castmate of Ms. Streep, paid her particular homage--she was inescapable even in her defeat.)

At the moment, Ms. Davis appears to be leading Harvey Weinstein's two candidates in the Best Actress field--Ms. Streep and Michelle Williams in My Week With Marilyn. Mr. Weinstein has little about which to worry--Mr. DuJardin's victory means that even if he can't top George Clooney, the Weinstein Company film in which he stars, The Artist, is stronger than can be fathomed. The Help's win for Best Ensemble poses little threat there.

Charlize Theron (Getty Images)

Newsweek's current issue features its annual pre-nominations "Oscar roundtable"--and either it'll look dated when nominations are announced tomorrow, or we need to adjust our predictions! The panelists are likely nominees George Clooney and Viola Davis (the working-it pair both recently appeared together on an Entertainment Weekly cover, too), as well as Christopher Plummer, Tilda Swinton, Michael Fassbender, and Charlize Theron.

How good is Newsweek at choosing panelists who will be Oscar-nominated? Some years are great--last year's panel featured six eventual nominees and both the Best Actor and Best Actress--and others less predictive. In the past ten Oscar panels (discounting the two panels speaking to five directors apiece, of whose number eight ended up nominated), 48 actors have been interviewed about their Oscar hopeful performances, with eight missing the mark. These "losers" include Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, and Naomi Watts, so their inclusion isn't exactly surprising.

The rate of an Oscar roundtabler getting an Oscar nomination, 40 of 48, is exactly a 5/6 probability--so one of the current panelists (sorry, Charlize! We really loved Young Adult) will probably have talked about the Oscars a bit presumptively.

Michelle Williams--who will be nominated. Who else will join her? (Getty Images)

Tomorrow morning will bring that early-morning announcement of this year's Oscar nominees--with the attention-desperate wrinkle that no one knows how many nominees there will be. Herewith, our predictions, for last-minute entries into your office pool (if yours is the sort of office at which Oscar nominations are the subject of a pool. Ours is not, which is why we're writing a blog post).

Best Picture

The Artist

The Descendants

The Help

Hugo

Midnight in Paris

We know any number of films between five and ten can be nominated for Best Picture, but with The Artist and The Descendants sucking up so much oxygen and so many first-place votes, it's easy to imagine no sixth choice gathering enough steam. The likely sixth entry, if there is one, would be Moneyball--but aren't many of those voters who love "adult dramas" more likely to vote in the buzzier Descendants first?

Best Director

Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris

David Fincher, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Michel Hazanavicius, The Artist

Alexander Payne, The Descendants

Martin Scorsese, Hugo

Mr. Allen, Mr. Scorsese, and Mr. Hazanavicius are clear locks, and Mr. Payne will get in on the strength of his film's reputation. For the fifth spot, Mr. Fincher and Steven Spielberg seem the likeliest (The Help's debut director, Tate Taylor, did not particularly distinguish himself), but the total fade of War Horse's repute gives the advantage to Mr. Fincher for what would be his third nomination in four years.

Best Actor

George Clooney, The Descendants

Jean DuJardin, The Artist

Michael Fassbender, Shame

Ryan Gosling, The Ides of March

Brad Pitt, Moneyball

Leonardo DiCaprio has been nominated for all manner of precursor awards for his role in J. Edgar, but that movie's disappeared from theaters and from the minds of viewers who've seen many, many better movies by now (J. Edgar really is uniquely terrible). Anyone who loves biographical films about controversial figures gets to vote one in with Meryl Streep in Best Actress--and the surprise nominee might be Ryan Gosling, who does nothing too special in The Ides of March but who'd be a big enough star to stand alongside Mr. Clooney and Mr. Pitt.

Best Actress

Glenn Close, Albert Nobbs

Viola Davis, The Help

Rooney Mara, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Meryl Streep, The Iron Lady

Michelle Williams, My Week With Marilyn

Ms. Streep, Ms. Davis, and Ms. Williams have all won early awards, and Ms. Close helped produce her own movie, in which she plays a traditionally bait-y role as a female impersonating a male. The notion that four people in Oscar-bait roles would be joined by Tilda Swinton in the avant-garde We Need to Talk About Kevin stretches credulity--silent for long stretches and chronologically disjointed, this doesn't seem like the sort of role that gets an actress to the Kodak. The narrative around Rooney Mara--plucked out of nowhere in the most extensive casting search since Scarlett O'Hara--seems to coalesce towards a surprise nomination.

Best Supporting Actor

Kenneth Branagh, My Week With Marilyn

Armie Hammer, J. Edgar

Jonah Hill, Moneyball

Nick Nolte, Warrior

Christopher Plummer, Beginners

Mr. Plummer is so far ahead here that the rest of the nominees seem plucked from thin air--an impersonation of Lawrence Olivier? Sure! A fairly quiet turn by a popular comic? Definitely! An attempt at a comeback in a movie no one saw? Okay! Armie Hammer's nomination seems the least likely, but the energy he brought to J. Edgar could make him the one element of the film they nominate.

Best Supporting Actress

Bérénice Bejo, The Artist

Jessica Chastain, The Help

Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids

Octavia Spencer, The Help

Shailene Woodley, The Descendants

Three movies with huge amounts of apparent support carry their supporting stars towards a nomination, with the addition of Melissa McCarthy, taking the spot that some believe might have gone to Janet McTeer in the little-seen Albert Nobbs.

Best Original Screenplay

50/50

The Artist

Bridesmaids

Midnight in Paris

Young Adult

This category seems fairly open--besides the two Best Picture nominees, the three other top entries are not traditionally Oscar-y comedies. The Writers' Guild of America nominated Win Win, a sort-of comedy also, here, but that movie seems even less up Oscar's alley than Young Adult, a movie in which past winner Diablo Cody deals with her relationship with fame.

Best Adapted Screenplay

The Descendants

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

The Help

Hugo

Moneyball

This category, on the other hand, has the real heat--it's hard to imagine anything sneaking into a set of screenplays this popular. It's also one of the few categories with true suspense as to the winner--because the real speculation only begins on Tuesday.

Golden Globe-winner Madonna, singer of "American Life." (Getty Images)

The most likely, of last night's awards, to an awards-show junkie in 2002 imagining the hazy future:

1. Meryl Streep. Sure! Bet the speech was great.

2. Christopher Plummer. Glad he's still around!

3. Martin Scorsese. He deserves some recognition!

4. George Clooney. Did he win for playing Cary Grant?

Middling likelihood--not impossible to imagine, but sort of weird:

5. Michelle Williams. It's nice that the girl from Dawson's Creek figured it out. But if Michelle Williams has a Golden Globe, Katie Holmes must have two Oscars, right?

6. Claire Danes. It's nice, and unexpected, that the girl from My So-Called Life figured it out. So, is Jordan Catalano a movie star?

7. Jessica Lange. She's not a recluse in 2012? She says lines, on camera, and not just to the mirror in her creepy haunted mansion? Oh, she played an old witchy lady living in a mansion full of ghosts--that makes much more sense. Moving her up to spot #3.

Very weird:

7. Kelsey Grammer. Frasier is still on? They convinced the cast to keep coming back? Wow, NBC must be the number-one network!

8. Matt LeBlanc. Friends is still on? See above.

9. No one accepted their award riding a hoverboard. Truly tests credulity of what 2012 will be like.

10. Madonna. Did "original song from a movie" stop being a thing that really exists, with integrity, at all? What a terrifying future!

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

Up in the Air

What's the story: Whether you think he's another example of Hollywood nepotism, a slick and heartless huckster, a budding talent on the level of Billy Wilder or, a combination of all three, one thing is certain: Jason Reitman is a force to be reckoned with. Just two years after Juno became a cultural phenomenon and scored him a Best Director nomination, Mr. Reitman returns with Up in the Air, which has already been tapped as an Oscar front-runner. The National Board of Review named it the best film of the year, something both Slumdog Millionaire and No Country for Old Men—the last two Best Picture winners—can lay claim to winning as well. Based on the novel by Walter Kirn, Up in the Air stars George Clooney as Ryan Bingham, a corporate grim reaper who spends his life traveling around the country firing those less fortunate, until a newbie (New Moon's Anna Kendrick) threatens to make his job obsolete. Timeliness alert! The notices on Mr. Clooney have been effusive (what else is new?), but don't sleep on Ms. Kendrick or Vera Farmiga (as the woman he falls for along the way), both of whom could find themselves as Supporting Actress nominees. This is probably one you shouldn't miss.

Who should see it: Ivan Reitman.

Brothers

What's the story: Speaking of timeliness, say hello to Brothers! Jim Sheridan's remake of Susanne Bier's 2004 Danish film focuses on the war in Afghanistan and its impact on our troops. When Captain Sam Cahill (Tobey Maguire) is presumed dead, his ne'er-do-well ex-con brother, Tommy (Maguire doppelgänger Jake Gyllenhaal), becomes the man of the house, watching over Sam's wife (Natalie Portman) and two children. But when Sam turns up alive, you better believe differences occur. The ad campaign for Brothers paints it like a straight-up thriller, but don't believe everything you see on television. According to the middling reviews, Brothers is a lot more introverted than Lionsgate would have you believe.

Who should see it: Barack Obama.

Everybody's Fine

What's the story: The "dysfunctional family holiday film" subgenre gets another member with the release of Everybody's Fine, a remake of Guiseppe Tornatore's Stanno tutti Bene. Robert De Niro stars as a recent widower who visits his estranged children (Sam Rockwell, Drew Barrymore, Kate Beckinsale), hoping to reconnect. The reviews have been tepid at best and eviscerating at worst, so we'd advise you to tread lightly. Kudos, though, to whoever thought to cast Mr. Rockwell as Mr. De Niro's son. Seriously, that's genius.

Who should see it: Al Pacino.

Also opening this weekend: Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer add to their Oscar bona fides in The Last Station; Cheryl Hines directs Serious Moonlight, written by the late Adrienne Shelly; Matt Dillon and a host of B-listers plot an armored car heist in Armored; and something called Translymania comes out, too.

Best Actor: Jeff Bridges, Crazy Heart

Is Fox Searchlight contractually obligated to release one film per year with a veteran actor in a career-defining showcase performance? Last year it was Mickey Rourke who delighted audiences in The Wrestler; this year, it looks poised to be Mr. Bridges in Crazy Heart. For those unfamiliar with the film, consider it The Wrestler gone country. Mr. Bridges plays an aging performer on his last legs hoping for one last... yadda yadda yadda. The film might seem trite, but the buzz on Mr. Bridges—who, as the trailer happily points out, is a four-time nominee—is already borderline deafening. Though Crazy Heart doesn't come out for another two weeks, he already feels penciled in as a nominee and perhaps could be a favorite to take home Oscar gold.

Best Supporting Actor: Woody Harrelson, The Messenger

Call him Jeff Bridges, Jr. The long-beloved Mr. Harrelson has only been nominated once (for The People vs. Larry Flynt), but there is a very good chance that he'll wind up in the running next year. Best Supporting Actor is one of the weaker categories on the docket (lest we forget—and God love him—but people were taking Zack Galifianakis somewhat seriously as a contender for The Hangover), and Mr. Harrelson's work in The Messengers, as a casualty notification agent for the army, has been universally acclaimed. Whether voters actually sit-down and watch the little-seen indie film is a different story, but, hey, that's what screeners are for!

Best Feature: The Last Station

If you've never heard of The Last Station, don't worry: you're probably not alone. But we have a feeling everyone is going to be sure of its existence come Oscar night. The film tied Precious—the ostensible belle of the ball—with five nominations (in addition to Best Feature, nods went to director Michael Hoffman and stars Helen Mirren and Christopher Plummer), and if the early reviews are any indication, the plaudits won't stop there. Our own Rex Reed outright gushed about The Last Station, saying it "should be accompanied by the sound of trumpets" and calling it "passionate, profound and unforgettable." With ten slots to fill for Best Picture, will it surprise anyone when The Last Station shows up on the not-short list?

Let the drums roll. The arrival of a movie with as much intelligence and artistry as The Last Station should also be accompanied by the sound of trumpets. For the legions of movie lovers who lament the passing of great filmmaking, don’t give up yet. This one is for you.

A period costume biopic about the last days of the magnificent Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy may not seem like box office gold in the age of aliens and teenage vampires, but the author of War and Peace and Anna Karenina is still considered one of the greatest writers who ever lived, and his story is filled with the turbulence and drama that makes for epic grandeur; attention must be paid. With lush landscapes, gorgeous clothes and estates and fabulous acting by a distinguished cast headed by Christopher Plummer and Helen Mirren, this film has so much to savor and applaud that I scarcely know where to begin. Yet The Last Station is never arch, stuffy, highbrow or remote. It never keeps the audience at a distance. There’s no question that a historical drama about the death of a Russian icon will be a hard sell. But, written and directed with skill, sensitivity and humor by Michael Hoffman, it is as entertaining as it is literate. I find it rapturous and perfect.

The year is 1910, Russia is feverish with visionary Communists, the smell of revolution is in the air and everyone keeps a diary. (The movie is based on the 1990 novel by Jay Parini, which, in turn, was based on the diaries of all the characters involved.) Tolstoy (Mr. Plummer), who heads a pacifist movement that preaches passive resistance, truth, freedom and sexual abstinence, and eschews Russian royalty, free thinking, organized religion, the accumulation of wealth, the owning of private property and eating anything but vegetables, is caught in a tug of war between a scheming disciple, Vladimir Chertkov (Paul Giamatti), a rabid Trotskyite who persuades him to leave all of his royalties to the Russian people, and his wife of nearly 50 years, the Countess Sofya (Helen Mirren), a jealous, overripe and hysterical drama queen who demands that he will his estate to his family for posterity. She loves her husband, but does not worship him as a spiritual prophet of God. In fact, she knows his character flaws so well that she cannot bear any more talk of hero worship, or giving away their land to the peasants. She wants to protect the works of Tolstoy for her children’s inheritance and considers Chertkov a phony sycophant and an evil influence with political ambitions of his own. “If I had a wife like you, I would have blown my brains out—or gone to America!” yells Mr. Giamatti in a clownish outburst of the kind of eye-rolling overacting that has become his trademark.

Caught in the middle is Tolstoy’s new secretary, Valentin (James McAvoy, from Atonement and The Last King of Scotland), a dedicated follower of Tolstoy’s doctrine who falls from grace in the arms of a beautiful servant (Kerry Condon), who initiates him in the pleasures of sex, to the thrill of Countess Sofya. After his wife tries to drown herself in a lake, the great writer leaves home, but falls ill in a lonely country railway station in the middle of the Russian winter, with Sofya at his side. This scene demonstrates pure poetic license; the Countess was never permitted to visit her husband’s death bed, although the Russian senate did award her all of Tolstoy’s copyrights four years after he died.

The Last Station brims with revelations about the human lives and the culture the Russians sacrificed in the name of Communist idealism. It is full of ideas, clearly detailed and vividly acted by an exemplary cast. Mr. McAvoy grows sympathetically from a tender, star-struck Valentin, deployed to spy on the countess but winning her confidence and friendship, to a man of the world, losing his faith in Tolstoy as a saint and losing his virginity in the bargain. Ms. Mirren, who is half-Russian herself, plays the flamboyant Sofya with fire and ice, igniting the screen with warmth, poise, ecstasy and intoxicating intensity. Amid the waxed mustaches and astrakhan hats, Mr. Plummer is magnetic as Tolstoy—stooped, bearded and snowy as the landscape. His memorable death scene, on the level of King Lear, is the apogee of what great acting aspires to be.

The Last Station opens this week for a seven-day trial run to qualify for Oscars, then returns on a regular basis in January. Do not wait. Experience the adrenalin rush early. This movie is passionate, profound and unforgettable.

rreed@observer.com