As of today, I am a pop music blogger for Logo TV’s New Now Next.

That’s right! I’m getting paid to write about pop songs by the same people who bring you RuPaul’s Drag Race. I’ll be posting around 5 stories per week, and I’ll basically be covering music the way I covered it here. Please come join me at my new home!

My New Now Next posts will always be archived right here.

As for The Critical Condition: I’m not abandoning it. I just won’t be updating it unless I’ve got something I really want to say. Check in from time to time and say hello!

If you ever want to chat, drop a comment here, on my New Now Next posts, or tweet me at @IAmBlankenship.

Here’s to the future, y’all!

No joke: The worldview in Warrior, the fighting movie that scored an Oscar nomination for Nick Nolte, makes me shiver. It’s terrifying. And I just wrote about why at NPR’s Monkey See.

Here’s an excerpt:

make no mistake, Warrior wants us to know it has a philosophy. Consider younger brother Tommy Conlon (Tom Hardy): Within the first ten minutes, we’re told he was an undefeated young wrestling champion, which made people compare him to the ancient Greek fighter Theogenes. We even see the family’s homemade chart comparing Theogenes’ and Tommy’s records. Young Conlon is less a man than a heroic ballad waiting to be sung.

And the MMA tournament the Conlons join? The winner-take-all competition that nets the champion $5 million? It’s called Sparta.

And Paddy Conlon? The father? He wallows in regret about his drunken past by listening to Moby-Dick on tape. He even gets so loaded that he confuses himself with Ahab. Could that mean his sons, who were alienated by his addiction, have become his white whales? Maybe so.

You can read the full essay here. (And if I may be tacky… I’m really proud of this one!)

You guys, Elizaveta’s music is weird. Her album Beatrix Runs, which was physically released yesterday after arriving in digital form a few weeks ago, fuses opera, chamber pop, and electronica into this Regina Spektor-Tori Amos-Enya combination that really stands out from everything else I listen to. I only discovered her work, in fact, because it was on the iTunes homepage. (Nice work on that ad buy, Universal Records!)

But here’s the thing: Elizaveta’s music is also entrancing. I’m running out to see two plays today, so I can’t really get into it right now. But I wanted to put this in front of your ears. Take a listen to the songs embedded below, and then let’s discuss more thoroughly in the comments section.

(1) “Dreamer”  — The first single. Charming, bubbly.

(2) “Armies of Your Heart” — An electronic dalliance. Vaguely recalls The Postal Service.

(3) “Odi Et Amo” — Oh, are we in the 19th century? Is that a soprano high note and a thousand classical allusions? Why not?

You know how sometimes you feel like you’re in an actual, romantic relationship with a TV show? A few days ago, my friend Casey and I G-chatted about that, and we started thinking about all the different types of TV romances we’ve had. The broken, the beautiful… we covered it all. And just in time for Valentine’s Day!

Which TV relationships would YOU add to this conversation?

——

Casey: I think I’m about to break up with a show, and I’m sad.

Mark: Which show?

Casey: Dexter

Mark: We never even went on a first date.

Casey: I used to LOVE this show. And then Julia Stiles ruined it for me forever.

Mark: She can do that.

Casey: Hell yes, she can

Mark: Andrew and I haven’t said it aloud, but I think we’re close to calling it off with 30 Rock. Monkey See ran this great piece about how Liz Lemon has devolved from a woman to a little girl, and it really articulated my problems with the last few seasons.

Casey: 30 Rock and I only went on a couple of dates. It’s always been one shade too wacky for me.

Has anyone written anything about these relationships with TV shows, and how it’s like a real relationship? We should do that.

Mark: We really should. I’ve written from that perspective a few times, but never about the actual phenomenon.

Casey: We can talk about how Lost beat us but always apologized in the last three minutes of every episode, and I left but you stayed. And how Dexter convinced me to have a threesome with Julia Stiles, and it ruined our relationship forever.

Mark: Also, I had this tawdry fling with Blue Bloods. I knew he wasn’t as smart as me, but he had this dockworker muskiness that I thought was really sexy. But I knew it would never work. I kept apologizing to my friends every time I mentioned him.
Casey: How about how long I stayed with American Idol because of the potential we had, but how I always knew it couldn’t live up to that potential? Then it got resentful of my expectations and sucked more and more.

Mark: Or how I stopped feeling passion for Law & Order after 10 years, but we stayed great friends until the end.

Speaking of “the end:” I like this line of thought because all these relationships are so wistfully romantic. Inevitably, your lover always dies. You can develop a fondness for their memory every time.

Casey: Or, on the other hand, if they did something that really fucked you over, you doubt that there was anything good about the relationship. Which is totally how I feel about Lost. Now when I think of it, I just feel like an asshole. Like I got duped.

Mark: And then there’s Mad Men, which I just started dating so all my friends would think I was cool. And then, whoops, I fell in love.

Casey: See, whereas all my friends keep saying, “You guys would be perfect together!” But something about it seems creepy, and I’m turned off. And then, there’s Weeds, which I should love, but it has this really annoying laugh… so every time we’re on a date and I hear that laugh, I want to run from the room.

Mark: Oh, and then there’s Glee, which loves me way more than I love it. And which keeps calling all my friends, asking how I’m doing.

Casey: From minute one, I have seen through that bullshit.

Mark: I feel like Smash might be the same for me. But I’m hanging in.

Casey: It’s like that blind date your mom set you up on, the one with the urologist, and every five minutes on that date, he keeps going, “Did you know I’m a doctor?’

Mark: Hahaha! So true. Do you know Downton Abbey?

Casey:I know of it, but I’m resisting.

Mark: Here’s the thing. It seems like a fancy PBS miniseries full of private emotions, but it’s actually a tawdry soap opera. It’s the very definition of “Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

Casey: Fantastic. I think you just convinced me to start watching it.

Mark: You’ll love it. In the very first episode, a bitchy gay man publicly humiliates a cripple, just for fun.

Casey:WHAT? YES!!!! I already love it.

Also, you and I have similar feelings about Six Feet Under. The relationship was so amazing at the beginning, and then there was this period where we secretly hated each other, but were staying together for the kids and the house and stuff. And then, right when we were ready to give up, it made this amazing romantic gesture that made us fall in love all over again.

Mark: Exactly. And I wondered how we could have fought in the first place.

Casey: Meanwhile, SVU is kind of like a booty call for me. Like, when I’m really bored and horny, and I literally cannot think of another option, there’s always SVU.

Mark: There’s probably an SVU episode with this exact plotline: Booty calls gone wrong.

NOTE: That image up there is by Banksy

Last night, Pee-wee Herman was the guest judge on Top Chef. And I don’t mean that “Paul Reubens, the actor who plays Pee-wee Herman” was a guest judge. No. I mean that Paul Reubens in character as Pee-wee Herman showed up for the Quickfire and opined on everyone’s pancakes. Then he told them they’d be riding bicycles to pick up ingredients around San Antonio before serving him lunch at the Alamo. You know, because Pee-wee’s Big Adventure revolves around a lost bicycle and the supposed basement of the Alamo. And that’s really relevant because that movie came out in August of 1985, making this… no kind of anniversary.

But look: I don’t even care about the speciousness of the theme. What bothers me is thatTop Chef degraded itself and its contestants (as well as Reubens) by having everyone pretend that Pee-wee Herman was a real person. Never once did they acknowledge he was playing a character, yet everyone’s pained eyes told us they were straining to act like they enjoyed the charade. Let me break it down like this:

* The contestants suffered because they had to turn their legitimate art into a grotesque sideshow.

* Paul Reubens suffered because unlike other guest judges, he wasn’t given the dignity of legitimately engaging in a discussion of the food. Instead, it seemed like there were producers standing just off-camera with a gun at his head, saying, “Make a joke about loving beef cheeks so much you want to marry them!” Watching his flop-sweaty display made me feel nauseated, particularly because like the chefs, Reubens is a smart, talented person who might have had something more to offer as himself than as his character.

When Charlize Theron came on a few weeks ago, the show developed an entire theme around the fact that she’s playing the wicked queen in that new Snow White movie. The chefs had to cook her something “evil” and the food was served in a Gothic setting. But otherwise, people got to act normal. Charlize was just Charlize. She wasn’t cackling over the forbidden rice and pretending it was going to help her catch that poor young waif in the forest. That freed her up to have legitimate thoughts and interactions, which also freed up the chefs to be creative yet also professional. It was a great episode—one of my favorites in the history of the series, in fact—and its strengths were magnified by this week’s pitiful descent into the world of make believe.

* Top Chef itself suffered because the producers clearly ignored what makes the show work and what makes Pee-wee work. At its best, Top Chef is a savvy celebration of the skill and intensity of professional chefs. That is not an environment for a frantic man-child… or least not a man-child who doesn’t know how to sear a duck breast. And at his best, Pee-wee Herman lives in a world that mirrors his mania. He makes sense in a playhouse where the clock and the floor and the local cow can make jokes. His presence in the Top Chef kitchen is tantamount to going to your senior prom and noticing that one girl’s date is dressed like a clown.

This is exactly what happened on Project Runway: All-Stars a few weeks ago when the designers had to “create a look” for Miss Piggy. They acted like they had thoughts about her and her “style.” The judges had to fucking consult her about her opinions on the dresses. It was just so ludicrous and insulting, and it made me feel like I was watching a children’s show parody of my favorite programming.

And I’m not saying a faux guest can’t work in any context. Top Chef: All-Stars featured a Quickfire where the Muppets judged cookies, and everyone pretended they were real. But you know what? That lasted 5 minutes, and then the show brought in a real judge for the main challenge.

I understand that reality competitions can’t just keep airing the same old challenges, and I understand that the producers have to come up with something every week. They took a gamble here, and it didn’t pay off. But still. I couldn’t just say nothing. I couldn’t just pretend I was okay with that clown at the prom

As I was making my daily internet rounds this morning, I came across an especially delightful essay in the New York Times by Leslie Kaufman. Titled “My Sons, the Sous-Chefs” it chronicles her recent decision to get her sons—one 14, one 10—to be responsible for cooking some of the family meals, and if I were teaching a writing seminar, I’d use it as an example of how to turn a personal experience into masterful prose.

Kaufman’s craft starts shining in the fourth paragraph. After opening with a standard “mystery/revelation” construction—in which she creates the “mystery” of a sophisticated diner praising a subpar meal, then “reveals” that the chef is her teenage son—she lays out her thesis like this:

I cannot remember exactly when it occurred to me that my children should be cooking dinner for me instead of the other way around.

It almost certainly came at the end of a typical long workday: I rush home from the office, start hustling in the kitchen even before my coat is off and then, maybe 15 minutes later, a child stumbles downstairs from playing a video game. He peers into a bubbling pot and moans, “Not pasta again,” or “Don’t you know I hate tomatoes?”

It would be easy for her to cast her cooking lessons as feminist actions on behalf of her male children, and really, I guess they are. But rather than banging that drum, Kaufman makes the point gently. She introduces herself as a harried character who cooks pasta, which is pretty standard fare, especially considering that her son was introduced as making seared duck breast. Then she describes her son’s typical teenage behavior but has the grace not to comment on it. She just lets the details create a picture of him (and her.) If we want to read feminist (or other) themes into the work, then we can, but we have to do it ourselves.

Even better, she keeps describing her family’s “flaws” throughout the story, never once reducing herself to grand moral statements or easy conclusions. “I made it clear that they could cook only when an adult was in shouting distance,” she writes. “But the goal was to have them plan and execute the meal on their own while I commuted home or ran errands — or drank a glass of wine on the couch.” That’s right, sister! She can be a good mom who creates boundaries and rules, but she can still have the self-interested desire to drink wine. She makes herself human.

Further down, Kaufman also admits that she makes mistakes in how she responds to her sons’ efforts, describing a scene where she tosses some undercooked meat back into boiling water. Her son freaks, she freaks, doors are slammed. “Sam stormed upstairs in a fury and despite my apology missed what turned out to be a very delicious meal,” she writes. “Later, he said he would have preferred serving the dish the way the recipe said to. If the meat wasn’t cooked enough, he would have put the bowls in the microwave. It’s not what I would have done, but it was his meal, and I should have let him make his own mistakes, too.”

And again, for me, these details make Kaufman and her family seem like flawed, loving people who care and screw up and try to grow. It sounds pretty sentimental when I put it that way, but the story itself never uses this language. It lets the reader come to these conclusions privately, which is incredibly flattering.

The story ends with a glorious triumph for her oldest boy, which just clarifies that what Kaufman’s really doing here is writing a short story disguised as a food column. I don’t know if all of it’s true or if some of it has been exaggerated, but who cares? The essay creates a sharp portrait of a family at work and offers some deeper things to ponder. I can’t ask for more from this kind of thing.

I don’t have a particular reason for writing this post today, except that I’ve been meaning to write it for a while. In late 2010, I had the good fortune to see this embedded performance of William Finn’s Elegies, a song cycle he wrote about the people in his life who had passed away. Finn—who also wrote Falsettos and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee—is my favorite musical theatre composer because his lyrics burst with unusual details that make the characters feel remarkably alive. Matched with his complex-yet-accessible melodies, his words make each song feel like missives from a peculiar, beautiful world.

Elegies is especially rich with songs like that. In “Infinite Joy,” for instance, the singer reflects on the philosophy of a departed loved one:

“Goodness is rewarded.
Hope is guaranteed.
Laughter builds strong bones.
Right will intercede.
Things you said, I often find I need.”

But more than that philosophy, the singer reflects on how easy that philosophy has become to adopt—how much and how potently it makes the drab daily world seem astonishing. And that’s where the specificity elevates the lyrics:

“I see the world through your eyes:
I taste lemon on my lips.
I marvel at the sailing ships
of well-dressed girls and boys.
You told me life
has infinite joys.”

Lemon on the lips. Such a distinct sensation. Marveling at beautiful children on a ship. Such a lovely thing to imagine marvelling at. And it tells you so much about this person who has died. It makes them stand just behind your chair.

And brilliantly, the song is also vague enough to let us fill in the rest. We don’t even know the gender of this person, but we know that he or she found bottomless happiness everywhere, even in the taste of lemon.

That’s something a lot of composers miss, I think. A song like this doesn’t work if you’re just reciting everything you and your lover bought at the market yesterday. Even in its specificity,the song has to give the listener’s mind something to do. It has to tantalize, not delineate, our imagination.

And that leads me to the one-two punch of “14 Dwight Ave., Natick, Massachusetts” and “When the Earth Stopped Turning,” two songs that tell one continuous story. Watch this clip—from the performance I saw at Pace University in Manhattan—and see if you’re as moved by these songs as I always am. (Forgive the home video quality.)

Here are a few things I know:

(1) The simple premise of “14 Dwight Ave., Natick, Massachusetts”—a dying woman and her son take a last, celebratory drive around the town where they lived, ending on the street where the woman raised her family—could make me cry without music or lyrics. The energy and gratitude and kindness behind this idea sums up how I always want to live (even if I don’t always succeed.)

(2) Speaking of specificity vs. imaginative possibility: We learn a lot about this woman, and more importantly, we learn how she feels about the details she shares. And late in the song, when she sings her own name, Barbara Finn, she strikes me as a woman who has etched her name on the world. She’s certain that her life has meant something, and you can hear it in the confident chords playing beneath her. But at the same time, she never actually says, “I’m dying.” She just tells us she has her oxygen in tow on her ride around town, and that she knows it will be her final trip. She focuses entirely on the beloved and the positive, and we are free to understand what else is there. How lovely of William Finn, to trust that we will get it.

(3) And how lovely, too, that not every detail on Barbara’s drive is an all-time hit. She and her son Michael pass the houses of people they hardly knew. But oh, listen to the rush of music beneath them anyway. There’s bliss even in these trivial places because time is running out. It’s like Emily looking at Grover’s Corners for the last time or Romeo’s eyes drinking their final image of Juliet: It’s life. It’s life. No matter which silly corner you’re looking at, you want more and more and more of it.

(4) The rushing vitality of this song is perfectly matched by the soft, devastated beauty of “When the Earth Stopped Turning,” and because we’ve met Barbara, we understand exactly what Michael has lost. And again, my god, the details. The overwhelming smell of powder in the air. The fact that they laughed until they cried, even tough they knew what was coming. This clarity of memory strikes me as exactly right. I was by my grandmother’s side when she died, and I feel like I remember everything. I remember what was on the hospital television. I remember what my mother said as her mother slipped away.

(5) I also love that the song slips around in time. Sometimes, Michael sings in the preset tense, sometimes in the past. Sometimes, he remembers her death. Sometimes her remembers her life. It’s all there, jumbled, yet Finn’s music keeps it structured and moving forward. He makes the confusion of grief comprehensible.

(6) And a few times, Michael stops himself from grieving. The music drops out for a moment, then returns with bold new chords, pounding and insistent, when Michael recalls:

“‘The world is good,’ you said.
‘Enjoy its highs,’ you said.
‘The summer flies,’ you said.
‘So make a parade.’”

And the music soars with the word “flies” and stretches out the word “parade” with contemplative wonder, and oh my god, I’m breaking down, because here it is again: That evocation of a philosophy. That use of dramaturgical structure to point out that life is worth living every, every minute. Am I a sucker for this narrative? Yes. But let’s all be. Let’s all be.

Ahem. So there they are. Two songs that always remind me to make a parade.

The Oscar nominations are being announced tomorrow morning, and unlike most recent years, I’m not really jazzed about the frontrunners. I mean, I liked The Artist well enough, and I didn’t hate The Descendants, though that little brat of a teenage boy sure pulled me out of the story every five seconds. When a film has a character that is so obviously inserted into scenes just to let the filmmaker make a joke or a point, then I get annoyed. (For an excellent report on that movie’s limitations, check out Sarah Bunting’s write-up.)

Where was I? Oh, right. Frontrunners. I’ve also been up front about why The Help left me frustrated and Midnight in Paris made me wish Woody Allen hadn’t soured his sweet little films by indulging his desire to scorn Republicans.

There were, however, many films I enjoyed in 2011. To celebrate them, I’ve created a dream Oscar ballot for Best Picture and the acting categories. What’s on your fantasy list?

Standard warnings apply: I haven’t seen quite a few critically lauded films from 2011, but “A Separation”  and “Margaret” will just have to wait.

BEST PICTURE

What isn’t here?

The above-mentioned films, as well as War Horse. Because.. you guys? I can’t. I saw the play, I saw the movie, and I just can’t. I simply do not care about the magic horsey, and I think the boy who signs up for a war just to follow the horsey around has a mental disease. (It’s much more apparent in the play, by the way, that the kid goes traipsing off to the trenches to find his pony.) Slap on Spielberg’s sentimental hoo-hah about sons and fathers and I am out.

Dream nominees (in alphabetical order)

(1) Beginners — This is my favorite movie of 2011, for all these reasons and for the ongoing impact of Ewan McGregor and Christopher Plummer’s performances.

(2) Drive — Brutal and elegant and beautiful and scary, Drive was the best action movie I saw this year. Ryan Gosling and Carey Mulligan both do great work, and if Albert Brooks gets his expected Oscar nomination for playing a vicious gangster, he will absolutely deserve it. Between him and Plummer, this year’s Supporting Actor race should kick ass.

(3) Hanna — Oh my god, please see this movie. It’s a diseased fairy tale, a spy caper, and a blackly comic masterpiece. I’ve raved about it already, but let me reiterate: It makes the story of a child assassin feel archetypal, like a howl rising up from our shared cultural narrative.

(4) Higher Ground – Vera Farmiga directs and stars in this lovely, tough, and intelligent story about a woman wrestling with her conservative Christian church. It’s the rare movie that takes faith seriously—neither overselling nor mocking it—and by showing us both how deeply the characters want their religion and how desperately some of them need to escape it, it crawls right inside my heart.

(5) Hugo — Look! I loved a movie that will probably get a Best Picture nomination! And seriously, I did love this movie. Martin Scorsese directs with such obvious passion that I tumble into the story of a young French boy who secretly lives in a train station and ends up meeting one of the world’s great filmmakers. It’s an utter fantasy that’s grounded by a deep understanding not only of the magic of the movies, but also of the healing power of kindness. And there’s enough wry comedy to keep it from becoming mawkish.

(6) Martha Marcy May Marlene – Like the spiritual opposite of Higher Ground, this film drops us into the aftermath of a young woman’s escape from a cult. The slow revelation of what happened to her there, coupled with the sickening sensation that maybe she’s not out of the woods, pretzeled my stomach. I am still shuddering over the last scene.

(7) Moneyball – This is the other film on my list that stands a shot at a Best Picture nod, and I really hope it scores one. I enjoyed it even more, I think, because I don’t follow baseball, so I had no idea if Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) was going to succeed with his crazy plan to change the rules of how players are scouted. That helped me get really wrapped up in the story, as did the spectacular script and acting. I’d put this alongside Bull Durham and The Natural on my list of favorite baseball films.

(8) The Tree of Life — It left me challenged, annoyed, unsure, and occasionally exhilarated. There were parts of this film that felt so painfully true I couldn’t watch them—the way the brothers respond to the “bb gun incident,” for instance—and others that just mystified me completely, like everything involving Sean Penn. But you know what? I’ve got to salute a film that dares to take me somewhere, even if I don’t always know where I’m going.

(9) Weekend — What a treat that there were two excellent, gay-themed films this year! (The other is Beginners, of course, and maybe Pariah is a third. I’m seeing it soon.) Weekend quietly, perfectly articulates the squirmy-nervous feeling of falling for someone, and it layers in some very real things about the gay male perspective on this experience. From the anxiety of making out in public (“will we get beaten up?”) to the carnal delight of that first bedroom encounter, it’s a refreshingly honest take on healthy love and sex between two men. For all the gay men you see on screen, you rarely see them behaving like adults with genitals and hearts that work just fine, so I’m doubly glad to discover these gents in an excellently made film.

(10) Young Adult — A surprising, defiant comedy that I’ve already praised at length. My respect for Charlize Theron’s performance and Diablo Cody’s script continues unabated.

Extremely honorable mention: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo — Real talk: I think this movie is better than the Swedish original and Stieg Larsson’s novel. It jettisons the latter’s unnecessary subplots, and it replaces the chilly efficiency of the former with dark, erotic energy. Granted, I like the book and the first film, but this version is far and away my favorite.

Extremely honorable mention: Attack the Block — An alien movie with a sociological heart and a knack for thrills. SEEK IT OUT.

—

Best Actor

Who isn’t here?

Michael Fassbender. I just can’t.

Dream nominees:

Tom Cullen, Weekend

Ryan Gosling , Crazy, Stupid, Love –Even though he was great in Drive, Gosling’s really spectacular here, playing a womanizer who (whoops!) falls in love with Emma Stone. This entire movie rules, save for an unfortunate twist that implies it’s okay for teenage girls to give nude photos of themselves to 14 year-old boys. But whatever. The rest is great, and Gosling is the best part.

Ewan McGregor, Beginners

Brad Pitt, Moneyball –Don’t let pundits convince you that Pitt just showed up and acted like star in this film. There’s subtle, emotionally resonant work going on.

Michael Shannon, Take Shelter — I may have had issues with the movie, but not with Shannon’s performance, which moved and scared me in equal measure. His freak out at the pot luck dinner is enough to merit a nomination.

—

Best Actress

Who isn’t here?

Glenn Close. As Roommate Joe will tell you, nothing about Albert Nobbs is very impressive. Also, I can’t support Michelle Williams in My Week With Marilyn: All I saw was posturing and posing—a technically proficient performance with no heart.

Dream nominees

Viola Davis, The Help – Being great in a mediocre film doesn’t make her any less great.

Saoirse Ronan, Hanna

Meryl Streep, The Iron Lady — I am not immune, people. This move is a mess, but Meryl Streep creates yet another sterling, unforgettable character. She may very well win for this performance, which would be weird, since the movie’s not very good, but hey… I’ll consider it overdue compensation for Julie and Julia and The Devil Wears Prada.

Charlize Theron, Young Adult

Kristen Wiig, Bridesmaids — Yes, ma’am. For me, the movie was a little flabby and weirdly paced, but Wiig killed it, turning her characters in a neurotic mess that I nevertheless rooted for.

—

Best Supporting Actor

Who’s not here? Jonah Hill in Moneyball and Kenneth Branagh in My Week With Marilyn. I quite liked both of their performances, but not quite enough to put them in my top 5.

Dream nominees:

Albert Brooks, Drive

Ben Kingsley, Hugo —The man brims with pain and love in his role as a forgotten cinema giant.

Chris New, Weekend

Christopher Plummer, Beginners — He’s an odds-on fave to win the Oscar. I’d vote for him.

Andy Serkis, Rise of the Planet of the Apes — I don’t think nominating a motion-captured performance would signal the end of humans performing on screen, particularly because its Serkis’ nuanced work—his work as a human actor—that makes his character so memorable. Caesar may be a monkey, but thanks to the man behind the electronic gadgets, he’s also an inspiring, sympathetic protagonist.

—

Best Supporting Actress

Who’s not here?

Octavia Spencer in The Help. To me, this performance is hammy in a way that makes Minnie just the kind of stereotype she wasn’t intended to be.

Dream nominees

Jessica Barden, Hanna – As Hanna’s saucy Australian gal pal, Barden is a hilarious, breakout star.

Berenice Bejo, The Artist – Again, I liked this movie well enough, but I found Bejo’s turn as a rising starlet totally enchanting.

Cate Blanchett, Hanna – As I wrote for the New York Times magazine, I think Blanchett creates an iconic villain in this role.

Jessica Chastain, Take Shelter – As many have noted, homegirl was great in many films this year. I saw three of her six performances—in Take Shelter, The Help, and The Tree of Life—and this was my favorite. Her cautious support of her husband’s (possible) insanity is captivating.

Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids — Months of endless praise have not diminished how funny she is in this movie.

Dream Winners

Beginners

Michael Shannon

Charlize Theron

Christopher Plummer

Melissa McCarthy

… and a few more dream winners while we’re at it:

Director: Martin Scorsese, Hugo

Original Screenplay: Diablo Cody, Young Adult

Adapted Screenplay: Steven Zaillian, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Last night, while I was waiting for Top Chef, I decided to watch Devil on HBO On Demand. In case you don’t know this masterpiece, it’s mostly set in the elevator of a Philadelphia office building. The elevator gets stuck, and one by one, the five people in it are murdered. Because one of the passengers is Satan.

This is a pretty good idea for a movie—a supernatural update on the claustrophobic suspense of Lifeboat and other such tales. But the good idea gets trampled by the execution.

Consider that we learn about the Devil’s presence from a building security guard who is watching the elevator madness unfold on closed-circuit television. He proves the Devil’s nearby by dropping a piece of toast on the floor. When it lands jelly-side down, he says, “See? When he’s around, things always go wrong. The toast lands jelly-side down.”

This is not played as a joke.  Jellied carpeting is considered proof that El Diablo is in on the grounds.

I could spend more time dissecting this movie’s awfulness—what’s up, African-American with a criminal past and Hispanic gentleman who believes in “spirits!”—but the fact is, I wasn’t surprised it was awful. You see, it was executive produced and based on a story by M. Night Shayamalan. His name alone signals hackery.

That wasn’t always so, of course. There was a time when Shayamalan was a Golden God in Hollywood and with audiences. But now, he’s destroyed that goodwill.

And that got me thinking: Who else has pissed away the love they so rightfully earned? Who else is close to doing so?

I’m pleased to present this round-up of goodwill squanderers. Can you think of any more? Let’s discuss!

(Caveat: They have to have ruined themselves through their work and not through their tabloid behavior. Lindsay Lohan and Mel Gibson are not who we’re talking about here.)

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The Squanderer: M. Night Shayamalan

Why We Used to Love Him: The Sixth Sense, y’all. It’s more than just a twist ending: It’s an elegant film that blends chilling suspense with nuanced writing and performances. That scene where Toni Collette breaks down in the car is memorable because it’s so human, not because it involves the ghost of her mother. The love continued through Unbreakable, which is imperfect but memorable, and Signs, which is cheesy and hokey but sometimes really scary.

When The Trouble Started: ‘Round about The Village, which intensified the creaky logic and self-righteous puffery of Signs. From there, Shayamalan clearly decided he was going to bless us with the wisdom of his films, which meant he payed less attention to story than to noxious moralizing. See: The Lady in the Water and The Happening.

Where We Are Now: At this point, the dude’s ego is even less endurable because his once-impeccable filmmaking has gotten sloppy. The Last Airbender? Please. Plus, he has the audacity to suggest that Devil is just “part one” of “the Night Chronicles,” as though the world needs more half-assed horror films.

Goodwill Levels: Entirely destroyed

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The Squanderer: George Lucas

Why We Used to Love Him: Well, American Graffiti is a lovely, Oscar-nominated film that understands the bittersweet truth about growing up in… oh, okay. Star Wars.

When The Trouble Started: Honestly? Ewoks. Additional warning flares were shot when Lucas emerged from decades of behind-the-scenes special effecting to re-release his original trilogy with added scenes and altered effects. Couldn’t he leave well enough alone? But the death blow came when he unleashed the boring, horribly written, and terribly acted prequel trilogy. Is there any adult in the world who truly likes these movies?

Where We Are Now: Lucas has released 8 million versions of Star Wars, each time implying that he either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care why people loved the original films. His tinkering has almost made it impossible to remember what was so great about these movies to begin with, and by fucking up one of the most beloved pop culture touchstones of the last century, he has made a lot of people mad. (Oh, and complaining about his fans because they don’t support his endless bullshit is not a great way to get people back on his side.)

Goodwill Levels: Entirely destroyed

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The Squanderer: Nicolas Cage

Why We Used to Love Him: Come on! He was the indie-cool actor of the 80s. From Valley Girl to Raising Arizona to Moonstruck, he was always turning in exciting work in offbeat films. And then in 1995, he delivered on all that promise with his Oscar-winning turn in Leaving Las Vegas, which hasn’t lost any of its devastating power. And just to prove what a good guy he was, he occasionally shifted his indie gaze toward popcorn movies like Con Air. They were disposable, sure, but they were fun…

When The Trouble Started: … until they were all we had left. By 2002, Cage’s Oscar-nominated turn in Adaptation seemed like a distraction from his boundless enthusiasm for crap. Reflect, if you dare, on Cage’s recent CV: Knowing, Snake Eyes, 8MM, Gone in Sixty Seconds, Next, The Weather Man, The Wicker Man, Bangkok Dangerous, Season of the Witch, Drive Angry, and the one-two punch of the National Treasure movies.

If Cage’s career had started in 1996, the year he made The Rock, then he would seriously be enshrined as the worst movie star of our the last 15 years.

Where We Are Now: Cage is so deep in this rut that he may never get out. Instead of filming a spiritual sequel to Leaving Las Vegas, he’s filming a literal sequel to Ghost Rider, which was already the least essential superhero movie of all time. It’s possible that his upcoming film The Frozen Ground, based on the true story of an Alaskan serial killer, will be good, but since it co-stars John Cusack, his fellow squanderer of 80s cred, the odds are working against it.

Still: It’s hard to forget that this man can really act when he wants to.

Goodwill Levels: On life support. But the memory of the great films is strong enough to sustain mild hope that another will emerge.

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The Squanderer: Meg Ryan

Why We Used to Love Her: Who didn’t love her? She was Gal of Our National Dreams! So spunky and cute and approachable and sweet and smart! When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle proved she could win our hearts, while Courage Under Fire and When a Man Loves a Woman suggested she could handle dramatic roles.

When The Trouble Started: I’d say she and Tom Hanks both started on downward slope with You’ve Got Mail, which was one visit too many to their cutsie-poo well. (Hanks’ descent didn’t kick off in earnest, however, until The Terminal.) After that, Ryan showed little understanding of what made her appealing. Her comedies became shrill (Hanging Up, The Women) and her dramas became weirdly dark (In The Cut, Against The Ropes.) If we want dark, we’ll go to Jodie Foster, thank you. We prefer Dramatic Meg Ryan to be nobly wounded or neurotic.

The real downside of these films, though, was how they exposed Ryan’s limited facility as a performer. Around 2000, people were claiming her Dennis-Quaid-cuckolding affair with Russell Crowe could harm her career, but that wouldn’t have mattered if she’d picked projects that showcased her particular strengths or if she’d been able to handle the material she did choose.

Where We Are Now: You may have heard that it’s hard for older women in Hollywood. Even Julia Roberts is struggling now, while Julianne Moore and Annette Bening and Laura Linney seem to be handling the dramatic roles just fine, thanks. That leaves Ryan without much to do.

Goodwill Levels: Perhaps “squandered” is the wrong word here. Perhaps we should say her goodwill has simply been overshadowed by our struggle to remember who she is.

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The Squanderer: Johnny Depp

Why We Used to Love Him: Um… he was hot as hell. And he was tortured, brooding, and sensitive. And he brought those qualities to tortured, brooding, and sensitive movies like Edward Scissorhands and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. And when he went mainstream, he did it by creating Captain Jack Sparrow with a performance so strange that no one else could have gotten away with it. That led to Oscar nominations and the amazing fact that an “outsider star” had become a regular star without losing his outsider status.

When The Trouble Started: But think about it… when was the last time Depp delivered a really great performance or appeared in a truly exciting film? Sweeney Todd was pretty good, but even that was four years ago. Otherwise, Deeps has been serving up reheated versions of his own persona, whether he’s making the 500th Pirates movie or pantsing around in yet another self-consciously rebellious movie about Hunter S. Thompson. And you know what? Ricky Gervais was right to mock The Tourist. It sucked. So did Alice in Wonderland and the interminable Public Enemies.

Where We Are Now: These days, Depp shows up at the Golden Globes using a bullshit British accent. He also seems disinterested in bathing, and while that’s hot on a twentysomething, it’s just sad on a man approaching 50. His upcoming films also suggest that his autopilot is still in charge. Dark Shadows may be good, but it may be another half-baked genre exercise. And you can practically see the tongue sticking out of The Lone Ranger‘s cheek.

Goodwill Levels: Slipping. Depp needs to make a great movie really soon, or his free pass may be revoked. And a cameo in 21 Jump Street is not what I mean.

On today’s installment of the Extra Hot Great podcast, I recount how an episode of Roseanne sparked one of the most embarrassing things that has ever happened to me.

Along with the rest of the team, I also discuss Joyful Noise, Mark Wahlberg, and several other high-octane topics.

Do go listen… and enjoy my shame!