The Screen Actors Guild and Golden Globe nominations are out. The 2013 Awards Season is underway. Whether you are an awards junkie like me or one of those weirdly mature and reasonable people who find the whole thing crass, Awards Season can present some challenges to feminist movie lovers.
The Screen Actors Guild and Golden Globe nominations are out. The 2013 Awards Season is under way. Whether you are an awards junkie like me or one of those weirdly mature and reasonable people who find the whole thing crass, Awards Season can present some challenges to feminist movie lovers. Sometimes your faves don’t get nominations, sometimes movies you can’t stand get tons of attention, and then there’s the general head scratchers, like what does the Hollywood Foreign Press Association think “comedy” means? Here’s some strategies for enduring the miles of red carpet that lay ahead:
Focus on the wins, not the losses. Instead of thinking about how sad I am that Naomie Harris seems to be getting lost in this year’s statuette shuffle, I’d rather think about how great it is that Lupita Nyong’o is a front-runner. Sure, I wish The Heat got some play in the Globes noms (why separate out comedy if not to recognize films like this?), but hooray for Julie Delpy and Greta Gerwig’s nominations! Look on the bright side of the podium.
Revisit the Good Stuff from the past. The Academy has a database of transcribed Oscar Acceptance speeches, many of which are accompanied by video. 1968’s Best Actress 1-2 punch of “It’s a tie!” and “Hello, gorgeous.” Halle Berry powering through the emotional overload of her historic win to honor the legacy of black women in film! Emma Thompson talking about visiting Jane Austen’s grave to “talk about the grosses.” You can lose an afternoon (or ten) to reading and watching these, and you can SEARCH BY KEYWORD.
Make up your own awards. Naomie Harris is definitely gonna win a Robsie this year. And Jennifer Lawrence might not even be nominated for American Hustle, but she will be winning the award for Outstanding Achievement in GiF-ableness. Does this sound too bizarre to you? Keep in mind the Hollywood Foreign Press is only around 90 people. If you REALLY want legitimacy, hook up with 89 like-minded people to bestow accolades on your faves. You can probably get ten times that in fifteen minutes on Tumblr.
Revel in the silly parts. Every year, cultural commentators toss around that “these awards are just a circus of self-congratulation” yarn. And you, savvy Bitch Flicks reader, know this isn’t true, that nominations and wins mean more money to the studios and mean new career opportunities for the talent. And that we’ve assigned huge cultural meaning to the Oscars which can’t be undone with a snap of the fingers. But save that potentially grim reality check for March.
For now, ignore the real-world implications. Focus on the office pool, the theme menus, the drinking games. Have a contest to see who can provide the creepiest answer to “Who are you wearing?” (“My enemies.”) Put a marshmallow in your mouth for every famous person on the In Memorium reel you didn’t know had died. Live Tweet with abandon. THEN you can roll your eyes at how a bunch more undeserving white guys won awards for unoriginal movies (if that does again happen! This could be the year it all goes right!).
And remember: we’ve got Tina and Amy bringing their magic to the Globes again and Ellen DeGeneres hosting the Oscars. The boob songs are going to be so much more tasteful and funny this year!
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Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town who will happily stay up all night to watch these awards shows when they air.
Klute is one of the key American films of the 1970s. Engaging with themes of surveillance and voyeurism, Alan Pakula’s masterpiece is, first of all, an absorbing, suspenseful thriller. It owes its intimidating ambiance, in great part, to Gordon Willis’s extraordinarily skillful and innovative photography. Klute, however, transcends the genre in the many ways it addresses contemporary gender politics; the New York-set neo-noir is both a character-driven study of female identity and sexuality as well as an unsettling portrait of misogyny. Starring Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland–two of the most interesting cinematic icons of the day–Klute is also an actor’s film. Fonda won a richly deserved Best Actress Oscar for her outstanding central performance.
Written by Rachael Johnson.
Klute is one of the key American films of the 1970s. Engaging with themes of surveillance and voyeurism, Alan Pakula’s masterpiece is, first of all, an absorbing, suspenseful thriller. It owes its intimidating ambiance, in great part, to Gordon Willis’s extraordinarily skillful and innovative photography. Klute, however, transcends the genre in the many ways it addresses contemporary gender politics; the New York-set neo-noir is both a character-driven study of female identity and sexuality as well as an unsettling portrait of misogyny. Starring Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland–two of the most interesting cinematic icons of the day–Klute is also an actor’s film. Fonda won a richly deserved Best Actress Oscar for her outstanding central performance.
Sutherland is John Klute, a Pennsylvania-based private investigator searching for a missing friend, executive Tom Gruneman. Fonda plays Bree Daniels, his most important lead in the case. Bree, a high-class call-girl with modeling and acting aspirations, has apparently been receiving obscene letters and phone calls from Gruneman. She does not, however, remember meeting him. Bree is also being stalked. The detective offers her protection and their relationship deepens. They soon become lovers. As Klute pursues the case, another prostitute is found murdered, and it is not long before the killer targets Bree.
It must be said that it is not the plot of Klute that stays with you but rather the characters and performances. Equally, the story’s most interesting themes relate to gender and sexuality. Unusually for a mainstream film, Klute is graced with a complex female protagonist. Bree is shown to be a self-determining, self-reliant woman. She seeks out modeling gigs, goes on acting auditions, and makes regular visits to her female therapist. Bree claims that her current work has given her real independence. She is no longer controlled by a pimp and considers her transactions with her ‘johns’ empowering. Early on in the film, we witness Bree negotiate with a nervous commuter client from Chicago. Supremely self-assured and entirely in control of the situation, she is sexually assertive in a dominant, almost maternal fashion. On the city streets, with her seventies ‘shag’ hairstyle, mini skirt and thigh-high boots, she radiates sexual charisma and power. We also learn that Bree used to work full-time on Park Avenue but now only tricks when she wants to. She further maintains that prostitution, on her own terms, has given her a certain psychological autonomy and control. When she tells Klute that she never climaxes with her clients, it comes across as a boast of personal sovereignty. But as Bree falls in love with the investigator and experiences a kind of sensual rebirth, she feels increasingly overwhelmed and disempowered by her feelings. Making love with Klute, she says, is ‘a baffling and bewildering experience’. What is evident, from her sessions with her therapist, is that her insensibility is a mask for mere numbness. Bree, in fact, tells her that she fundamentally wants to be ‘faceless and bodiless and left alone’. Sucked back into the vortex of her old life, she begins to unravel. At one unsettling point, she attacks her lover with scissors. There are also indications that Bree wants to stop turning tricks. In an early scene, we see her angrily ask her therapist why she is still drawn to the life.
Giving a truthful picture of prostitution on the screen is a thorny issue, of course. Many Hollywood films have prettified and sanitized prostitution and the stereotype of the whore with a heart of gold is one of the oldest in the business. Klute has a relatively complex take on prostitution. What it shows is that the prostitute remained a scapegoat for society’s sexual hypocrisies in the 1970s- an era of progressive change regarding gender and sexuality. Bree herself is fully aware of the double standards but she does not see herself as a victim. When she claims that she is very much in charge when she tricks on her own terms, the viewer is confronted with the suggestion that there are women who are not victimized by the profession. Our response to Bree’s statement, of course, depends on our individual attitude toward prostitution. It may be argued that Bree is too articulate and too bourgeois to be a believable call girl but they should remember that there is not one type of prostitute. Klute even shows that the life has an absurd and amusing side. We learn about a wealthy client who visits Bree’s old Park Avenue workplace not to ‘party’ with the girls but to clean the bathroom. Bree’s profession is, however, depicted as a dangerous one and, as specified above, she is evidently psychologically troubled. Klute is not a polemic on the dangers of prostitution but it indicates the omnipresent threat of sexual violence- and homicide- in the profession while pointing out its associations with drug culture. Klute’s stance on sex work may be interpreted in a variety of ways. Does the characterization of Bree as sexually and emotionally disengaged reflect an accurate understanding of the psyche of sex workers or does it represent a disavowal of female sexuality? Does Klute’s associations of prostitution with danger reinforce Victorian ideas of ‘fallen women’ as vulnerable and passive? What is clear is that the watchful, taciturn Klute is intended as a potential savior for Bree.
Klute does not solely offer a portrait of prostitution. It is also an allegory of the female condition in patriarchy. Klute explores the objectification and exploitation of women through the symbolic figure of the prostitute. We are encouraged to see Bree as an embodiment of female sexuality in a hypocritical, sexist society. In this sense, it is actually irrelevant whether she is believable as a call girl. Although drawn as a highly individualistic, complicated character, Bree is manifestly intended to represent universal femininity. There is a feminist consciousness exhibited in the film. It is apparent in an early scene when we see Bree apply for a modeling job. The female applicants are lined up in a row before being openly and cruelly objectified. The way the scene is framed seems to indicate that the aspiring models are treated in a fashion not too dissimilar from women in a brothel. Klute also uses the theme of surveillance to explore society’s objectification of women. Bree is being watched constantly- by her stalker, clients and protector. The practice and metaphor of acting further points to a feminist awareness. Acting is not just an aspiration for Bree but a means of personal and professional expression. It, also, however, masks fragility and emptiness. These psychological weaknesses are not unique to Bree but represent the fractured psyches of women alienated from a still-patriarchal society. Her dilemma is, effectively, an existential one: she is searching for an authentic social role. The character of Bree fuses Actress, Prostitute and Woman. These identities, as we know, have been interchanged throughout Western history. Klute shows how sexually liberated and economically independent American women were objectified, exploited and abused after the so-called sexual revolution of the sixties.
Klute, moreover, offers a sharp, disturbing portrait of misogyny. The villain is not the classic weirdo or social outcast of most movies and crime reports. Played with a reptilian venomousness by Charles Cioffi, the thriller’s sadistic psychopath is an esteemed man of wealth and power. His heart contains an ocean of hate for women and prostitutes are accessible, serviceable targets for his fathomless misogyny. In his final confrontation with Bree, he tries to justify his actions. They are worth quoting in full: ‘You make a man think that he’s accepted. It’s all just a great big game to you. When you’re all too obviously lazy and too warped to do anything meaningful with your lives so you prey upon the sexual fantasies of others. I’m sure it comes as no great surprise to you when I say that there are little corners in everyone which were better off left alone- sicknesses, weaknesses which should never be exposed. But that’s your stock and trade, isn’t it- a man’s weaknesses and I was never fully aware of mine until you brought them out.’ His character, it is quite boldly suggested, illustrates the hypocritical, perverse aspects of heterosexual masculinity.
In the closing moments of Klute, we see Bree leave her New York apartment with her lover. As the outcome seems to fulfill the imperatives of a conventional Hollywood ending, it may arguably be seen as a sell-out. The good, traditional man saves the troubled, wayward woman. Of course, the romantic in us believes that happiness lies with this man of honor and compassion. For the first time in her life, Bree has experienced genuine sexual intimacy and joy with a man. In a wonderfully understated performance, Sutherland gives the quiet Klute a gracious, self-effacing masculinity. Nevertheless, Bree’s closing voiceover seems to cast doubt over a permanent future for the couple. She is perhaps too complex a character to be rescued and her fate remains ambiguous.
Ultimately, what makes Klute most memorable is Fonda’s multi-layered, full-blooded performance. She invests Bree with a remarkable intelligence and plays her with a singular openness and bravery. With her would-be lover Klute, she is alternately satirical, seductive and mocking. In her therapy sessions, we witness Bree’s quest for self-definition in articulate, questioning observations and emphatic hand gestures. Fonda’s performance is equally rich in empathy. Bree’s acting endeavors are shown to be sincere and enterprising. As noted, the character’s worldliness is countered by deep apathy and despair. Her capacity for self-destruction is revealed in an especially striking party scene where she regresses perilously into her old life. To a deafening funk soundtrack, we see a stoned, sweaty Bree weave her way through a crowded club, stop to make out with a stranger and embrace an old girlfriend before surrendering to the throne of her former pimp, Frank Ligourin (a sleazy-handsome Roy Schneider). Fonda’s expressions in this riveting episode are a pitch-perfect blend of brazenness, revulsion, discontent, despair and defiance. Bree’s final confrontation with the murderer is equally unforgettable. Forced to endure the recorded screams of a fellow prostitute being tortured and murdered, she bows her head and silently cries. Terrified yet still trying to maintain her dignity, we watch her wipe away the snot now dripping from her nose. Few Hollywood actresses of any era have been allowed to be as real and raw as Fonda in this scene. In her autobiography, My Life So Far (Random House, 2005), the actress explains that she was crying for all female victims of male violence in these moments.
Klute is a classic that deserves to be revisited again and again. An involving, atmospheric thriller and politically-aware study of female identity, it boasts one of the most original and emblematic heroines in the history of American cinema and features one of the greatest screen performances of all time.
This week we’ve been reading about how an actress prepares for violence in a film, women directors, the common flaw of TV’s strong women, and more. Tell us what you’ve been reading and writing this week in the comments!
Michael Caine, Angelina Jolie, Hilary Swank, and Kevin Spacey at the Academy Awards in 2000
I’ve seen a lot of Oscar talk asserting that the acting categories for women skew younger than the acting categories for men, which certainly seems true (and would logically follow from the relative scarcity of good roles for older women in Hollywood). But you know me, I’m not satisfied until I’ve seen the cold hard stats.
So I ran the numbers. I only used the winners instead of the entire field of nominees this time around, mostly because calculating the ages various people were on various dates in history is a real chore and someone already did allthatpeskyarithmetic when it comes to the winners.
Scatter plot of ages of Oscar winners in acting categories
I apologize for the hokey pink and blue color scheme, but it’s the easiest way to illustrate that the cluster of women winners in the acting categories falls a bit below that of the men. This plot also makes it clear that there have been no major trends over the years; the winners aren’t generally getting any older or younger in any category.
The average age of the Best Actress winners is 36.2 with a standard deviation of 11.67; and the average age of Best Actor winners is 43.9 with a standard deviation of 8.86. Best Supporting Actress’ ages average at 39.9 with a standard deviation of 13.86; Best Supporting Actors’ ages average at 49.6 with a standard deviation of 14.44. Here’s how these distributions overlap:
Histogram depicting ages of winners in acting categories
In the supporting categories, we see a wider distribution of the ages of the winners, not only because children and the elderly are more often in supporting roles, but because child actors are often placed in the supporting category even when they play lead roles (e.g. Timothy Hutton, Tatum O’Neal, Patty Duke). [This year, of course, breaks from that pattern, with both the oldest-ever and youngest-ever nominees in the Best Actress category (Emmanuelle Riva, age 85, and Quevnzhané Wallis, age 9).]
I ran an ANOVA (analysis of variance) test and Tukey’s multiple comparison post-test and found that nearly all the groups’ distributions vary to the point of statistical significance. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there is no statistical significance between the distribution of ages in the lead and supporting acting categories for women (but the difference between ages of lead actors and supporting actors is significant). Interestingly, there’s also no statistical significance between Best Supporting Actress winners’ ages and Best Actor winner’s ages.
So I also lumped the best lead and best supporting categories together by sex and ran a t-test to get more a more simple answer. This test yielded a p<.0001, indicating extreme statistical significance.
Now that we know this data is statistically significant, let’s try to visualize it more clearly:
First I broke the groups down demographically:
Age demographics of Oscar Winners in Acting Categories
As you can see here, more than half of Best Actress winners (62.35%) are age 35 or younger, whereas only 14.12% of Best Actor winners are that young. Male actors younger than 35 are also rarely awarded in the supporting category (14.48%), but women under 35 still make up nearly half the winners of Best Supporting Actress (47.37%).
I also broke down the winners’ ages by decade:
Age by decade of Oscar winners in acting categories
This chart further illustrates what we already know: the supporting categories are open to a wider range of actors of either sex, but the female categories are dominated by younger performers, whereas the male categories skew older. Like with my analysis of Best Picture nominations versus lead acting nominations, I don’t think this is as much of a problem with the Academy as it is with Hollywood itself. If there were more strong roles for older women (and perhaps more strong roles for younger men?) the age distribution of Academy Award winners for acting would be more aligned between the sexes.
Perhaps the most striking figure I found is that there has been only one winner of Best Actor under the age of 30 (Adrien Brody, who won at age 29 for The Pianist in 2003) but twenty-nine Best Actress winners in their 20s.
Adrien Brody, the only person to win Best Actor under the age of 30
As a final note, I’ve been asked, as an Oscar-obsessed feminist, if there is any reason why the acting categories should be split by sex. I’ve never had a good answer, mostly because it opens up a whole kettle of cats about the rejecting the gender binary and biological essentialism while celebrating gender differences that I generally don’t have the time or interest to drag into my awards talk. But reviewing all this data and seeing the reflection of various types of sex discrimination within it, I think the Academy isn’t ready for a gender-neutral “Best Performance” award.
Last year’s Best Actress and Best Actor Oscar winners, Meryl Streep and Jean Dujardin. The Iron Lady was not nominated for Best Picture. The Artist was nominated for and won Best Picture.
It’s February, which means it is the Dog Days of Oscar Season. So for this week’s post I’ve done what any obsessive fan would do: create a massive database to conduct some simplistic statistical analysis to which I will subsequently ascribe excessive importance and profundity!
Specifically, I decided to look at the Academy Awards’ 843 nominated performances for Best Actress and Best Actor over their 85-year history, and see how many of those were from films that also received a nomination for Best Picture. My hypothesis was that the movies that earn their leading ladies Best Actress nominations are less likely to be nominated for Best Picture than those films that garner Best Actor nods. I’ll speculate on some of the reasons why that might be in a bit, but first I will share the results I found:
Pie chart illustrating relationship between Best Actress nominations and Best Picture nominations
Out of the 423 performances that have been nominated for Best Actress, 153 were in films also nominated for Best Picture. This means that approximately 33.16% of Best Actress nominees were from Best Picture-nominated films. In contrast, 229 of the 420, or 54.5% of the performances nominated for Best Actor were in Best Picture-nominated films.[1]
Pie Chart illustrating relationship between Best Actor nominations and Best Picture nominations
[1]Some minor notes on how I calculated these figures. These are incredibly minor quirks that only the hugest of geeks would care about, so push up your glasses. I counted all of the performances for which the nominees in the first year of the Academy Awards separately, even though winners Janet Gaynor and Emil Jennings were awarded for their cumulative work. I did not include Bette Davis in Of Human Bondage in 1934, because she was not nominated even though she did come in third place through write-in votes. I separated films not nominated for Best Picture but nominated for Best Foreign Language Film in the above pie charts but not in the calculation of data, because several foreign language films have received Best Picture nominations straight out (for example, this year’s Amour). You can check my work in my [Oscar Spreadsheet of DOOM, and you probably should, because my brain DID NOT want to accept the fact that The Reader was nominated for Best Picture, and that was only four years ago.
The disparity here is plainly evident but I did my statistical due diligence and ran a chi squared test, proving that the distribution of Best Picture nominations between the sub-groups of Best Actor and Best Actress deviates from what you would expect. The chi squared value here equals 28.634, with 3 degrees of freedom and a p<.0001. That's math talk for "something isn't right here." Basically, these figures offer proof of the statistical significance of Best Actor nominees more frequently appearing in Best Picture nominated films than nominees for Best Actress do.
Now let’s consider why this might be the case. Oscar nominations for Best Actor and Best Actress require more than a great performer: that performer needs a meaty role to play. What this data suggests is that the kind of movies that provide these great parts for actresses are less likely to be “Best Picture caliber” than the films that have Best Actor-worthy male roles. The films that yield Best Actress nominations are more often “small” (e.g. Frozen River, TransAmerica, You Can Count on Me) or “non serious” movies (e.g. Julie & Julia, Bridget Jones’s Diary) that aren’t as attractive to the Academy as Best Picture contenders.
2003 Best Actor winner Sean Penn (for Best Picture-nominated Mystic River) with 2003 Best Actress winner Charlize Theron (for non-nominated Monster).
Notably, in the years where there were 5 or fewer nominees for Best Picture (1927/28–1930/31, 1944–2008), the disparity between Best Actors and Best Actresses appears even greater: 109 out of 348 (31.32%) Best Actress nominations were for Best Picture-nominated films; whereas 177 out of 347 (51.01%) Best Actor nominations were for films nominated for Best Picture. The chi squared for this data set is actually a smidge lower at 27.841, but that still indicates considerable statistical significance.
Conversely, isolating the years with an expanded list of Best Picture nominees (1931/32–1943, 2009–2012) finds no statistical significance in the disparity between Best Actor and Best Actress nods correlation with Best Picture nominees. Both Best Actor and Best Actress nominees see a significant bump in the chances of their film being nominated for Best Picture: up to 71.23% for men and to 58.6% for women. The chi squared is 2.565, df=3 and p=.4637, so these results aren’t statistically significant. Unfortunately, this data set is much smaller than the other ones I looked at, and makes the strange bedfellows of the last four years of Oscars and a set of nominees from 8 decades ago, so it may need to be viewed more skeptically.
To get a better idea of how these trends might have changed over time, I also split the data into two roughly equal blocks, everything before 1970, and everything after. The good news is that the disparity had already started to narrow in the modern era even before the Best Picture nominations field expanded in recent years. When the data is split into these two groups, the earlier era gets a chi squared score of 20.037 (df=3, p<.0002), indicating extreme statistical significance; the newer data computes to a chi squared of 9.816 (df=3, p=.0202), which indicates statistical significance as well but less dramatically.
But this does not mean there has been steady progress on this front over the years. These graphs show fluctuation over the years and decades for both genders of nominee, with men remaining slightly above women most years and more substantially above women in all decades:
Charts showing disparity between Best Actor/Actress and Best Picture nominations over years and decades
To sum up: Academy Awards nominees for Best Actor have been nominated for films also nominated for Best Picture to a much greater degree than the nominees for Best Actress. In years that have a wider field of Best Picture nominees, the disparity between actors and actresses narrows to the point it is not statistically significant. The disparity has also decreased in more modern years but remains statistically significant.
I believe, optimistically, that this is more of a problem with Oscar’s past than it’s present and future. With more (but still not enough!) women filmmakers active, we’re going to see more and more women in central roles in the Big Important Pictures that tend to get nominated for Best Picture, as we have this year with Best Actress nominee Jessica Chastain at the center of Kathryn Bigelow’s Zero Dark Thirty. Furthermore, the expanded list of nominees for Best Picture makes room for different kinds of films, so smaller, women-centric gems like Amour, The Kids are All Right, and Winter’s Bone are included in the Best Picture nominee club. In the future, I hope the sex of a nominated performer won’t be predictive of the Best Picture nomination of his or her film. While this is certainly only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the Academy’s limitations in recognizing diversity in their nominees, I’m still glad we’re seeing progress here.
The Academy Awards ceremony airs Sunday, February 24th at 8pm
Every year, Bitch Flicks runs a series of reviews focusing on Oscar-nominated films, and in last year’s Best Picture Nominee Review Series Roundup, Amber explained exactly why we do this:
Despite the prevailing (and, to a certain extent, correct) opinions that the Oscars 1) are a political campaign in which the films with the best marketing take home the awards; 2) do not genuinely reflect the best films made every year; 3) promote female objectification (red carpet ridiculousness); and 4) exhibit the continued dominance of the white male filmmaker, we still think they’re important.
Here’s why.
The Academy Awards are the most visible celebration of filmmaking in the United States–and possibly the world. Yet–and despite the misnomer of “liberal Hollywood”–they continue to exhibit cultural values and norms that are conservative and simply unacceptable. Women are typically rewarded for playing roles that support a central male character in films. People of color are rarely nominated for–and even more rarely win–major awards.
We can’t just ignore the Oscars. We need to make our voices heard. That’s one reason we run a series of feminist film reviews on the Best Picture nominees.
And so we’re doing it again this year. The following list includes films nominated for an Academy Award, whether it be for Best Picture, Sound Mixing, or Makeup and Hairstyling. The films in bold denote movies that we haven’t yet mentioned at Bitch Flicks; however, we’re accepting original reviews and cross-posts of any of the nominated films. If you’d like to write about the Academy Awards in general–and the sexism inherent within them–send us an email with your proposal.
These are a few basic guidelines for guest writers on our site:
–We like most of our pieces to be 1,000 – 2,000 words, preferably with some images and links.
–Please send your piece in the text of an email, including links to all images, no later than Friday, February 15th.
–Include a 2-3 sentence bio for placement at the end of your piece.
Email us at btchflcks(at)gmail(dot)com if you’d like to contribute a review. We accept original pieces or cross-posts.
We look forward to reading your pieces!
Full-Length Feature Film Nominees
Amour Life of Pi Argo Lincoln Beasts of the Southern Wild Silver Linings Playbook Django Unchained Zero Dark Thirty Les Misérables The Master Flight The Impossible Brave Frankenweenie ParaNorman The Pirates! Band of Misfits The Sessions Wreck-It Ralph Anna Karenina Mirror Mirror Skyfall Snow White and the Huntsman 5 Broken Cameras The Gatekeepers How to Survive a Plague The Invisible War Searching for Sugar Man Kon-Tiki No A Royal Affair War Witch Hitchcock The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey Chasing Ice Ted The Avengers Prometheus Moonrise Kingdom
Short Film Nominees
Inocente Kings Point Mondays at Racine Open Heart Redemption Paperman Maggie Simpson in “The Longest Daycare” Head over Heels Fresh Guacamole Adam and Dog Asad Buzkashi Boys Curfew Death of a Shadow (Dood van een Schaduw) Henry