All week I've been fielding one question about the Oscars: How did "Million Dollar Baby" triumph over "The Aviator"? It's a good question. I don't know if there is one answer to it.
First of all, there's no debate about the quality of "Million Dollar Baby." It's a finely wrought film, particularly the first half, which focuses on boxing. Some may find the second half a bit sappy and Hilary Swank's movie family a little stereotyped. But overall, the performances are of the highest quality. Clint Eastwood continues to surprise and awe us all as an actor and a director. He deserves all the acclaim he's received.
But Eastwood already had a best director statue for "Unforgiven." What about Martin Scorsese? Why does the Academy hate him? How is it possible that the director of "Mean Streets," "Taxi Driver," "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," "King of Comedy," "Raging Bull," "After Hours," "Goodfellas," "The Age of Innocence," "Gangs of New York" and now "The Aviator" has no award for his gargantuan achievements? Is it something about him?
I think yes and no. You saw on Sunday that the Academy had to give a lifetime achievement award to Sidney Lumet. Somehow they'd managed to ignore him previously for "Prince of the City," "Serpico," "Daniel," "Fail-Safe," "12 Angry Men," "Network" and "Dog Day Afternoon." Pretty wild, right?
But Robert Altman has no Oscar. Woody Allen has two for "Annie Hall" and "Hannah and Her Sisters," but not for "Crimes and Misdemeanors," "Zelig," "Broadway Danny Rose" or "Manhattan." Crazy, right?
But Scorsese, Allen, Altman and Lumet are all considered outsiders by the Academy -- New York directors who are not part of the purring economy called Hollywood. So far, three of Scorsese's five losses have been to popular actors who dabble in directing: Eastwood, Kevin Costner and Robert Redford. That's not a coincidence. At various times those men have been huge moneymakers for Hollywood, where most Academy members live and thrive.
How else also to explain Mel Gibson winning best director for "Braveheart" in 1996 over Mike Figgis, Michael Radford and Tim Robbins? Nine years later, their work on "Leaving Las Vegas," "Il Postino" and "Dead Man Walking" holds up as superior in every way to the violent, hackneyed swashbuckling in "Braveheart."
But those three were all outsiders, and Gibson was the blue-eyed moneymaker of "Lethal Weapon." He might as well have been running for class president.
Scorsese et al. represent a weird cast of interlopers who have no vested interest in Bel Air mansions, Rolls Royces or Ed Limato's buffet dinner to the Academy voters.
You can also throw in a bunch of deceased and important directors like Martin Ritt, John Cassavetes and Hal Ashby, who never got Oscars but will be long remembered when many winners are forgotten. They were also outsiders who didn't care what the Academy thought.
In the new generation, add the names of the Coen brothers, Quentin Tarantino, Spike Lee and Wes Anderson to that list as well. Hollywood doesn't like 'em.
They'll give them nominations, but the actual award is an uphill battle all the way. How else to explain "Forrest Gump" beating "Pulp Fiction," an influential classic, for best picture in 1995?
HBO has the same problems with the Emmys as Miramax and other East Coast producers have with the Oscars. Even though they get rafts of nominations every year, the actual awards are hard to come by. It was only this past fall that "The Sopranos" finally got best drama. "Sex and the City" only won once in 2001.
Otherwise, the Hollywood TV community likes its hometown heroes: "West Wing," "Everybody Loves Raymond," etc. It could be argued that HBO wins so many mini-series and movies-for-TV awards because the networks long ago abandoned those genres. HBO also makes really good ones, which helps.
So don't cry for Martin Scorsese. There isn't a serious director in the world who wouldn't want to trade places with him in a second. Historically, and for posterity, he is set. If he stopped making films tomorrow, Scorsese would still be considered the king of kings.
In the end, he, Altman, Lumet, Francis Ford Coppola (save for "The Godfather") and Allen don't need any more Oscars. They are the Supreme Court of directing, the Rushmore-ians, and � as Cole Porter might say � the tip, tip top. They've already won, and handily.
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