Perhaps you, like me, read Kayleigh’s excellent article about Amy Adams ongoing flop era. Perhaps you, like me, are one of Adams’ many fans who have ridden the boom/bust roller coaster, madly hoping and wishing that this time, certainly she must win an Oscar. What will it take for this obviously wonderfully talented actor to be recognized? Was her frightening certainty in The Master not eerie and unsettling enough? Was her heroic efforts as the only performance that fully worked in American Hustle not impressive enough? Was her keenly emotional presence that carried Arrival not heartrending and fascinating enough? Given all these questions I’ve shouted to the uncaring heavens of the Academy, you would be forgiven for feeling that the following statement is pure sour grapes: maybe Amy Adams doesn’t need an Oscar. Maybe no actor, no matter how amazing, really does.
Far be it from me to understate the importance of recognition. For whatever criticisms someone can level at the Oscars, the one enduring positive is that it represents recognition of an artist performing at the top of their craft. It’s entirely natural to want someone like Adams to be recognized in this way because, on some level, we all seek agreement with our opinions or at least some reflection of them in the world. There is also that stereotypical phenomenon of a queer person taking up the cause of an under-recognized artist, stumping for them as if on some never-ending campaign. Especially given the demented, dogmatic shape of fandom and stan culture these days, clinging each year to whatever movie the worshipped artist creates might be quite normalized. I don’t mean to question this devotion or the desire to see the artist celebrated, but more that I wonder: is that recognition truly necessary?
Sure, it feels great when the world confirms the legitimacy of our tastes, but what does that really amount to? The Oscars are not some objective organization nor the end-all/be-all. An actor is not amazing only when the Oscars recognize them as such. It’s great when they do, but the subjectivity of it all makes that far from consistent. If someone can see that the Oscars aren’t an objective measure of worth, certainly they can see that while it’s an emblem of recognition, it’s not strictly necessary to be considered a great actor.
Within my personal pantheon, there are several other un-Oscar’d goddesses that are nonetheless amazing. Let’s take Michelle Pfeiffer for example, a woman with work so iconic that even in 2024, her early-1980’s breakout performance in Scarface still inspires homages from the likes of Charlize Theron.
Pfeiffer is always the best part of every movie she’s in. She defies the audience to expect any one thing by offering a stunning and many-faceted array of roles that display a superhuman range. Scarface remains a powerful entry in Pfieffer’s canon, but she’s proven a master through many other performances. Her Selina Kyle in Batman Returns is one of the wildest and most fantastically unhinged performances we’ve got, but then you have her turn in The Fabulous Baker Boys to show she can play something else entirely. Over on everyone’s third-favorite movie podcast, we have the so-far-proven hypothesis that Pfeiffer is literally never bad in anything, no matter how bad the movie is and we should know; she’s appeared in five troubled films we’ve covered.
There’s also the under-awarded Toni Collette, an actor who typifies fearless commitment to a role. Muriel’s Wedding demands a cracked and dark humor that Collette could do in her sleep even at that early stage of her career. Clockwatchers is a feast of talent featuring several other under-awarded actors, but even in that crowded field, you can’t take your eyes off her and she’s playing a subdued wallflower. I would argue that the biggest Oscar snub of Collette’s career is her tour-de-force performance in Hereditary. She had to hit so many different emotional notes: unspeakable grief, deep rage, stunted childishness, demonic menace. It’s further proof of the Academy’s shortcomings that they won’t recognize “genre” performances, no matter how great. At least “I am your MOTHER” is much-memed.
The final acting deity that wants for an Oscar is the ageless queen eternal Angela Bassett. She got an honorary Oscar, but not one that specifically recognizes a performance as an “acting Oscar” so her inclusion stands. I often think of how she was almost Storm in the Brian Singer X-Men movies but was passed over for being too expensive which is one of the most bonkers decisions. With her effortless regality and preternatural poise, she would’ve been absolutely perfect in the role. Thankfully, she blessed us with such performances as Tina Turner, Rosa Parks, Coretta Scott King, and Betty Shabazz. Bassett is a fearless actor who delivers stellar work in whatever you put her in: Waiting to Exhale, How Stella Got Her Groove Back, and Music of the Heart. Strange Days is a flawed movie that grasps for big social justice themes with mixed results, but her performance as the lionhearted bodyguard Mace Mason yanks the movie much closer to greatness than it can manage on its own. Her current status within Ryan Murphy’s stable seems like a golden handcuffs situation, but it’s only further to her credit that she shines just as brightly on medium-brained TV as she does everywhere else.
No one in their right mind would deny that these actors are immensely skilled and deserving of endless accolades, even without Academy Awards. That the film establishment has failed to recognize them is unfortunate, but it’s way more indicative of the Academy’s failures than of any deficiency in the quality of the actors. The Oscars aren’t meaningless; winning one is a big feat and a recognition many actors would be honored to have. But not having an Oscar is meaningless. There are so many incredible actors who stay incredible with or without establishment recognition. It would be great if any of them won an Academy Award, but they’re perfectly amazing without them.