Until two weeks ago, Oscar pundits were describing this awards season as “weird.” Unlike last year’s slate, dominated by Barbenheimer, the new crop of contenders had been thinned out by the actors’ and writers’ strikes, leaving room for such polarizing oddities as “Emilia Pérez” and “The Substance.” “The Brutalist,” Brady Corbet’s shoestring epic, seemed like a potential front-runner—but would voters really sit through its three and a half hours, or could the crowd-pleasers “Anora” and “Conclave” squeak ahead? Other questions loomed: How would Trump’s reëlection change the race? Weren’t Ariana Grande (“Wicked”), Kieran Culkin (“A Real Pain”), and Zoe Saldaña (“Emilia Pérez”) committing category fraud by running in the supporting categories? On January 5th, the Golden Globes upended the crowded Best Actress race, with surprise wins for Demi Moore (“The Substance”) and Fernanda Torres (“I’m Still Here”). Usually, the race coalesces around a few dominant narratives, some of them hand-crafted by awards consultants. But the season still felt unsettled, and a little random—what were this year’s Oscars even about?
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