You can’t blame Paul Giamatti for thinking he was a shoo-in for an Oscar nomination. After all, he had already been snubbed the year before, when the Academy overlooked his wry, unexpectedly touching portrayal of writer Harvey Pekar in “American Splendor.”
Surely, they were intent on making up for that oversight by nominating him for his just-as-wonderful performance in “Sideways.” But then came Oscar morning … and the nominees are … Cheadle, Depp, DiCaprio, Eastwood, Foxx.
Giamatti learned the hard way something we’ve long suspected but tried to ignore for years. Schlubs don’t win Oscars.
If you are an obese, balding and fur-covered male, consider plastic surgery. Don’t expect an invite to the Governor’s Ball.
Consider this year’s five best actor nominees–all lean, dashing types. (Even the bona fide character actor of the group, Don Cheadle, looks like he spends more time at the gym than most of us spend breathing.)
If you are a happy, fat slob who makes people laugh, you may land the hot chick on the sitcom. But the Oscar is another story entirely.
It’s hard enough getting nominated for comedies (just ask Jim Carrey, who will likely have to cut off his left foot before he gets Academy recognition. But if you’re a fat comic, all we can say is consider that TrimSpa stuff and remember …
… John Candy in “Splash.”
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The screenplay was good enough to nominate; the fat, funny guy was not.
… John Belushi in “Animal House.”
The movie was good enough for a People’s Choice Award, but the Academy turned up its nose at Belushi’s legendary performance.
If you are a schlubette, good news! You win the Academy’s pity–and their votes. (a k a “The Kathy Bates Loophole”)
Middle-aged, dumpy and female? Land a part in one of Mike Leigh’s depressing Brit flicks, and you will be nominated (see Brenda Blethyn in “Secrets & Lies” and Imelda Staunton in “Vera Drake”), even as your stellar but schlubby co-stars (Timothy Spall and Richard Graham, respectively) get ignored.
If you are young, beautiful and female but you play dumpy in a depressing indie movie (see Charlize Theron in “Monster”), the Academy will trip over itself to reward you. (Provided you show up on Oscar night slimmed down and hot once again.)
If you were once hot but have visited the Beverly Hills Krispy Kreme one time too many, despair not. The Academy will politely look the other way.
Hence Marlon Brando’s postdiet nomination in 1990 for “A Dry White Season”; Gerard Depardieu’s “Cyrano” nod in 1991, by which point he’d ballooned to the size of France; and Richard Dreyfuss, whose waistline put the opus in “Mr. Holland’s Opus” but who still got a best actor nomination in 1995.
If you are the sort of schlub that some people find hot–i.e., if you have that “aging linebacker/daddy” look going for you — the Academy will begrudgingly nominate you but still find a way to punish you.
Consider Albert Finney, nominated five times for the Oscar–though he’s never won; Alan Bates, nominated once–for “The Fixer,” of all things–and didn’t win; Peter Finch, nominated twice, but he had to die before the Academy would give him the award, for best actor in “Network”(1976).