Oscar’s Greatest Crimes: The Guardian

John Patterson writes in The Guardian about ten times the Academy has, in his opinion, gotten it dead wrong. Especially funny is number 10:

Everybody loves an underdog, but this is ridiculous. Little Miss Sunshine had such a struggle getting made that one was inclined to forgive its messy script and its poorly integrated cast. That mood lasted until I got to the parking lot, by which time I’d forgotten everything about it. Until the Oscar nominations were announced. This mouse that roared should have been stomped on a long time ago. The notion that it’s fit to compete for an Oscar in any category - it doesn’t even come close - is further evidence of the Academy’s mile-wide streak of sentimentality and gullibility in the face of a canny Oscar campaign. If this beats The Departed, I expect Martin Scorsese to pull out a machine-gun and fire randomly into the voting members as they run screaming for the exits. And he’d be within his rights, too.

Tune in tonight!

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The Crumbling Wreck of Uruguayan Football

by Thomas Dunmore

Whilst we English wring our hands over the ever disappointing state of our football team, our situation is in no way as sorry a fall as others have experienced. Uruguay, for example, have scaled peaks of international football that England have never reached; equally, they have fallen to an ignnomy that England have also not yet matched.

Rodrigo Orihuela has connected the fall of the national team to the similar problems in England and Spain.

Uruguay’s problems are not exactly unique. The recent unconvincing form of the English national team has given rise to a barrage of comments from pundits who believe English football is suffering from the impact of too many foreign players blocking the emergence of local talent. Similar arguments have been heard in Spain and Germany over recent years. Uruguayan football suffers from a similar syndrome: too little homebred talent plays regularly in the top flight before being whisked off to far off lands where the pay is better.

But whilst club football thrives in England and Spain – at least, financially and in terms of continental success – Uruguayan teams have reached a new low in the Copa Libertadores. As Orihuela notes:

Results such as reigning champion Danubio’s defeat last week in a Copa Libertadores qualifier, which saw it knocked out of the tournament by Argentina’s Vélez Sarfsielfd on a 0-5 aggregate score, are cause of concern in the tiny Atlantic nation. It is unprecedented for Uruguayan club champions to miss out on the Libertadores group stage.

Once, it was Uruguay whose economic boom in the 1920s was reflected in its football: Nacional of Montevideo embarked on a six month European tour in 1925, playing 38 games often on the back of gruelling, long rail journeys, of which they won 26, drew seven and lost six. Uruguay’s Centenario stadium – built for the 1930 World Cup – was known as the greatest ever made and an architectural paean to Uruguay’s modernism.

And it was the Uruguayans who in many ways first brought South American flair to the world’s game, as Eduardo Galeano waxed in Soccer in Sun and Shadow:

Forty years before the Brazilians Pele and Coutinho, the Uruguayans Scarone and Cea rolled over the rival’s defense with zigzag passes that went back and forth from one to the other all the way to the goal, yours and mine, close and right to the foot, question and response, response and question: the ball rebounded without a moment’s pause, as if off a wall.

Uruguay have won the World Cup twice and the Copa America fourteen times (seven times more than Brazil). Not bad for a country of 3.5 million people. A decline from such heights, considering Uruguay can barely sustain its own league in good form, was probably inevitable. But it was football that made a Uruguayan pronounce on the back of their Olympic triumph in 1928: “We are no longer just a tiny spot on the map of the world.”

Galeano again:

The sky-blue shirt was proof of the existence of the nation: Uruguay was not a mistake. Soccer pulled this tiny country out of the shadows of universal anonymity.

Yet sadly, even the site of Uruguay’s greatest triumph – their shocking 4-2 defeat of Argentina in the World Cup final at Estadio Centenario in Montevideo on July 30th 1930 – has little time left. Unlike Wembley Stadium, it has not been rebuilt at massive (and admittedly overblown) cost. Uruguay have long had an enviable record at home, only losing twice in twenty games with Brazil. Still, Estadio Centenario is now a crumbling wreck, awaiting its final fate, as David Goldblatt writes in the The Ball is Round:

Soon it will be gone altogether, its experimental reinforced concrete unable to deal with the salt air of the Atlantic. It has, perhaps, less than a hundred years. Maybe climate change will get there first. The Rio de la Plata will flood the city and leave it marooned: a carved grey beacon alerting sailors to submerged treasures.

Reposted with permission. Original post appeared Sunday February 18, 2007 on Thomas Dunmore’s If This Is Football, a blog about “football politics, economics and history.”

Editor’s Note: My wife and I visited Uruguay in November 2005 and visited the Estadio Centenario. Unfortunately, our visit fell between Uruguay’s last World Cup qualifying match against Australia and the Classico derby between Nacional and Peñarol. We did, however, see Nacional play Liverpool (the Uruguayan team) to a boring scoreless draw at the much smaller Parque Central stadium. Uruguay has the melancholy feeling of an entire country lost in the remembrances of past glories, whether in sport, politics or business, and it’s a shame, because it’s a beautiful and hospitable place.

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Oscar Losers: Documentaries

Over on my main blog, I wrote about the recently-announced nominations for the Academy Awards in the area of feature documentaries, and I got to thinking that in our “winner-take-all” culture, we sometimes forget to revisit the worthy nominees who DIDN’T win in previous years. With that in mind, here’s a companion piece to that blog entry.

The following are the non-winning nominees in the category for the past few years. I’ve put an asterisk after the ones that I’ve seen as of today. I’ve also included the winner in white text (select with your cursor to see it) so you can quiz yourself to see if you remembered who actually won the Oscar:

2005

2004

2003

2002

2001

2000

After February 25, another four worthy losers will join the list of films above. Why not track some of these down and let me know what you think?

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The Athanasius Kircher Society

The Athanasius Kircher Society

A while back, I wrote about Paul Collins’ excellent book, Banvard’s Folly, which was a collection of “Tales of Renowned Obscurity, Famous Anonymity, and Rotten Luck.” Now, Paul’s fascinating blog has pointed me to a potential motherlode of similar stuff.

The Athanasius Kircher Society, based in Brooklyn, New York, is dedicated to the same sort of esoterica and historical curiosities. In fact, they will be hosting their inaugural meeting on January 17 in NYC. Alas, tickets are now sold out.

If anyone finding their way here was lucky enough to be in attendance, I’d appreciate a report.

Historical Note: The society is named for Athanasius Kircher (1602-1680), a Jesuit priest who, in addition to being a professor of mathematics, could speak dozens of languages and wrote about astronomy, chemistry, mineralogy and many other subjects. He was also an early scholar of Egyptology.

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Glorious!

The Glory (????) of the Human Voice

My wife and I are subscribers to the Canadian Stage Company and tonight we will have the unique pleasure of hearing a woman purposely sing off-key. The play is called Glorious! and it chronicles the unique singing career of Florence Foster Jenkins (1868-1944), a wealthy Philadelphia socialite who, despite having no singing ability at all, managed to fund her own rise to a certain kind of fame.

Staunchly convinced of her talent, she began to give recitals in 1912. Many people attended her performances for the sheer amusement of hearing her butcher classic pieces by Verdi and Mozart. Her performing career culminated in a sold-out performance at Carnegie Hall in New York City in 1944. The 76-year-old Jenkins died a month later.

A record was released after her death, cheekily entitled “The Glory (????) of the Human Voice” which is now, understandably, a collector’s item. The liner notes make it clear that despite receiving no support at all from her parents or husband, and often being subject to derision and laughter during her performances, Florence was nevertheless happy making her own kind of music.

As an example of “outsider art” (modern-day equivalents might be American Idol hopeful William Hung, and homeless schizophrenic songwriter Wesley Willis), she can easily be viewed as a subject for mockery, but there is something noble in her complete self-belief, not to mention the longevity of her career. She had a dream and she went for it. And she wasn’t completely ignorant of what people were saying about her. As she once observed, “People may say I can’t sing, but no one can ever say I didn’t sing.” Bravo, Florence! Glorious!

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