Philadelphia Weekly

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Matt Prigge: I know Obama's busy with stuff that actually matters right now, but I kind of wish he would extend his initiatives to giving us better Best Picture nominees. These five are further proof--as though it were even needed--that 2008 was an evil, evil year. I seriously can't believe that I'm rooting for a fucking biopic (Milk) to win, even if it is slightly less noxious than most.

Sean Burns: I liked Milk more than you did, but it still feels like business as usual, with the Academy choosing movies according to their own moldy notions of "prestige." After all, this evening is really about the industry presenting its best vision of itself to the world. So who cares if Wall-E and The Dark Knight were much more challenging (not to mention more widely seen and beloved) than any of the stuffy final selections?

MP: I suppose the real race is between The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Slumdog Millionaire. I've been ragging on Slumdog for a while because its novelty wears off after the first hour (and it wasn't that great to begin with). But I'd much prefer the Best Picture Award go to the film that people genuinely enjoyed rather than to one simply designed to garner a giant sack of Oscars. That, and a Benjamin Button loss will (let's hope) shame David Fincher and Brad Pitt into doing good, honest work again.

SB: Funny how Pitt just gave the performance of his career in Burn After Reading, but gets nominated instead for standing around like a slack-jawed imbecile for three hours in Button. Even though we're both lukewarm on Slumdog, it is making an undeniable connection with audiences. Personally, I feel like a lot of this has to do with Simon Beaufoy's script being the usual bullshit Hollywood cliches gussied up in Mumbai poverty chic, but hey, whatever works. What do you make of the buzz that The Reader is mounting an insurgency thanks to producer Harvey Weinstein's usual relentless campaigning?

MP: I'm no fan of The Reader, but better that than, say, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. At least The Reader tries, however clumsily, to say something original about the Holocaust, and even goes to some genuinely uncomfortable places. And give Harvey some credit: This Ilsa: Tortured She-Wolf of the SS thing is a tough sell.

SB: I'll give them credit for making a Holocaust movie you can masturbate to. It's been a long time since The Night Porter.

MP: Wow.

SB: I'm not even throwing my beer and calzone free-for-all Oscar bash this year. The last straw for me was when Springsteen got dissed. First they slash the number of Original Song nominees from five to three, and then they pick two songs from Slumdog while ignoring the best tune the Boss has written in ages?

MP: Or "Rock Me Sexy Jesus" or "Pineapple Express." You wouldn't think this was a great year for original movie songs by looking at the Oscars, but it was. Frankly, the only categories I care about are Supporting Actor and Feature Documentary. I desperately want Werner Herzog to win for Encounters at the End of the World, mostly because I can't even imagine what he'll say. I wouldn't be surprised if he just ate his Oscar right there on the stage.

SB: I'm really pulling for Mickey Rourke. It's not just that he's brilliant, but let's face it--when is this guy going to land a role like this again? It's not like he can slip quietly into an ensemble drama, playing Anne Hathaway's father or something. (Unless you add some sort of awkward exposition about Dad's disfiguring car accident--but even that wouldn't explain why he's walking around in a cartoon muscle-suit.) My worry is that Rourke burned too many bridges in this town, and folks won't vote for him out of spite. Man, what has it come to when Sean Penn isn't the biggest asshole in the running?

MP: Yeah, but Rourke has been "back" for almost a decade. He's been an amazing supporting player in The Pledge, Spun, Once Upon a Time in Mexico and Sin City. I also want him to win, but if he just keeps on keeping on, I'll be happy.