The Oscar Buzz is Celebrating Its Sixth Anniversary!

Scene from Pygmalion (1938)

On this day six years ago, The Oscar Buzz launched as a place for me to discuss everything related to awards season. It was 2012 and it stemmed largely from an interest in discussing everything related to the Paul Thomas Anderson film The Master. Things have evolved since then and in 2018, the blog has covered a lot of ground both in Oscar history, as well as attempts to branch out into other subject matters ranging from the Tony Awards to chronicling the entire output of A24 studios. It's a daunting task that I love to put upon myself. But on these anniversary entries, I have one tough question: how do I open up? These entries are about discussing who I am as an individual more than just my opinions on film. It's easy some years, where variables can lead to cutesy lists (for instance, last year was about the year with the five Best Picture nominees that best represented me). But where do I go with six? It's difficult. However, I have decided to look at something that I don't discuss too often: the double-nominee. What film adaptation stands out as saying something integral about who I am? In this particular case, I am going back to the work of George Bernard Shaw and the adaptations Pygmalion and, in its musical form, My Fair Lady.

The question gets a bit difficult when you add the ramifications by which I chose this column. By adaptations I don't just mean what film was adapted and got a Best Picture nomination. My bigger question is why one did it multiple times, preferably in different forms. I wanted to find a piece of work that managed to say something interesting not just through one period and film, but through the decades. I wanted a story that resonates on a personal level and few have meant a lot to me in the past decade as that of George Bernard Shaw's "Pygmalion." It of course owes a lot of credit to me wanting to be as obsessive about the Academy Awards as possible, and My Fair Lady was the obvious entry point. But again, what is it about this particular film that is sorely lacking in other adaptations? In some cases, it's not a whole lot. However, I think that the Shaw story just connects with me on a deeper level because thematically it's something akin to who I am. Stylistically, musicals are another part of me that I adore and quote with some regularity.

As one could guess from a man who runs a blog for six years (and another called Optigrab for 10 years now), I have a certain obsession with writing. It's a core value that was taught to me as a child alongside reading. I can't specifically speak to what my first examples of either are, but I did have a passion for it thanks to a supportive family and relatives who would mail me books they thought I would enjoy (it's how I got introduced to the "Harry Potter" franchise). I of course read a lot of the typical young adult fare of the mid-90's, including R.L. Stine's collection of "Goosebumps" novels, including the choose your own adventure set. Over time my tastes evolved and my writing only became more prolific, earning the praise of various teachers throughout the grades. It's what lead me in high school to pursue the literary arts magazine (along with the newspaper) and become even more invested in how writing connects people. I would edit together the annual magazines and see a plethora of talent both from students I knew and strangers who had a knack for expression.

It was around high school that I also grew an interest in watching film, and I became known as the Roger Ebert of the group. To be totally honest, that's an exaggeration that I'm not comfortable with - especially given that it was mostly (at 17) trying to decide which Adam Sandler movie was best. I wouldn't really become something that I would deem a respectable cinephile until maybe 21 or even later. Still, I balanced it with a love of writing and reading, and my pursued degree in journalism kept me engaged. I wanted to become a film journalist, covering the news of film making in all its forms. To some extent, The Oscar Buzz continues to reflect that. However, I changed my major to English and am very close to graduating now after taking a few years off. Still, as much as my approach has changed as can be expected between Journalism and English, I still had an interest in film and have mostly been studying it independently through reading reviews, critiques, and even random videos on YouTube. To say the least, I have a passion for how words impact each other.

Scene from My Fair Lady

And that's what lead to my love of My Fair Lady when I eventually got around to it. With a goal of seeing every Best Picture winner, the George Cuckor classic was bound to be crossed off the list at some point. However, there was a lot of expectation going in. Roger Ebert in one of his books called it the best musical ever filmed. That type of praise didn't come cheap, as I had grown up believing that West Side Story was the easy leader of that pack. I still maintain that the film is superior in technical achievement, but on a personal level I greatly prefer My Fair Lady because of how much it spoke to me that first time, and how it has ever since. It's lead to me seeing the show twice on stage along with the original Pygmalion drama once. With that said, I would easily go and see it again if given the chance.

So what was it about My Fair Lady that spoke to me? As a writer, the idea of language connecting people was very apparent in the chemistry between Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle. As much as you can draw comedy from cockney accents, what spoke to me more was the reality that the way that Eliza altered her use of language over time dictated how people treated her. As much as Henry uses it in ways that isolate him, it's powerful stuff that he can teach someone to be independent and intellectual despite his shortcomings. He has a power to his word choice that makes his arrogant but also a figure to admire. He took a flower shop girl and turned her into a duchess. Nothing else has really changed about her. She's still probably poor, but she still has a way of bettering herself otherwise. In the iconic final line, there's a sense of dependency on each other in spite of their differences, and that's the value of language. It has a power to be intimate, making people feel a connection that the otherwise wouldn't expect from each other. 

The film even had a profound impact on me as a film fan. It was my introduction to Audrey Hepburn, who I felt gave one of the greatest performances in history upon first viewing. I found the transformation to be quite breathtaking. I will admit that as time has gone on, some of the magic has been torn away thanks to the revelation that Marni Nixon sang her songs. Still, Rex Harrison's sing-talk style has always been infectious to me, especially since I was a child the first time that I saw Dr. Doolittle. Still, the fact that there was a musical that rivaled West Side Story on a legitimate level astounded me. It also helped that the magic of Lerner & Lowe has never been better in the song department, especially with "Why Can't the English Teach Their Children How to Speak?" which is undoubtedly my pick for best opening song to a musical. It gets the point across so quickly while establishing character traits and tone in between notes. Seriously, the introduction of Henry has a power to it that shines through in his strange ability to name accents by street names.

The thing that has kept Pygmalion/My Fair Lady exciting to me ever since is that in the half dozen versions I've seen, there's been differing interpretations of Henry Higgins. Since I doubt any of you have seen the three stage versions I saw, I will restrict further discussion mostly to the Leslie Howard film Pygmalion, which has an interesting history. He was only in Gone With the Wind so he could make the film because he was that passionate about it. I only discovered it last year, thanks to FilmStruck, The thing that's interesting is that if you compare Howard to Harrison, there's a world of difference between the two for a story that's predominantly the same. Both have that core drama, but the way that Henry is depicted comes across as key to how to read it. Harrison is arrogant to the core, and you could feel him barging through a room from a mile away. Howard has more nuance and is maybe a bit more neurotic. He wants to change Eliza, but he's also feeble and vulnerable in a lot of ways. You buy that he becomes helpless by the story's end, and it helps that Howard had a passion for making the performance pop.

The fact is that this source material can be read in a lot of interesting ways. I don't think that there's much to separate readings of Eliza, who is generally the same level of nuance from production to production. She's also usually required to have the showiest elements thanks to a rich songbook. It's Henry who has to enter the story in an intrusive fashion and be arrogant while also being tolerable enough to make the show enjoyable. If he's too aggressive, the idea of shoving rocks into Eliza's mouth would be seen more as disturbing than as a speech exercise. Even considering that the way that drama was shot in the late 30's and mid-60's doesn't reflect too much change in the quality of the story. Both are able to exist in this world where men think they're superior for teaching women to be classy, but end up not understanding the emotional component of language. There is a need for balance, and Eliza's raw nerve is whittled into something more human by the story's end.

Overall, these are just fascinating characters to me, and I enjoy spending time in live productions of them. Actors get a lot out of these performances, and they usually come across with varying degrees of compelling charisma. The last production I saw (which was in July) even ended on a shocking note in which Eliza bolts from the stage in an overly dramatic turn. So long as the central themes of the story are the same, I'm not one to nitpick too much on the changes. There's a power here that's so rich that I'm surprised how long it took me to recognize the many, many films that have ripped it off in the decades since. I can't say that I love them as much, but that's in large part because I am often more traditional. Even in the realm of films that I feel are lesser, there's Gigi, which I don't care for for a lot of reasons. I feel it's the same film, but for teenagers and with a lesser songbook. My Fair Lady can't be beat, if just because "The Rain in Spain" has become colloquial. You know the rest of the song without me typing it. There's not a part of "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" or "The Night They Invented Champagne" that you're likely to remember from memory.

As art, these two films speak to my love of communication and trying to better each other through language. I'll admit that there's more to it, but that's the core reason why the films have resonated with me for years, drawing me to understand the text on deeper levels. As much as I enjoy singing the songs or marveling at Hepburn, Harrison, or Howard's performances, I still like watching the magic unfold between actors who are a the top of their game. They know how to convey, or hide richer emotion, where necessary. I love the power that these films have and how the language has entered the zeitgeist. Even the fact that Shaw wrote the Pygmalion film gives it an extra credos to it. In honor of my sixth anniversary, I think this look at how films speak to me was taken a bit too literally, but also I feel gives you a better sense of who I am and what I'm drawn to. I hope that this is another successful year of Oscar Buzz coverage, and that it only continues to get more interesting. But you know what they say: with a little bit of luck, someone else will do the blinking work.