Best Picture 1989
It is my quest to watch all of the Academy Award Best Picture recipients before the next ceremony.
This review is going to sound pretty harsh and I have to apologise for that because Driving Miss Daisy is not actually a bad film. It does not do anything to offend or really upset the audience, but this is kind of the film's problem too. In taking subject matter including issues of racism, religion and mental health, it has a responsibility to do more. I am all for a film showing intimacy and sticking closely with the characters as they go through time (not every film needs to be Malcolm X) but it really should explore more than it does.
This limitation could be aimed at its theatrical origins. Where a focus and intimacy is more fitting but even this criticism cannot really hold up in light of plays such as Waiting For Godot, Frost/Nixon and Oleanna; all of which explore grand themes successfully with only two people talking. Although the material is fairly basic, director Bruce Beresford does nothing to build on them and make it a cinematic piece of work.
This failure to to capitalise or build on what is there extends all the way down the call sheet. The film looks bland and the design lacks any real punch. Hans Zimmer's score is embarrassing, using synthesizers in the period setting, completely misses the mark. The only technical nod should be given to editor Mark Warner who seamlessly evolves time, never drawing attention to itself (in a good way, unlike the aforementioned problems) and judges the pacing excellently.
And then there are the performances. Tandy, Freeman and Aykroyd all do an adequate job but adequate should not cut it. The performances are the perfect focal point and summation of the film as a whole. Too polite and too slight.
Other films nominated in 1989:
Born on the Fourth of July
Dead Poet's Society
Field of Dreams
My Left Foot
Worthy winner?
Absolutely not. And one of the few examples of the winning film being the worst of the bunch. Born on the Fourth of July, while lacking subtlety packs a huge punch and leaves a searing impression on its viewer. Dead Poets Society is a work of pure magic, soulful, passionate and deeply moving. All of which could also describe Field of Dreams and My Left Foot, if for nothing but Day-Lewis' central performance deserves the win over the academy's actual choice. Shame on you voters. Shame on you.