Do Awards Shows Matter Anymore?
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
The 96th Academy Awards are less than two weeks away, and we’re a few years away from the Oscars having existed for a staggering century. It’s a massive achievement and a celebration of cinema as a whole when you think about it. At the same time, it doesn’t really feel like we’re heading toward such a milestone. It seems like the opposite: as if the upcoming one-hundred-year mark is meaningless. It’s hard not to feel this way when we have so many debilitating factors that have clouded awards shows — and, in particular, the Oscars — in the past ten years. Viewership continues to be low (or, at least, low enough, to show that the Academy Awards aren’t revered like they once were). Whenever this season rolls around, you can see the mass disdain online via social media as users feel the incessant need to proclaim how much they don’t care (despite, you know, caring enough to post their rants) about these awards. These are the same people who follow accounts like Rotten Tomatoes and then voice how these critics don’t mean anything and that they’ll base their own opinion (to that I ask “Why bother following Rotten Tomatoes then? Don’t you know what it is?). I digress. Before diving deeper into today’s thought piece, I want to kick off the burning question that I cannot shake off: Do awards shows matter anymore?
As I am one who detests clickbait culture, I’ll give my answer right off the bat and will allow you to decide if you desire to read further. Awards shows matter, but not as much — or in the ways — that they once did. Or so it would seem.
It’s time to fully examine this point. Why do the Academy Awards even exist? First, let’s travel back to 1926, right before the very first Academy Awards. IATSE (International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees) was a few years old, and Louis B. Mayer (of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer fame) could foretell what this meant for the costs of studio labour. Hollywood was still a part of the studio system, where a few titans (like MGM) owned and controlled everything, and the threat of unionization meant that Mayer and his fellow bigwigs would lose some of that power they were really starting to get used to. Mayer founded the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) in 1927 as a guise to entice actors — those whom unions like IATSE had yet to rope in — to go this route instead. AMPAS was to have a ceremony that was invite-only as an incentive to have these stars flock towards this new clique of sorts. The idea of having awards was a secondary thought, reportedly. This led to the perfect campaign for the AMPAS: proof that this community delivers strong results, especially right at the start of the biggest shift in film at that point (the mass implementation of talking pictures).
After this seemingly shady start, the Academy Awards were created for good in 1929 as a continuation of this banquet that went so well (keep in mind that the very first ceremony was barely reported on; there was clearly no invention of television to cover the event, and the awards got a write up the next day). This also became an incentive to help tidy up some bad publicity that some studios, filmmakers, and stars were getting, considering the rise of some prestigious-sounding thing called the Academy Award of Merit at the time (how can someone be bad and a winner of this trophy?). The Academy Awards started to pick up steam. The trophy even got nicknamed the Oscar once librarian Margaret Herrick remarked that the statuette looked like her uncle of the same name. The milieu was growing. What was once meant to be a front to maintain control over the rise of stardom amidst the growth of unionization became the very image that Mayer was trying to sell: an exclusive committee made up of winners and designed to award those next in line.
The Oscars would grow in stature, especially when the televised ceremonies began. Then they felt unstoppable: like beacons of the greatest works that the cinematic medium would have to offer. They would feel untouchable for decades, ultimately leading to the inevitable: winners who wanted nothing to do with them. There was Marlon Brando who refused his second Best Actor win (for The Godfather) because of his political stance on how indigenous peoples were being treated in the film and television industries; he accepted his first win for On the Waterfront, mind you. Then there was someone like George C. Scott who famously shrugged off his Best Actor win for Patton by stating what people are presently expressing about the Oscars: that they are a “meat parade” and an excuse for the industry’s members to pat themselves on the back. He seemed ungrateful back then, not even bothering to show up to the ceremony, but I think people may be feeling differently now.
Still, the height of the Oscars was growing and it felt insurmountable, even by the standards of other likeminded ceremonies that would come afterward like the Grammys and Emmys. The entire film industry would begin to pivot and start trying to curry favour with the Oscars, changing when films would get released in theatres, how they were marketed, and so many other strategies to compete. This felt necessary when Oscar winners became as famous as those who didn’t win them (it’s a fact that is attached to the legacies of Stanley Kubrick, Peter O’Toole, and the like, ignoring honorary awards, of course). Once the Academy Awards got through the seventies — what many consider to be the height of cinema — that was that: it became the biggest event in all of film. With mainstay hosts now leading the ceremonies (audiences at home felt like they were partaking in the big night out) and massive films getting their dues, not only were people experiencing Hollywood royalty getting their flowers, but they were learning what films had to be seen.
Then came the eighties, and I consider this the start of the decline of the awards show circuit as we knew it. Because only “the best” films won Oscars and there was now this blatant game to be played in order to win them, producers and studios were getting wise as to what boxes should be ticked off, leading to Oscar bait winners that pulled off these ludicrous wins like Out of Africa. As a means of trying to raise the bar with audiences at home, ceremonies got more elaborate and questionable, including the disastrous 1989 ceremony that only felt like a harbinger for things to come. Then came the nineties full of the same kind of shifts that were happening the previous decade and then some, including the rise of Miramax and the Weinsteins (resulting in what many consider one of the more polarizing Best Picture winners ever: Shakespeare in Love). The game was being played, and we weren’t clued in enough to be able to see it.
Then came something else that was crucial to this whole situation: the rise of the internet age. We maybe didn’t know how our tastes were being shaped by marketing practices (people went to go see Oscar-winning films, so this became a huge ploy to sell tickets), but we were most certainly going to find out via the forums (and, eventually, through social media) online. What else comes with the internet, though? A myriad of different avenues where you can learn about more films outside of critics, newspapers, television, and, you guessed it, awards shows. One could go down their own rabbit holes to discover films of old and new that would match their tastes, and no more did one have to rely on what was winning trophies in order to know what was worth watching.
With the rise of the internet comes the pressurizing situation of how one represents themselves. At first, celebrities and filmmakers getting familiar with social media just had to be careful of saying inappropriate things. Then it became a battle between one celebrity versus a billion eyes: scathing posts about those who remain silent on certain subject matters, or rage surrounding the times that celebrities do speak about something. Expectations got out of control (and they remain as such now). The Oscars were once the most-watched event in the film industry, and so this felt like the right opportunity to speak out on major issues for the world to hear (this is particularly true considering how frequently the Academy Awards were starting to get targeted with backlash, for ignoring international films, for nominating predominantly [or solely] white actors, and other talking points). This could be a way to clear the air about where the Academy stands on these concerns while promoting important change. This did not have the intended result that many celebrities may have thought it had, as this political discourse is a major factor as to why many aren’t watching the Academy Awards (or awards shows in general) anymore.
It’s safe to say that the AMPAS lost sight of how to connect with its at-home audience, but they never really had that in the bag to begin with. The Oscars ceremony was always about those who were in attendance at the actual event, and the televised production was just a means of bringing in viewership as a bonus (perhaps to help fund the ceremony for next year and the AMPAS as a whole). They only ever were talking to those in the audience there: their peers (unless they specify otherwise, by addressing the viewers at home). It’s a difficult thing to accept, but it’s true. Sure, many elements are fine-tuned so that the viewing experience is optimized (camera placement, sound mixing), but this is all an extra. The ceremony was tailor-made for those in attendance. It explains the awkward banter, the rise in political discussions, and the run time that may never be properly contained.
The AMPAS hasn’t changed. Society has. The AMPAS were always about this exclusive club to be a part of. The way the Academy is built is indicative of this; it’s full of winners, nominees, or those who were invited by two or more AMPAS members to vote amongst their peers. We have access to all of this information now. We also have a proper mindset to know what to do with this information: do we write off the Academy Awards for good, or do we keep watching? If we do the latter, are we saps?
My stance is I will always like getting excited for the Academy Awards, even with the above insights. I don’t need them to showcase what films I should be watching, although partaking in the Oscars Death Race every year does help me get acquainted with great films I may have missed out on otherwise (this is an event where one tries to watch all of the Oscar nominees before the ceremony takes place). We’ve learned that many non-winners have legacies that surpass any help that a statuette can grant them, and we’ve also disagreed with many winners that took place. We have the access to do as we wish, and we don’t need the Oscars. They don’t matter in this way.
Again, we can do as we wish, and some of us wish to keep up with the Oscars. Why? There’s a community now: a group of people who get excited over this season, the build-up, the shifting awards season race, and more. We’re the minuscule viewership that continues to watch. I can’t speak on behalf of others, but I don’t expect people to have to tune in and pay attention to the Oscars. Sure, I cover them in great detail on Films Fatale, but that’s because I like them, blemishes and all. To me, they’re a thousand additional discussions about film (something I’ll never get tired of), a long-lasting legacy that may have been built upon deception but has blossomed into something else on its own accord (despite the game at its epicentre, of course, but I am blatantly aware of this and accept it when I get upset by better films losing because of it). I think most Oscars obsessives like myself are of the same mindset.
What I do implore the AMPAS to carry out, however, is a focus on the very few of us who are left and actually care. Perhaps in the way that Mayer was concerned about losing his grasp on the market, the Academy continues to try and matter to the general public: the very demographic they lost years ago. Instead, they should focus on those who are actually interested: those in attendance every year (so Academy members) and us devotees. Wasn’t the initial purpose to have this exclusive club anyway? The Academy Awards once were this unreachable stature, but that was during a very different time. Things change. So do industries. Instead of struggling to chase the numbers of old and trying self-gouging tactics to try and get these numbers back via “freshness”, the AMPAS should recognize that the Oscars will never be what they once were and should cherish what they are now. The new Academy Museum of Motion Pictures is the right mindset because you can only access it should you choose to go. It is inviting for those who want to visit, and it remains a hub of all things film. The Oscars no longer determine what people will want to watch (maybe they do to a small degree, but not in the way they once did).
What they do do, however, is create an ongoing haven for those who still get excited. These few months at the end of the previous year and the start of the current one feel like a timeless excursion for us. The general public is typically so unattached to the films that do win (so much so that the AMPAs proposed a “popular film” category, which, unsurprisingly, got shot down instantly by Academy members and us Oscars fans). Those of us who follow become a part of a hivemind, as we pursue what we think will win versus what we want to win (these aren’t always the same answer).
This final point is crucial because of the main reason why awards show — despite subjectivity — may always matter to some degree: they work as time capsules that are indicative of mindsets. In the way we can groan about The Greatest Show on Earth winning over High Noon because of the latter film’s damnation during Hollywood blacklisting (screenwriter Carl Foreman was tied to Communism), we can also use this as a metaphorical artifact of the state of the world at this time. Believe it or not, Rocky was seen as a win for smaller-budgeted pictures against the rising scale of Hollywood juggernauts; the Rocky franchise now feels like one of the most big-budget series ever. We can even look at recent winners like CODA (a lighter film amidst the turmoil of the pandemic) and Nomadland (a depiction of the rise of poverty during the economic crisis). I could go through every single Oscar winner ever and do this, but we’d be here all day. All I know is that almost every Oscar winner has a story attached to it that details the state of the world, the film industry, the AMPAS, and us cinephiles. These wins aren’t solely based on quality: they’re rooted in something else. Perhaps we don’t need to be told this via Oscar wins, but we can still see this value in them versus the questionability of shifting subjectivity.
This may sound farfetched, but this is the value I continue to find in the Academy Awards. It’s a club I know I’ll never be a part of outside of this community that grows outside of the AMPAS walls. I create my own watchlists but continue to entertain what the Academy thinks is worthy in each category. I get enthused by the discussions I have with other film lovers, even if we’re both in agreement that we hate that some films got left out or that certain films are now Oscar nominees. In short, the Academy Awards never mattered. They were always about their own prestigious club honouring its own. We made them matter. Those of us who continue watching choose to make them matter to us. You don’t need awards to determine what you should care about in the same way that some stars dream about accepting the Oscar statue (while others, like George C. Scott, can refuse them all they want). If you find the Oscars to be a be-all-end-all take on what films matter, you likely will feel put off. If you find your own excitement within what they can offer as historical bookmarks, ongoing cinematic conversations, and prediction-based fun, then the Oscars thrive in a whole new light. It’s time that the AMPAS and the rest of us acknowledge this. For those who want the Academy Awards to matter, they will. They won’t, otherwise. This was always the case. We just didn’t know it.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.