Jackie Chan will win an Oscar this year. I’m not kidding you.
As reported in a recent press release, Chan joins documentary filmmaker Frederick Wiseman, film editor Anne V. Coates and casting director Lynn Stalmaster in receiving the Academy’s Honorary Oscars, as voted by the Board of Governors of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The four awards will presented on November 12 at the Ray Dolby Ballroom at Hollywood and Highland Center.
Chan is distinguished as a true pioneer and legend of his craft, as noted by Cheryl Boone Isaacs, Academy President. Making his motion picture debut at eight with 1962’s Big and Little Wong Tin Bar, Chan became an international movie star, writer, director, producer, musician and stunt performer all around the world. His accomplishments are endless, but the Academy celebrates his “dazzling athleticism, inventive stunt work and boundless charisma.” He’s a modern day renaissance man. He’s the Buster Keaton of our time.
Chan unquestionably deserves an Oscar. His commitment is incredible, and his charm and great personality is equally amazing. It’s a shame it took until he was 62 in order to finally give Chan his full due, but better late than never. This November, Jackie Chan becomes an official Oscar winner. That’s a wonderful thought.
The Honorary Award, presented as an Oscar statuette, honors “extraordinary distinction in lifetime achievement, exceptional contributions to the state of motion pictures arts and sciences, or outstanding service to the Academy.”
Beyond Oscar winning, Chan keeps himself as busy as ever. His newest film, Skiptrace, just got released, and Kung Fu Panda 3 came out this January. He also lend his voice to The Lego Ninjago Movie and, inexplicably, The Nut Job 2. He also recently filmed roles in Bleeding Steel, Railroad Tigers, The Foreigner and Kung-Fu Yoga. Chan’s also rumored to star in Rush Hour 4 and The Karate Kid 2, but we’ll see if those ever happen.
The newlyweds are soon expecting and dream about their family prospects. But tragedy strikes when Isabel’s womb is left barren, resulting in two heartbreaking miscarriages. Filled with grief, a gloomy, miserable day bares an unexpected miracle. Washed onto shore is a boat carrying a crying baby girl, along with a male corpse. Isabel is overwhelmed with joy, but Tom is a little more cautious. He knows they should report the boat immediately, but Isabel insists they should raise the baby themselves. Those on the island think she’s still pregnant, left unaware of their recent miscarriages. They could push the boat back into the ocean, hide the dead body and pretend the child is their own. Tom is torn with emotions, but he wants his wife to finally find happiness. Against his better judgements, he agrees to Isabel’s scheme.
Like Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines, The Light Between Oceans is epic in scope but intimate and tender in its approach. Cianfrance is great at letting relationships breathe on-screen. He makes them feel fertile and rich before he lets the hardships of reality cut deep. Fassbender and Vikander sparked a real relationship together off-screen, just like Eva Mendes and Ryan Gosling did after Cianfrance’s previous film, and it’s easy to see why. The acting heavyweights are charming, appealing and then emotionally gratifying together. Even when the film itself — based on M.L. Stedman’s 2012 novel of the same name — is sometimes mawkish like a Nicolas Sparks adaptation or, worse, a Lifetime original movie, they’re personable, relatable and sincere together. It feels real almost in spite of the material, at least for the first half.
You care for the characters and you enjoy the performances behind them, which is what makes it work, but it’s relentless. These actors cry their pretty little eyes out at seemingly every single chance, but it becomes excessive rather than moving. You’re numbed by their pain, heartbreak and suffering, and at its worst, you notice just how manipulative The Light Between Oceans can be. It’s mostly Oscar bait territory by the later half, suffice to say. It’s not made solely for awards purposes, mind you, as Cianfrance keeps its distinguished and deeply felt. But it’s not nearly as impacting as it should be, mostly because it keeps beating you over the head with its deep-seated emotions, requesting you feel pity, ache and sorrow for these characters every two minutes before you’re completely drained. Tear ducts only can produce so many tears. Emotions only run so deep. Apathy sets after a point. Melancholy is only occasionally felt in a distinctly Hollywood production like this one. Cianfrance’s touch is sometimes seen, but not nearly enough.
