The riveting gold dress of Andra Day, Chloé Zhao’s shout-out to Werner Herzog, and nostalgia for the live tears of Gwyneth Paltrow.
By Anthony LaneApril 26, 2021
The world has fallen prey to a pandemic. Millions of people have died. Millions have become sick or lost their jobs. Hundreds of millions have stayed home and watched TV, forbidden to visit a cinema and trapped in shame by their self-administered haircuts. For the sake of universal morale, therefore, it was deemed to be of paramount importance that the ninety-third Academy Awards should go ahead on Sunday. And it was only right that the bulk of the ceremony should be staged at a railroad station—to be specific, Union Station, in Los Angeles. An obvious choice. If it was good enough for the climax of “Garfield: The Movie,” it’s good enough for the Oscars.
The New Yorker Movie Club
Sign up for The New Yorker’s Movie Club Newsletter to get reviews of the current cinema, movie listings for the weekend ahead, and more.Enter your e-mail address