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On John Gianvito and Vapor Trail (Clark)

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On John Gianvito and Vapor Trail (Clark)

John Gianvito’s new documentary, the first of two films focusing on decommissioned, and hazardous, U.S. military bases—one named Clark, the other Subic—in Pampanga province, Philippines, takes its title (minus parenthetical) from the contrails left behind by airplanes at high altitude. A pre-credits sequence shows several such images, in addition to a rolling stream at sunrise; the driver’s-eye interior view of a car, signal clicking, as it prepares to turn (which way unspecified); and faded photographs that depict, we will come to learn, incidents and asides from the Philippine-American War (1899-1913). What connects these disparate objects/mo(ve)ments is a shared sense of impermanence—the feeling that everything we’re viewing is fleeting and, likely, soon forgotten.

The three Gianvito films I’ve seen—this, 2007’s Profit motive and the whispering wind, and, my personal choice for best of the ’00s, 2001’s The Mad Songs of Fernanda Hussein—share a fascination with, and in some way seek to redress the human propensity toward cultural-historical amnesia. I’m sure some would consider this a more recent mindset, one exacerbated by the ever larger and larger number of ADD-distractions that prove detrimental to more reflective and perceptive thought. (This, to me, is its own kind of amnesia: though based, admittedly, more on feeling than fact, I gather we’ve all of us been creating false histories—dicking each other over whether wielding bones or iProducts—since at least the Upper Paleolithic.)

The Mad Songs of Fernanda HusseinTechnology heightens the problem, but it can also, correctly and devotedly harnessed, provide indelible and lasting insight (salvation of a sort). One of my favorite moments in Fernanda Hussein is a simple shot of a television playing an early-‘90s Arsenio Hall broadcast: Wearing a “USA”-emblazoned jacket and talking, at first rather humbly, about how difficult it is to be funny in a time of crisis (the movie takes place pre-, during, and post-Iraq War One), the host proceeds to joke about a newspaper article that uses the words “Iraqi intelligence,” to him an oxymoron on the level of “good Porky’s movie.” Speaking for myself, if I was in the room when that was originally airing, I bet I would have laughed, though I like to think it would have been that hollow Pavlovian laughter that comes when something is supposed to be funny and which, hopefully, soon dissipates when the better part of our being reasserts itself (good humor cuts to the soul; bad goads the glands, upstairs and down).

If we accept that television, like a movie screen, is a filter on reality, then what Gianvito does here is put a filter on a filter. Suddenly, it’s as if we’re watching from outside our own consciousness (it helps that Gianvito doesn’t use the camera attachment that removes television broadcast scan lines—a further cue to the senses) and the problematic aspects of Hall’s jest come to the fore: despondency, racism, ill-information, plain ol’ shoddy humor—a desperate pander to the mob. (That Gianvito chooses to show a black man dishing this out—I’m sure Letterman and Carson had more than a few choice bons mots—adds an additionally troubling layer: Quoth Avenue Q’s lisping Asian, Christmas Eve, “Evlyone’s a ritter bit lacist!”) All joking aside, this scene gets me every time because it shows how easy it is for any person to go ignorant, to covet and trust immediate sensations/impressions over all else. Gianvito’s movies demand that we contemplate, live with, question—always question (and that includes pushing back against the films themselves).

In Vapor Trail (Clark), Gianvito acknowledges the desire and the need for his audience to resist what they are about to experience, cutting an early sequence around a brief narration by the late historian Howard Zinn—the speaker himself a choice provocation. “All history is selection and emphasis,” he says, “neutral neither in origin or effect.” The bias comes out, as it does in most of the director’s work. Indeed, it’s easy enough to peg Gianvito as a hard-core leftist since Fernanda Hussein, Profit motive and Vapor Trail (Clark) all contain some bit of righteous—at worst, self-righteous—anger at those in power. But what makes him a great director is that he allows the tools of cinema to mediate and transform the personal beliefs that a lesser artist would posit, forevermore, as sovereign and infallible.

Vapor Trail (Clark)

One of the ways he achieves this is through the length of his films, even if some of the awkwardness inherent to Fernanda Hussein (especially in the fictional scenes) or the intentional repetitiveness of Profit motive (a mostly uncommented on collage of progressive activist gravesites) or the extensive testimonials by Filipino families in Vapor Trail (Clark) (each attesting to the hardships suffered because of the abandoned, pollution-heavy Clark Air Base) makes one wonder if an additional pair of editorial hands might improve things. (At 264 minutes, Vapor Trail (Clark) is one of his longest works while Fernanda Hussein and Profit motive clock in at similarly against-the-“norm” running times—168 minutes and 58 minutes, respectively.) No doubt there are those who will come to the Harvey Scissorhands conclusion, and perhaps with good reason. For myself, not a second in any of these films is wasted or wasteful (which isn’t to say above criticism), mainly because I see them as cumulative first, incidental second.

There’s a sense of symmetry to Vapor Trail (Clark) that only becomes apparent in retrospect. (I feel that if one were able to step back and view it as a stand-alone shape or structure, it would resemble an infinity symbol, though one malleable enough to allow for the additions and subtractions brought to it by each spectator.) In the moment, the film is constantly shifting moods and tones—elegiac here, didactic there (the latter most notable in the historical sections where flat narration, still photos and extensive onscreen text immerse us, quite headily, in the Philippine-American conflict). I would even suggest that it frequently switches genres, incorporating various tropes, impressions and sensations from fictional films (a practice with precedent in Gianvito’s body of work: Fernanda Hussein titles its second section with a knowing pun on/allusion to D.W. Griffith’s Orphans of the Storm and opens with a silent movie-like iris out).

The most intriguing of these comes from the way Gianvito views the two activists, Myrla Baldonado and Teofilo “Boojie” Juatco of the People’s Task Force for Bases Clean-Up (PTFBC), who act as the movie’s ostensible Vergils. They are indeed our guides to the surrounding horrors (ever since the June 12th, 1991 eruption of Mt. Pinatubo, when a large number of the Filipino populace sought refuge at Clark Air Base, physical defects and premature death have increased exponentially and government help has always been, to put it politely, unreliable), but Gianvito doesn’t shunt them to the sidelines. Rather, he develops their story in parallel to the larger focus, typically in leisurely sequences that bring to mind those times in late Howard Hawks films where narrative thrust takes a back seat (without completely vanishing) and it feels like we’re just observing people in their languid, relaxed element.

Movies so often hype up the lives of activists (the Simon Wiesenthal documentary, I Have Never Forgotten You, turned the Nazi-hunting engineer into a globe-trotting, ass-kicking James Bond, complete with breathless Nicole Kidman narration) that it’s surprising to see them here in many instants where urgency is not the driving factor (“activism” not always demanding constant “action”). The crack-a-smile best of these is Juatco’s extended musical introduction to a meeting of local advocates who are waiting for news about a potential visit by Prince Andrea of Monaco—a levity-inducing contrast to the seriousness of the occasion, and one that comes full circle in Vapor Trail (Clark)’s penultimate scene. And the most moving is an astonishing single take—beachside at sunset, nearly 20 minutes long—in which Baldonado explains how she became radicalized.

Vapor Trail (Clark)

A little more on this latter sequence: To me, it’s Vapor Trail (Clark)’s indisputable high point—aesthetically, emotionally…everything comes together, and not even midway through. The film never again reaches these glories, which is something I initially found disappointing because of the ways in which Fernanda Hussein and Profit motive each built to rousing, all-senses-stimulating finales (the former with its purgative, effigy-burning Zozobra sequence, the latter in its propulsive meld of call-to-arms drumbeats and modern-day protest video footage). I’m still waffling as to whether Gianvito’s method is flawed or if I’m blinded by my lofty expectations for and understanding of his work so far.

Probably it’s a bit of both: Profit motive’s tombstone imagery gets revisited here—at times it feels derivative, at others more pointed in its sober contrast of death and the life buzzing around it. It’s provocation, yes, but it’s also observation and presentation (of admittedly difficult-to-process facts: how much of the multifaceted reality can we truly grasp when faced, in such a short time span, even in such a long film, with myriad babies born and deceased on the same day?). And there are likewise a few less immediately affecting dollops of the religious naturalism (shades of Tarkovsky and Malick) that often show up in a Gianvito movie: Mewling lambs frolic in a cemetery; scavengers dig up the fetid ground of Clark Air Base looking for precious metals (a title card tells us there is no possible way to convey the stench).

All to say that, when I came to the end of Vapor Trail (Clark), something felt incomplete, missing. My suspicion is that once Gianvito finishes Wake (Subic) it will complement, and perhaps complete the journey (the footage for both features was captured within the same timeframe, and events that will most likely appear in (Subic) are alluded to here). But in the days since seeing the film, the gaps are filling in and a clearer picture is emerging, eschewing “completion.” The transcendent finale I expected (and so longed for) isn’t occurring onscreen, but beyond it. It’s an elemental reaction—primal, intellectual, emotional—and it reminds me what I find so rewarding about Gianvito’s cinema, in which things may fade, but nothing is forgotten.

Vapor Trail (Clark) screens tonight at 6:30pm at Anthology Film Archives as part of the Migrating Forms Film Festival. Click here for more information.

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Who Killed My Father Is Heartbreaking but Prone to Pat Sociological Analysis

Édouard Louis’s latest is strong as a portrait of a family unable to communicate through anything but volatile, toxic outbursts.

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Who Killed My Father

Edouard Louis’s father has been an important figure in each of his previous works, even when he’s never seen or mostly at the periphery (as in The History of Violence). With his latest, Who Killed My Father, Louis finally turns to directly examining his most important, damaged relationship. Both in his previous books and interviews, Louis has repeatedly acknowledged this broken relationship, largely stemming from the author’s open homosexuality. Alongside this, Louis’s prior works have circled around a number of themes to which he returns here: the French political and working classes, the small-town prejudices that surrounded his upbringing and drove a closeted homosexual boy to escape to more cosmopolitan Paris, and the role of state power in producing social and physical illness.

With Who Killed My Father, Louis invites inevitable comparisons to Abdellah Taïa, another talented French writer who’s also gay and largely estranged from his place of origin, and also primarily an autobiographical novelist. Like Louis, Taïa incorporates his complicated relationship with a parent into several of his books. Taïa also connects that relationship, his writing, and his experience with the society he left behind in Morocco and the one he found in France. But what distinguishes his writing in, for example, Infidels or Salvation Army from that of Edouard Louis in Who Killed My Father is a strong sense of meaning. Taïa incorporates his relationship with his mother, M’Barka, to convey something more meaningful and developed.

Louis begins down this same road before clumsily inserting a political tract at the end of Who Killed My Father that doesn’t knit as effortlessly with parts one and two. The book situates Louis’s relationship with his father front and center as compared to his previous work. It’s clear that he’s exposing the painfulness of their relationship for the purpose of speaking about political power and its physical and social toll on those who don’t possess it, but Who Killed My Father stumbles in conveying its message adequately.

Louis’s account of his father’s suffering and violence toward those around him is both painful and sharp. Who Killed My Father is strongest when Louis is demonstrating his father’s most private acts of kindness, as when the father gives Louis a copy of Titanic for his birthday after trying to convince him to ask for a more “masculine” gift. After Louis realizes that his carefully planned tribute to the pop band Aqua at a family dinner has embarrassed his father, the man reassures Louis that “it’s nothing.” In the book’s first and strongest part, Louis expounds not only on the relationship with his father, but also excavates what might have made his father the man he grew up with. At one point, he recounts finding a photograph of his father in women’s clothes—undoubtedly some adolescent joke, but also inconceivable from the man who insisted to his son that men should never act like girls.

Regrettably, part one ends with a trite conclusion that says everything and nothing at the same time. In part two, the story attempts to braid together all the malignant threads of Louis’s family narrative. Louis recalls igniting a violent outburst between his father and older brother as a result of his mother shaming him for acting too much like a girl (“faggot” is what some others in the neighborhood more precisely call him). The insinuation hurts and angers him so much that he betrays his mother’s confidence on another family secret, setting loose a new wave of violence. Part two is short and important to moving Who Killed My Father toward some wider evaluation of the questions Louis begins the book with, but it ultimately fails to find its footing by pivoting in part three to an unearned polemic against the political classes.

Who Killed My Father is strong as a portrait of a family unable to communicate (except in brief moments of tenderness) through anything but volatile, toxic outbursts, but the book at its weakest when trying to ham-handedly force this narrative into some broad theorizing about power and society and structural violence. Part one aligned beautifully with a narrative of meaning more comparable to Taïa at his best. Unfortunately, the story quickly falls apart when Jacques Chirac is indicted for destroying Louis’s father’s body through changes in health care coverage. It’s not that the questions Louis ends with aren’t necessary and important ones; it’s that there’s so little threading the narrative together into anything cohesive. What was the point of the first two-thirds of the book? His father was cruel, occasionally loving, but never mind because the state is killing him? The life of the poor is one of abject powerlessness against an unremittingly powerful and callous “ruling class”?

Louis deserves credit for the attempt to tie it all together into some grander commentary on the political class and its ambivalence, but the conclusion is simultaneously glib and condescending. Perhaps Louis didn’t intend it, but the book’s conclusion drains away responsibility for the cruelty and bigotry of those like his father, and patronizes them as with a quick How could we expect any better of the noble, working poor? Is it the state’s or the ruling class’s subjugation of his father’s body that’s somehow also responsible for his inability to sympathize with gays or immigrants? Of course, the poor are subjugated by the rich and Louis has written more meaningfully about the implications of that relationship elsewhere. But in Who Killed My Father, he inadvertently demonstrates that the answer isn’t to sanctify them any more than it is to demonize them.

Édouard Louis’s Who Killed My Father is now available from New Directions.

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Through the Years: Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” at 30

To celebrate this sacred anniversary, we’re taking a look back at the single’s evolution over the last three decades.

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Through the Years: Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” at 25

This week Madonna’s iconic hit “Like a Prayer” turns 30. The song is, by all accounts, her most broadly beloved contribution to the pop-music canon, landing at #7 on our list of the Best Singles of the 1980s. Even the singer’s most ardent critics can’t help but bow at the altar of this gospel-infused conflation of spiritual and sexual ecstasy, a song that helped transform Madge from ‘80s pop tart to bona fide icon. To celebrate this sacred anniversary, we’re taking a look back at the single’s evolution over the last three decades.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on March 3, 2014.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1x2z_rY1Fjk

Pepsi Commercial

Following a teaser that aired during the 31st Annual Grammy Awards in January of 1989, Madonna premiered “Like a Prayer” in a Pepsi commercial during The Cosby Show, the #1 rated series on U.S. television at the time. Part of a $5 million sponsorship deal with the soft-drink company, the ad, titled “Make a Wish,” was an innocuous bit of nostalgia that would soon be eclipsed by the scandal surrounding the single’s forthcoming music video.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79fzeNUqQbQ

Music Video

Madonna dances in front of burning crosses and kisses a black saint in a church pew in this modern morality tale about racial profiling and pious guilt, prompting both the religious right and cultural critics, like bell hooks, to cry foul. Eventually, the mounting outrage caused Pepsi to pull out of their multi-million dollar deal with the Queen of Pop. The singer’s response was coyly defiant.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Xvjnay4kS8

Blond Ambition Tour

Madonna’s first live incarnation of “Like a Prayer” was also her best. Sure, her voice was raw and unrefined (“Life is a misstaree, eve’one mus stan alone,” she heaves), but her 1990 tour performances of the song displayed a rapturous, almost possessed quality that she’s never been able to recapture.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4vSbVWm6F8

Mad’House Cover

Dutch Eurotrash group Mad’House’s claim to fame is their blasphemous take on “Like a Prayer” from 2002. The glorified Madonna cover band’s version is stripped of the original’s nuance and soul, a tacky, mechanical shell of a dance track. Regrettably, this is the version you’re most likely to hear on Top 40 radio today. (Only slightly less heretical, the cast of Glee’s rendition of the song peaked at #27 in 2010.)


MTV On Stage & On the Record

Then notorious for forsaking her older material, Madonna dusted off “Like a Prayer” in 2003 during the promotion of her album American Life. Thirteen years after her last live performance of the song, even Madonna’s comparatively reedier voice and noticeably more limited range couldn’t diminish its enduring magic.


Sticky & Sweet Tour

After performing crowd-pleasing but relatively anemic versions of “Like a Prayer” during her Re-Invention Tour in 2004 and Live 8 in 2005, Madonna reinvented the song for her Sticky & Sweet Tour in 2008, using elements of Mack’s “Feels Like Home” for an amped-up techno mash-up.


Super Bowl XLVI

Madonna closed her record-breaking Super Bowl XLVI halftime show in 2012 with “Like a Prayer,” and though she wasn’t singing live, it was the closest she’s ever gotten to her ecstatic Blond Ambition performances. (For those lamenting the lip-synching, she would go on to reprise this version of the song, completely live, during her MDNA Tour later that year.) And if there were any doubt, a stadium of nearly 70,000 football fans waving flashlights and singing along is a testament to the song’s transcendent, all-encompassing appeal. The performance’s final message of “World Peace” seemed attainable, if only for a brief moment.


Met Gala 2018

Last year, Madonna dusted off her old chestnut for an epic performance at Vogue magazine’s annual Met Gala. The event’s theme was “Fashion and the Catholic Imagination,” which seemed tailor-made for both the Queen of Pop and “Like a Prayer.” Madonna slowly descended the steps of New York City’s Metropolitan Museum of Art in a shroud, flanked on both sides by a choir of monks, as she sang a Gregorian-inspired rendition of the pop classic. The performance also featured a portion of a new song, “Beautiful Game,” and a cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”

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Awards

Oscars 2019: Complete Winners List

The 91st Academy Awards are now behind us, and the telecast told us just about nothing that we don’t already know about AMPAS.

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Green Book
Photo: Universal Pictures

The 91st Academy Awards are now behind us, and the telecast told us just about nothing that we don’t already know about AMPAS. Which isn’t to say that the ceremony wasn’t without its surprises. For one, whoever decided to capture Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper’s performance of “Shallow” from A Star Is Born in one single take that would end with the pair sitting side by side, rapt in each other and framed in Bergman-esque repose, should hereby be responsible for every Oscar ceremony moving forward.

For some, though not us, Green Book’s victory for best picture came as surprise. As our own Eric Henderson put it in his prediction: “Those attacking the film from every conceivable angle have also ignored the one that matters to most people: the pleasure principle. Can anyone blame Hollywood for getting its back up on behalf of a laughably old-fashioned but seamlessly mounted road movie-cum-buddy pic that reassures people that the world they’re leaving is better than the one they found? That’s, as they say, the future that liberals and Oscar want.”

In the end, the awards went down more or less as expected, with the only real shock of the evening being Oliva Colman’s stunning upset over Glenn Close in the best actress race. (Glenn, we hope you are on the phone right now trying to get that Sunset Boulevard remake to finally happen.) Black Panther proved more indomitable than expected, winning in three categories (none of which we predicted), and Free Solo pulling a victory over RBG that was the first big sign of the evening that, then and now, AMPAS members vote above all else with their guts.

See below for the full list of winners from the 2019 Oscars.

Picture
Black Panther
BlacKkKlansman
Bohemian Rhapsody
The Favourite
Green Book (WINNER)
Roma
A Star Is Born
Vice

Director
Spike Lee, BlacKkKlansman
Pawel Pawlikowski, Cold War
Yorgos Lanthimos, The Favourite
Alfonso Cuarón, Roma (WINNER)
Adam McKay, Vice

Actor
Christian Bale, Vice
Bradley Cooper, A Star Is Born
Willem Dafoe, At Eternity’s Gate
Rami Malek, Bohemian Rhapsody (WINNER)
Viggo Mortensen, Green Book

Actress
Yalitza Aparicio, Roma
Glenn Close, The Wife
Olivia Colman, The Favourite (WINNER)
Lady Gaga, A Star Is Born
Melissa McCarthy, Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Supporting Actor
Mahershala Ali, Green Book (WINNER)
Adam Driver, BlacKkKlansman
Sam Elliott, A Star Is Born
Richard E. Grant, Can You Ever Forgive Me?
Sam Rockwell, Vice

Supporting Actress
Amy Adams, Vice
Marina de Tavira, Roma
Regina King, If Beale Street Could Talk (WINNER)
Emma Stone, The Favourite
Rachel Weisz, The Favourite

Adapted Screenplay
The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Joel Coen and Ethan Coen
BlacKkKlansman, Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz, Kevin Willmott, and Spike Lee (WINNER)
Can You Ever Forgive Me?, Nicole Holofcener and Jeff Whitty
If Beale Street Could Talk, Barry Jenkins
A Star Is Born, Eric Roth, Bradley Cooper, and Will Fetters

Original Screenplay
The Favourite, Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara
First Reformed, Paul Schrader
Green Book, Nick Vallelonga, Brian Currie, and Peter Farrelly (WINNER)
Roma, Alfonso Cuarón
Vice, Adam McKay

Foreign Language Film
Capernaum (Lebanon)
Cold War (Poland)
Never Look Away (Germany)
Roma (Mexico) (WINNER)
Shoplifters (Japan)

Documentary Feature
Free Solo, Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi (WINNER)
Hale County This Morning, This Evening, RaMell Ross
Minding the Gap, Bing Liu
Of Fathers and Sons, Talal Derki
RBG, Betsy West and Julie Cohen

Animated Feature
Incredibles 2, Brad Bird
Isle of Dogs, Wes Anderson
Mirai, Mamoru Hosoda
Ralph Breaks the Internet, Rich Moore and Phil Johnston
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, and Rodney Rothman (WINNER)

Cinematography
Cold War, Lukasz Zal
The Favourite, Robbie Ryan
Never Look Away, Caleb Deschanel
Roma, Alfonso Cuarón (WINNER)
A Star Is Born, Matthew Libatique

Film Editing
BlacKkKlansman, Barry Alexander Brown
Bohemian Rhapsody, John Ottman (WINNER)
Green Book, Patrick J. Don Vito
The Favourite, Yorgos Mavropsaridis
Vice, Hank Corwin

Production Design
Black Panther, Hannah Beachler (WINNER)
First Man, Nathan Crowley and Kathy Lucas
The Favourite, Fiona Crombie and Alice Felton
Mary Poppins Returns, John Myhre and Gordon Sim
Roma, Eugenio Caballero and Bárbara Enrı́quez

Original Score
BlacKkKlansman, Terence Blanchard
Black Panther, Ludwig Goransson (WINNER)
If Beale Street Could Talk, Nicholas Britell
Isle of Dogs, Alexandre Desplat
Mary Poppins Returns, Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman

Original Song
All The Stars from Black Panther by Kendrick Lamar, SZA
I’ll Fight from RBG by Diane Warren, Jennifer Hudson
The Place Where Lost Things Go from Mary Poppins Returns by Marc Shaiman, Scott Wittman
Shallow from A Star Is Born by Lady Gaga, Mark Ronson, Anthony Rossomando, Andrew Wyatt and Benjamin Rice (WINNER)
When A Cowboy Trades His Spurs For Wings from The Ballad of Buster Scruggs by David Rawlings and Gillian Welch

Costume Design
The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Mary Zophres
Black Panther, Ruth E. Carter (WINNER)
The Favourite, Sandy Powell
Mary Poppins Returns, Sandy Powell
Mary Queen of Scots, Alexandra Byrne

Visual Effects
Avengers: Infinity War, Dan DeLeeuw, Kelly Port, Russell Earl, and Daniel Sudick
Christopher Robin, Chris Lawrence, Mike Eames, Theo Jones, and Chris Corbould
First Man, Paul Lambert, Ian Hunter, Tristan Myles, and J.D. Schwalm (WINNER)
Ready Player One, Roger Guyett, Grady Cofer, Matthew E. Butler, and David Shirk
Solo: A Star Wars Story, Rob Bredow, Patrick Tubach, Neal Scanlan, and Dominic Tuohy

Sound Mixing
Black Panther, Steve Boeddeker, Brandon Proctor, and Peter Devlin
Bohemian Rhapsody, Paul Massey, Tim Cavagin, and John Casali (WINNER)
First Man, Jon Taylor, Frank A. Montaño, Ai-Ling Lee, and Mary H. Ellis
Roma, Skip Lievsay, Craig Henighan, and José Antonio García
A Star Is Born, Tom Ozanich, Dean Zupancic, Jason Ruder, and Steve Morrow

Sound Editing
Black Panther, Benjamin A. Burtt and Steve Boeddeker
Bohemian Rhapsody, John Warhurst (WINNER)
First Man, Ai-Ling Lee and Mildred Iatrou Morgan
A Quiet Place, Ethan Van der Ryn and Erik Aadahl
Roma, Sergio Diaz and Skip Lievsay

Makeup and Hairstyling
Border, Göran Lundström and Pamela Goldammer
Mary Queen of Scots, Jenny Shircore, Marc Pilcher, and Jessica Brooks
Vice, Greg Cannom, Kate Biscoe, and Patricia Dehaney (WINNER)

Live Action Short Film
Detainment, Vincent Lambe
Fauve, Jeremy Comte
Marguerite, Marianne Farley
Mother, Rodrigo Sorogoyen
Skin, Guy Nattiv (WINNER)

Documentary Short Subject
Black Sheep, Ed Perkins
End Game, Rob Epstein, Jeffrey Friedman
Lifeboat, Skye Fitzgerald
A Night at the Garden, Marshall Curry
Period. End of Sentence., Rayka Zehtabchi (WINNER)

Animated Short
Animal Behaviour, Alison Snowden and David Fine
Bao, Domee Shi (WINNER)
Late Afternoon, Louise Bagnall
One Small Step, Andrew Chesworth and Bobby Pontillas
Weekends, Trevor Jimenez

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