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Our Daily Bread in a Fast Food Nation

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Our Daily Bread in a Fast Food Nation

With the arrival of American filmmaker Richard Linklater’s warm but fractured version of Edward Schlosser’s Fast Food Nation and Austrian documentarian Nikolaus Geyrhalter’s coolly disturbing study of global agro-business, Our Daily Bread we are presented with two films on a similar subject matter which take near polar opposite approaches and achieve varying levels of success. And while I respect Linklater’s effort, I am much more impressed by Geyrhalter’s achievement.

I should begin with a confession. I’m a big fan of the more personal (non-Hollywood gun-for-hire) films of Richard Linklater. Before Sunrise and Before Sunset are among my all-time personal favorites, while I also hold in high esteem Waking Life, Slacker and A Scanner Darkly, believing them to be among their respective year’s best films. There is a looseness and unwieldiness to his films that many find distracting, but which I contend is endearing. Driven by ideas and characters, they have only a secondary concern with plot. His best films are inhabited by society’s oddballs and fringe-dwellers who engage in wide-ranging conversations that sometimes have only the most tangential concern with providing their story’s with a narrative push. In fact, these films meander along at a leisurely place, arriving (if at all) at their critical moments almost as an afterthought. His latest certainly fits that description, but unfortunately fails to achieve the greatness of its forefathers, and the blame must be squarely laid at Linklater’s feet, as the weaknesses that others decried in his earlier films have come the fore in this sprawling multi-narrative expose of the fast food industry.

As mentioned above, Fast Food Nation is a fictionalized account of Eric Schlosser’s muckraking expose of the fast food industry. When looking for cinematic comps, Linklater’s film shares some of the characteristics of Steven Soderbergh’s Traffic, as it too attempts to look at a controversial issue from as many vantage points as possible, but it isn’t nearly as slick or professional-looking. This is a nod in Linklater’s favor, as the film’s overall griminess suits the subject matter better than Soderbergh’s high-gloss sheen. And while Bruce Willis and Avril Lavigne make, in order, amusing and distracting cameos, generally speaking FFN is not graced with a comparably distracting array of A-list movie stars. Linklater’s film shows us the fast food industry from the point of view of a variety of folks, including illegal immigrant workers, disaffected front line employees, cattle ranchers, fast food executives, and socially conscious university students. Of all these various vantage points, the film proves most engaging and honest when its feet are on the ground, following the fates of Mexican immigrants as they slip across the border, tramp for days on end across a forbidding and foreboding desert landscape and once they reach the promised land, attempt to navigate through the challenging waters of illegal employment and the ruthless topography of uninsured health care. The only instantly recognizable face here, Wilmer Valderrama (That 70s Show), offers a solid performance here, but it is Catalina Sandino Moreno as Sylvia, so riveting as a drug mule in Maria Full of Grace, who roots this storyline. Moreno imbues Sylvia with a frankness and humanity that blazes off the screen, and if the gods are just, she will have her pick of the litter of great film roles for the next decade. She is that good, and that deserving. All of their grim stories’ arcs are told in a forthright manner, and end on an open-ended but powerfully downbeat note that feels both honest and earned. If only Linklater had been as successful in all of his film’s tales.

Unfortunately, and unlike Soderbergh, Linklater is not adept at maintaining multiple narratives and seeing them through to their various plausible conclusions. As with Linklater’s best films, FFN is akin to that gangly, big-boned and loose-limbed kid who tries really hard to impress us with his grace, who is plenty of fun to hang and chat with, but who proves unable to move smoothly in a straight line, or follow his arguments through to their logical conclusions. Usually I love this aspect of awkwardness and open-endedness about Linklater’s films, but in FFN, where narrative threads reinforce and strengthen the film’s themes, it proves a bit disastrous. The narrative fissures that see the disappearance of Greg Kinnear’s corporate boss character for nearly the entire second half of the film point to a certain laziness and lack of focus and purpose that acts to submarine many of the storylines. There are moments when the film regains focus, as when one of the characters, after noting how the Patriot Act makes actions against property a treasonous act, summons up the charge that he can think of nothing more patriotic than breaking the Patriot Act. Or later, near film’s end and Sylvia surveys the horrors of the meat packing plant’s killing floor, Linklater is attempting to re-establish his hold over the film’s various themes and stories, touching on a wound that opens to what poet Karl Shapiro called “our richest horror.” However, rather than coalescing his film, and urging it on to rise steadily to a crescendo of intrigue and outrage, these moments prove frustratingly fleet, as most of tales wither quietly away.

And now for something completely similar, and yet strikingly different, we have Our Daily Bread, a documentary out of the Netherlands directed by Austrian Nikolaus Geyrhalter, that gives us a bird’s eye view of the daily operations of a variety of agro-businesses, but does so without a single moment of voice-over narration. In fact, the only audible words are spoken by the laborers in these businesses, and are in a variety of European languages that I suspect most of us have at best a passing familiarity with. So, for all intents and purposes, Our Daily Bread is wordless, offering as its sole method of documentation a series of immaculately constructed shots that eerily reflect the efficient and precise nature of the businesses whose methods they are recording. And without uttering a single word, Our Daily Food expresses a more radical vision of contemporary food production than Linklater’s far more verbose and easily accessible film.

While Fast Food Nation only escapes its running dialogue on the evils of the fast food industry when it moves outside of its lower middle class setting, and takes us into the meat packing plant with the exploited illegal Mexican employees, thereby allowing us to see the meat industry from the inside out, Our Daily Bread takes this tack from the get-go, and is, in fact, little more than this. And the result is positively chilling. The film presents a series of stately and deceptively beautiful shots of small and seemingly mundane moments in a typical day of various agro-businesses. The cumulative effect of these portraits is, however, emotionally devastating.

Now let me clarify something. I try to be reasonably well-informed about important global issues. I know about the perils of global agro-business, as I’ve read Fast Food Nation, and with equal parts dread and fascination, I have checked out the Upton Sinclair-like exposes that have recently graced the pages of socially-conscious magazines like Harper’s. Yet nothing I read prepared me for the overwhelming sense of horror and disgust that settled upon me as I viewed Our Daily Bread. We can communicate in many ways the many terrible things that we are doing to this planet, but there is something about moving imagines that simply cannot be superseded for visceral impact. Reading about it has given me the intellectual ammunition to question the ways of our world, but it has not managed to get to my emotional core in the same way that the grim images in this film managed. In effect, Our Daily Bread is a series of tableaux, existential portraits of working people put through their paces on a standard day.

The filmmaker’s clinical approach mirrors that of the food processors. By bleeding the passion out of their approach, the filmmakers achieve something quite striking, as the cumulative effect of the images of bloodletting and dismemberment is even more striking and horrific. Further, these stately, symmetrical and sometimes even majestic shots of workers’ daily tedium provides a sort of cognitive dissonance, as we stand at a comfortable distance, but are asked to observe actions that will rattle all but the most cold-hearted among us. Leo Goldsmith (web site: Not Coming to a Theater Near You) astutely describes how Geyrhalter “[emphasizes] the vanishing point in every scene, heightening the sense of infinite space in each field, barn, or factory in the same manner that Kubrick underscores distance and depth in [2001: A Space Odyssey].” Pulling up the compositions of Kubrick as a reference might seem like heady stuff, but Geyrhalter earns the comps. And like Linklater, who builds up to the final reveal on the killing floor that nearly reveals all the fumbling that passed before, Geyrhalter’s film builds slowly but inevitably to this gruesome climax. And all the evidence is flushed away in an orgy of anti-septicism, as if we must, Pilate-like, cleanse ourselves so thoroughly of these deeds that not only will the blood be erased from our hands, but memory of the deed as well. It’s as if Lady Macbeth is running global agro-business. “What’s done is done. These deeds must not be thought/After these ways; so, it will make us mad.”

With an eye as cool and detached as Stan Brakhage’s autopsy footage, and with a pace as casual as a summer picnic, Geyrhalter states simply that this is what we’ve come to. This is how we choose to handle the earth. A seemingly barren wasteland is a precursor for images of harvest straight out of a science fiction imagination. A massive field of sunflowers, and the workers toiling row upon row, are drenched by a crop duster, then the plants harvested by workers garbed as if stationed to clean up duty in Chernobyl. This is the food we eat. These are the methods we use to maximize profit and guarantee the lowest possible price for the consumer. And yet Our Daily Bread is not a muckraking expose in the manner of Sinclair’s The Jungle so much as a dispassionate documentation of the way things are. Sometimes a film offers up explanation and analysis, other times it merely requires that we bear witness. Is the latter a cop out? It can be, particularly when the filmmakers attempt to take some sort of falsely “objective” vantage point on the proceedings. Yet, despite the seeming coldly surgical approach to the subject, it is pretty obvious that the filmmakers of Our Daily Bread clearly have a point of view, and it is found in the juxtaposition and layering of images. Observe the contrast between the scenes of mass processing of food products with the intimate shots of individual workers eating their lunches. Where does the food come from that they eat? The film also quickly settles into a gentle rhythm that is deceivingly unobtrusive. As we observe at a respectful distance, workers carry out their daily chores in calm and unquestioning obeisance, our concern transforms into terror, our disgust becomes revulsion. How, we wonder, can these people continue to toil at such work without feeling as we do?

The answer is relatively simple. The people at work pushing the chicks here and shoving the pigs there, spraying the crops and eviscerating the cattle are part of a larger metaphor, one which Linklater’s film taps into quite graphically in its final scenes. Just like the meat their turn into food products for our consumption, these laborers are being processed. They are being shoved down the chute and onto the killing floor with the same dreadful efficiency as the creatures they process. It is rather sobering to realize that the same mechanical, interchangeable, assembly-line production model that Chaplin mocked so brilliantly over seventy years ago in Modern Times lives on, and with a dreadful and horrifying level of efficiency that even Marx might have found striking. The repetitive nature of the work is soul-deadening, and turns the workers into objects toiling silently and efficiently who, like the goods they manufacture, will find their humanity chewed up by the machinery of production. The livestock are not the only things being processed.

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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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