Dances With Wolves, Kevin Costner's overwhelmingly popular revisionist western, bulldozed its way over all comers in 1990, receiving twelve nominations and seven Oscars. That one of those nominations went to Costner's typically wooden performance as a former Cavalry officer who "goes injun" after being adopted by a band of Lakota Sioux that are so kindhearted and pacifistic that they seem more like a hippie commune than a tribe of Native Americans was a clear indication that the Academy was so taken in by this somber film's self-righteous political correctness that they wanted to throw as many honors at it as possible. But with the passage of over a decade, the Academy's devotion to Dances With Wolves now seems like an act of contrition to the Sacheen Littlefeather mentality because while the film undeniably has some effective elements (the celebrated buffalo hunt sequence is very exciting indeed), it is so permeated by a sense of its own self importance that it hard to watch with a serious eye. To be sure, it isn't any more one-sided or dishonest than all those John Wayne movies that depict the white man as well-meaning pioneers bringing civilization to an untamed land and the Indians as brutal savages, but the Academy generally turned its nose up at such racially simplistic drivel in the past.

Simplistic is hardly the word for GoodFellas, Martin Scorsese's brilliant depiction of mobster-turned-stoolie Henry Hill's chronicle of his days in the Mafia; a seeming response to The Godfather saga, whose epic characters are depicted as major players on the world political stage, the made men of GoodFellas are concerned with nuts and bolts problems like unloading the contents of a rerouted cigarette truck or disposing of the carcass of a pesky competitor with quicklime (issues that Michael Corleone never had to soil his silk suit with).

1991 was such a weak year for movies that the Academy resorted to measures that they had never gone to previously, naming the feature length cartoon Beauty and the Beast as one of the Best Picture nominees in order to round out the field. Disney's delightful retelling of the classic fairy tale was one of the studio's greatest achievements, but the fact that it received a nomination when such timeless classics as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Pinnochio, Bambi, The Little Mermaid or The Lion King were never even considered for the top award is far more indicative of the slim pickings in this year than of the singular contributions of Beauty and the Beast to the art of animation (as notable as they were). With so little to pick from, its understandable that the Academy chose to honor the gruesome but compelling thriller, The Silence of the Lambs. In a stronger year, The Silence of the Lambs would usually be the type of film that was relegated to technical awards (if any), although there is no denying that the film is brought into a level beyond the depth of most thrillers through the complex performance of Jodie Foster and the electrifying presence of Anthony Hopkins as the screen's most famous cannibal-psychiatrist.

After years of being taken for granted for outstanding films like High Plains Drifter, The Outlaw Josie Wales, Tightrope, Bird, and Pale Rider, 1992 was the year that Clint Eastwood got respect for the brilliant valedictory to his career as a Western star, Unforgiven. Eastwood plays William Munny, a once-brutal murderer who reluctantly goes off to commit one final murder for money after years of trying to find redemption as the pig farming father of two young children. The role is a brilliant evolution of the character he played in his spaghetti westerns of the 1960s, and his presence in the film is arguably the best example in the history of film of an actor's screen personae filling in a character's background. But Unforgiven is much more than simply a star vehicle for Eastwood to come full circle with his Western image, providing an actor's field day with brilliant performances by Gene Hackman (who won a richly-deserved Oscar for Best Supporting Actor as a sadistic sheriff), Morgan Freeman, and Richard Harris. Unforgiven's chief competition in the Oscar Derby was the compelling sex-change thriller The Crying Game (a film whose head-spinning surprise plot twist was betrayed by the nomination of Jaye Richardson in the Best Supporting Actor category); but after that the competition fell off drastically, with the Academy so desperate to fill out the Best Picture field that they nominated the mundane courtroom drama A Few Good Men (overlooking the far more challenging Malcolm X). But on Oscar night it was all about quality, with Eastwood finally getting his long-overdue recognition.

Steven Spielberg was itching to win an Oscar by 1993, occasionally throwing in a clumsy, frequently overrated drama (The Color Purple, Empire of the Sun, Always) into his filmography in a transparent attempt to win the plaudits he never received for his masterful excursions into popular filmmaking. Spielberg finally hit paydirt when he came across Thomas Keneally's book about Oskar Schindler, the controversial (he was a war profiteer and member of the Nazi party) savior of over 1000 Jews from Nazi concentration camps. Spielberg's dynamic presentation of the inspiring story was recognized as an instant classic (it was rated as the ninth greatest American film ever made by the American Film Institute) and was the runaway winner at the Academy Awards that year (despite distinguished competition from In the Name of the Father, The Piano, and The Remains of the Day in addition to the potboiler The Fugitive). As moving and effective as Schindler's List is, it is somewhat overrated (it is overlong and its "group hug" ending is sentimental manipulation at its worst), but it contains some of the most powerful sequences ever filmed and should be lauded for its sensitive handling of a brutal subject matter. In a less competitive year the award might have gone to the superbly acted Merchant-Ivory collaboration The Remains of the Day, but 1993 was the year that Steven Spielberg finally - and deservedly - got the Oscar recognition he coveted.

Two brilliant movies went head-to-head in 1994, Forrest Gump and
Pulp Fiction. Both were madly enjoyable, incredibly imaginative smashes that provided iconic sequences that have provided nonstop fodder for parodists in ensuing years (Gump seated on a bench waiting patiently for his bus while attired in an immaculate white suit in Forrest Gump and Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames being tied to chairs with ball-gags in their mouths as they wait for the mysterious Zed to arrive in Pulp Fiction). Either film would have been a good choice, but the ultra-violent Pulp Fiction would have to make do with a single Oscar for Quentin Tarantino's inventive screenplay against Forrest Gump's more universally palatable gentle optimism (Gump made in $329,691,196 in United States box office receipts against Pulp Fiction's $107,930,000). But Forrest Gump's Oscar success is hardly based on maudlin sentimentality, as it is a truly brilliant film that cleverly interpolates its hero into footage from historical events yet never relies on the gimmick so heavily that it loses sight of the absorbing human story that it tells. This is thanks, in no small part, to the stunning artistry of Hanks in the title role, a performance that could easily have degenerated into embarrassing parody in a lesser actor's hands. Fine work is also offered by Gary Senise as the bitter amputee Lieutenant Dan, a performance that was sadly overlooked at the Oscars because of the dense competition in the Supporting Actor field: Sinise, Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction, and Chazz Palminteri in Bullets Over Broadway would all have been deserving winners were it not for the sublime performance of Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi in the stunningly acted box office bomb Ed Wood (fifth nominee Paul Scofield in Quiz Show was only in the running on the basis of his previous Oscar for A Man for All Seasons and his awesome theatrical reputation and should have been passed over in favor of Bill Murray in Ed Wood, Ving Rhames in Pulp Fiction, or John Hannah in Four Weddings and a Funeral). In such lean movie times it's unfortunate when a fine film like Pulp Fiction (or fellow runner-up The Shawshank Redemption) has to come up short, but there's certainly no shame in losing to a masterpiece like Forrest Gump.

Given the Academy's preference for pretentious drama, it's not surprising that it has always turned its back on children's films. Prior to 1995, the only three or four films nominated for Best Picture that might fall into this category were The Wizard of Oz, Mary Poppins and Beauty and the Beast (and perhaps E.T.). With another shortage of outstanding films to choose from this year the Oscars had no choice but to add another to the list, Chris Noonan's film adaptation of Dick King-Smith's novel The Sheep Pig. Noonan's deceptively simple Babe turned out not only to be a technical marvel (48 real Yorkshire pigs plus an animatronic double played the title role), but a refreshingly gentle and heartwarming story of a little pig raised by sheepdogs that learns to herd sheep himself. Babe is that rarest of creatures, a film made for children that can be enjoyed equally by adults, that was a financial smash which put character actor James Cromwell (until then best known for his recurring role as Stretch Cunningham in All in the Family) on the map for his Oscar nominated performance as farmer Arthur Hoggett. It was not only the best film of the year, but the only one that is likely to be continued to be screened with enthusiasm fifty years after its initial release.

Nominated for seven awards, the only Oscar Babe took home was for its stunning visual effects. The surprise winner this year was Mel Gibson's plodding epic film of the story of 13th century Scottish hero William Wallace. Braveheart is an reasonably entertaining (though overlong) action film which gives Wallace's story the typical Hollywood treatment (the movie begins with a prologue showing the child Wallace expressing his undying love to a little girl of his own age but when the adult Wallace rides back from the wars to claim her, the actress playing the adult character is easily fifteen years younger than Gibson) and is not even remotely in the same league as the other nominees (Apollo 13, Babe,, Il Postino, and even Sense and Sensibility), much less their superior.

A memorable episode of Seinfeld depicts the character of Elaine mystified over the praise being heaped on The English Patient, until she finally runs out of a theatre showing the film because it is simply too long and boring to sit through. madbeast.com shares Elaine's opinion of the monotonous saga, ranking it with Cimarron, Cavalcade and Oliver! as one of the genuinely awful films to win the Best Picture Academy Award. The Academy's devotion to the lifeless The English Patient is especially confusing since all four of the other nominees (Fargo, Jerry Maguire, Secrets & Lies, and Shine) were excellent films that would have been reasonable selections for the top honor. The best of the lot by far was Joel and Ethan Cohen's disturbing comedy-drama of a kidnapping gone horribly wrong, Fargo. Ranked as the eighty-fourth greatest American film ever made by the American Film Institute only two years after its release, Fargo packs more drama and suspense in its ninety-eight minute running time than most of the recent Oscar winners dole out in their meandering three-plus hours. Brilliant acted by an outstanding ensemble that included unforgettable performances by Frances McDormand. William H. Macy, Steve Buscemi (who lost the Supporting Actor Hindsight Award to Macy in a coin toss), and the menacing Harve Presnell, audiences will forever wonder in astonishment how this great film could be bypassed for recognition over the interminable The English Patient.

Prior to the Academy Awards, almost every major critics group had given their Best Picture award to Curtis Hanson's riveting film noir, LA Confidential. But by the time Oscar Night had rolled around, James Cameron's Titanic had become the movie phenomenon of the decade and the all-time box office champion; so the Academy rewarded it by giving it a record-tying 11 Oscars. Titanic is an impressively produced film, but there is no question that the Academy confused the devotion of a legion of teenage girls for quality and had the film been judged strictly on the basis of its merits as a motion picture (instead of a social phenomenon) it would have walked away with nothing more than a few technical awards. But for some unfathomable reason, the country became obsessed for a time by this silly film that had the sensibility of a cheap romance novel; and in that gap it not only managed to spin more gold than Rumplestiltskin, it was able to con the motion picture elite into believing that James Cameron was King of the World. Mercifully, Titanic-mania has worn off over time (the film is given a mediocre 6.8 rating on IMDb.com, whose readership is comprised of Titanic's key demographic audience), and we now look back on our fascination with it with the same sense of irony as seeing an old snapshot of ourselves in high school with an outrageous hairstyle, and musing "what the hell was I thinking?"

The unfortunate loser in this whirlwind was LA Confidential, which was certainly the finest film of the year despite winning only two awards (ironically, one of the awards it won was one it didn't deserve, for Kim Basinger's mediocre performance as a call girl with a resemblance to Veronica Lake). Hanson's output as a director has been a mixed bag in the ensuing years (although Wonder Boys, his brilliantly oddball character study of an eccentric English professor, was certainly the most under-rewarded film of 2000), but LA Confidential was much more worthy of the sensation created by Titanic. Wonderfully acted by Russell Crowe, Guy Pearce, Kevin Spacey, Danny De Vito, and James Cromwell, LA Confidential will at least have the distinction of forever being at the top of most lists of the films that should have won the Best Picture Oscar, but didn't.

The Oscar success of Shakespeare in Love was criticized in some quarters because of the lavish Academy Award campaign staged by its distributor, Miramax Film's Harvey Weinstein. While there is no doubt that Weinstein was extravagant in his spending, it might not have mattered if the film weren't a remarkably clever and touching romantic fantasy about a love affair that served as the Bard's inspiration for Romeo & Juliet. In reality R&J was based upon an old legend, but otherwise Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard's clever screenplay made remarkable use of the few known facts of Shakespeare's life to spin a heartwarming delight. Shakespeare in Love was considered a surprise winner on Oscar Night, with the award expected to go to Steven Spielberg's fatuous, overlong and overrated Saving Private Ryan; and given the Academy's distaste for comedy, Shakespeare in Love does not seem to fit the usual Oscar mold. But because of the film's literary background it had just enough pretension going for it to seem Important enough to win Academy Awards, even though at its core it remains a classic romantic comedy (Gwynneth Paltrow's Oscar for her unexceptional performance in a run-of-the-mill ingenue role was a terrible choice over the far more challenging work of Fernanda Montenegra in Central Station or Cate Blanchett for Elizabeth), a difficult genre that is rarely honored by the Academy.

American Beauty was the product of first-time screenwriter Alan Ball and first-time film director Sam Mendes, both of whom won Academy Awards for their maiden effort. The film is a disturbingly dark male menopause story that slowly evolves into a strange murder mystery, featuring wonderful performances by Kevin Spacey, Annette Bening, Thora Birch, Wes Bentley, Mena Suvari, and Chris Cooper (who was sadly overlooked for a nomination against strong competition). American Beauty won the Oscar over outstanding opposition from nominees The Cider House Rules, The Insider and The Sixth Sense (fifth nominee The Green Mile was not remotely on the same level), but was the deserved winner along with awards for its two newcomers as well as one for cinematographer Conrad Hall and for the brilliant work of Spacey as Best Actor. Regrettably, the creative team who made American Beauty have not maintained the same high level (with the exception of Ball, who went on to create the popular and quirky television series Six Feet Under). Spacey, whose remarkable string of outstanding films that included his Best Supporting Actor win for The Usual Suspects, LA Confidential and Se7en took a nose dive following American Beauty with such lamentable films as Pay It Forward, K-PAX, The Shipping News, The Life of David Gale, Superman Returns and his self-directed public relations fiasco Beyond the Sea, a vanity project that did little for Spacey's crumbling public image (although he has done impressive work in the theatre as the artistic director of the Old Vic in London). Bening was wonderful in her Oscar nominated turn as a theatre diva in Being Julia although she balanced that out with the disastrous bore Running With Scissors), and Mendes followed his his memorable debut with the pretentious and overlong Road to Perdition. American Beauty was a triumph for all of them, and we can only hope that they will rise to those creative heights again.