In the first part of this series, I highlighted the parallel histories of Shakespeare on screen and the Academy Awards, two institutions that emerged early twentieth century to legitimize the medium. I catalogued all the instances where these two institutions have intersected, namely Oscar nominations and/or wins for films adapted from Shakespeare, and dug into the Shakespeare films that scored Oscar gold, most notably Best Picture Winners Hamlet, West Side Story, and Shakespeare in Love. However, more Shakespeare adaptations have lost than won their nominated categories, and many went surprisingly un-nominated, despite boasting the sort of aesthetics attractive to voters, namely pedigree source material, historical settings, and starry and previously Oscar-sanctioned casts (on paper, such prospects as Al Pacino as Shylock or Michael Fassbender and Marion Cotillard as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth sound like shoe-ins for nominations, but none of those came to pass).
This piece digs into one Shakespeare film, Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet, which was nominated for but won no Oscars, and two films—Branagh’s Much Ado about Nothing and Michael Hoffman’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream—that received no nominations despite Oscar-baiting aesthetics and pedigrees. Since Academy voting data is not publicly disclosed, it speculates on the potential historical and industrial factors that influenced these films’ nominations or lack thereof. I’ll conclude by looking ahead to the 2023 Oscar race and beyond, considering where Shakespeare fits, if anywhere, in the current and future Oscar landscape.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention here the absolutely terrific podcast This Had Oscar Buzz, which every week provides autopsies on films with failed Oscar aspirations. The podcast inspired the title of this article and the tenor of much of the analysis below.
Case study nominee – Hamlet
Branagh’s Hamlet and Baz Luhrmann’s William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet, both 1996 releases, share the rare distinction of being two Shakespeare-related films nominated in the same Oscar category in the same year: Art Direction. This is not the sole time two Shakespeare films competed in a category: twenty-five years later, the West Side Story remake and The Tragedy of Macbeth would compete in this category (now retitled Production Design) and in Cinematography, losing both to sci-fi epic Dune: Part One. Hamlet and Romeo + Juliet would similarly lose in the Art Direction category to the film sweeping that year’s awards, The English Patient. For Romeo + Juliet, Art Direction was (shockingly) its sole nomination; Hamlet would lose in three other categories—Adapted Screenplay to Sling Blade, and Costume Design and Music to, again, The English Patient.
As this piece in The Conversation illustrates, I’m a Branagh fan and apologist, albeit not completist (sorry Artemis Fowl). Part of what I enjoy about Branagh is his propensity to take creative swings and go big; I wouldn’t say he’s a daring filmmaker, but he’s certainly a derring-do filmmaker, and his Hamlet—adapting the complete text of Shakespeare’s play to film—is certainly cinematic derring-do. Befitting this epic undertaking, Branagh mounts Hamlet on the scale of lavish and Oscar-sanctioned epics of yore. There are shades of David Lean, specifically Doctor Zhivago in the casting of Julie Christie as Gertrude, the film’s wintry setting; moreover, the film was the first shot on 70mm since Lean’s Ryan’s Daughter in 1971, and Branagh’s cinematographer Alex Thomson was a focus-puller on Lawrence of Arabia. Charlton Heston’s casting as the Player King evokes his Biblical epics The Ten Commandments, Ben Hur, and El Cid, and in running time Hamlet was the longest commercial release since another epic of the ancient world, 1963’s Cleopatra. Finally, the placement of Hamlet’s “How all occasions” soliloquy immediately before the film’s intermission echoes Scarlett O’ Hara’s pre-intermission “As God is my witness” speech in Gone with the Wind.
In addition to evoking Oscar-sanctioned epics, the film is populated by former Oscar winners and/or nominees—Branagh himself, Christie, Heston, John Gielgud, Kate Winslet, Jack Lemmon, Gerard Depardieu, and Robin Williams—further enhancing its pedigree.
Between Shakespeare’s cultural status, Branagh’s critical repute and past Oscar nomination history with Henry V, a cast peppered with former winners and nominees, a tale told using the cinematic vocabulary of past Oscar-winning classics, and the fact that it was upsizing Olivier’s Hamlet, a previous Best Picture winner, in every way (colour, full text, scale, casting etc.), Hamlet feels built for Oscar prestige. As it stands, it received the abovementioned four nominations, and won none. Its nominations, losses, and omissions are all fairly explicable, looking at that year’s race.
Given its epic scale and period setting, it is unsurprising Hamlet secured its nominations for Art Direction (for Tim Harvey) and Costume Design (for Alexandra Bryne). Zeffirelli’s Hamlet starring Mel Gibson was nominated in the same categories six years earlier. Had Branagh opted for a medieval setting like Zeffirelli, the similarity might have impacted those nominations; however, the choice to transplant Hamlet to an era evoking the fall of the Russian empire—again conjuring Doctor Zhivago, but also 1971’s multi-Oscar-nominated Nicholas and Alexandria—distinguishes the film. Similarly, Branagh’s Adapted Screenplay nomination is fitting given the ambition of not only preserving Shakespeare’s play-text, but the numerous decisions involved in making Hamlet a filmable and engaging screenplay. Finally, Patrick Doyle’s music for Hamlet was his second Oscar-nominated score, following the previous year’s Sense and Sensibility; merits of his score aside (I think it’s a keeper), Doyle likely benefited from topical bias from that nomination and, by virtue of Hamlet’s length, composing the “most” score for a 1996 release.
However, the 1996 Oscars were a year of “indie” takeover. The lower-budget (i.e. under $10 million) independent titles Fargo, Shine, and Secrets and Lies infiltrated the Best Picture ranks and other major categories, whilst more costly, star-driven prestige films with Oscar-baiting aesthetics that traditionally dominate those ranks—Evita, The Crucible, Michael Collins, The Portrait of a Lady, Ghosts of Mississippi, The Mirror Has Two Faces, Sleepers, and indeed Hamlet—received fewer nominations. Sling Blade’s Adapted Screenplay victory over Hamlet is consistent with this tide; it also corresponds with Maureen Lee’s observation that “Academy voters aren’t necessarily just voting for their favourite performance. They’re voting for the moment and the thing that will have emotional resonance”. Thornton’s self-made breakthrough success story—not unlike Branagh’s with Henry V seven years earlier—likely propelled this accolade.
The English Patient, which defeated Hamlet in its three other categories, won nine Oscars overall. Arguably, The English Patient splits the difference between indie and studio content: it cost an estimated $30 million—more expensive than Fargo, Shine, and Secrets and Lies combined—and with its wartime setting carried the strongest whiff of period film victors of recent years, such as Dances with Wolves, Unforgiven, Schindler’s List, and Braveheart. Sometimes a film sweeps the board, and as the most-nominated heritage film/historical drama in contention—occupying the seat at the table that could otherwise have been occupied by Michael Collins, The Crucible, Evita, or Hamlet—its wins in the Music, Costume Design, and Art Direction categories were somewhat predictable. Like Shakespeare in Love, the machinations of distributor Miramax were also instrumental in its success.
Given the—at the very least—nominal cultural import of Branagh’s Hamlet, it is surprising the film didn’t garner more nominations, even in an Oscar race predisposed towards indie films. It’s worth reiterating that Oscar “snubs” are not pre-meditated by committee, but a case of numbers. It’s possible Branagh was a runner-up in the Best Actor ballot, his work overshadowed by the physical transformations, disabled character roles, and prior Oscar histories of that year’s nominees and winners; that Jacobi, Christie, and Winslet were close runner-ups for supporting nominations; and that Branagh’s direction or Alex Thomson’s 70mm photography fell short of nominations, among other things. It’s also possible that two Shakespeare films disparate in length, style, and casting cancelled each other out—Hamlet too stuffy, Romeo + Juliet too flashy—much as two World War II films cancelled each other out to enable Shakespeare in Love to win Best Picture two years later. Indeed, Romeo + Juliet’s cultural import was not nominal but indisputable: unlike Hamlet, it was a big commercial success with a bestselling soundtrack, spawned the aforementioned cycle of teen Shakespeare films, and elevated lead Leonardo DiCaprio to a higher tier of stardom. While I’m dubious about using the word “snubs”, it nonetheless provides a convenient shorthand for films not nominated for Oscars, two of which I’ll consider below.
Case study snubs – Much Ado about Nothing and A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Much Ado about Nothing, released in 1993, was Branagh’s second Shakespeare adaptation and fourth film with partner Emma Thompson. Branagh and Thompson were an ‘It’ couple, and given their British celebrity and gravitation to historical dramas carried the veneer of a royal ‘It’ couple, not unlike the then-Prince and Princess of Wales. Between them, Branagh and Thompson had amassed three Oscar nominations and one win—three nominations for Branagh as Actor and Director of Henry V and for his short film Swan Song, and a win for Thompson as Best Actress for Howards End—one year prior to Much Ado about Nothing. The film’s supporting cast also featured Denzel Washington, then already an Oscar-winning (Glory) and nominated (Cry Freedom; Malcolm X) actor of growing repute. Much Ado’s cast thus carried Oscar history, and the film’s historical setting and lush Tuscan location afforded opportunities for showcasing Oscar-worthy costuming, art direction, and photography. The film’s distributor, The Samuel Goldwyn Company, enthusiastically (and at great expense) campaigned the film during Oscar season. As noted by Emmanuel Levy, “The Samuel Goldwyn Company mailed out six thousand postcards in September 1993, touting its art house hit, Much Ado about Nothing … Below the laudatory blurbs was the phrase: ‘For your consideration—all categories’. They also sent the soundtrack CD to call attention to Patrick Doyle’s score as well as paperback books that included the script”.
However, this promotional hype was much ado for nothing, as no nominations eventuated for Much Ado. One potential factor was timing: Levy suggests that while the film “had opened in May to glowing reviews … It is conventional wisdom that movies that open early in the year get overlooked at Oscar time”. Another potential factor was that Thompson had two other films in contention that year: she was nominated for Best Actress for The Remains of the Day and Best Supporting Actress for In the Name of the Father. Both films were nominated for Best Picture and Director and in multiple other categories, and hailed from creatives with their own Oscar nomination histories: the Merchant-Ivory producer-director team responsible for A Room with a View and director Jim Sheridan of My Left Foot respectively. Arguably, Thompson’s presence in these titles, and Denzel Washington’s presence in another major nominated film, Philadelphia, cancelled out their consideration—and consideration more generally—for Much Ado among many voters.
In addition, the Academy’s perceived stigma against comedies might have been another impediment. Thompson’s two competing Best Picture nominees, The Remains of the Day and In the Name of the Father, were serious period dramas, as was the year’s Best Picture victor, Schindler’s List, and another nominee, The Piano, backed by Miramax’s promotional machinery. There was one populist mainstream entertainment among the Best Picture nominees, albeit about a man evading the law in pursuit of his wife’s killer, in The Fugitive.
Like Much Ado, there was precedent for 1999’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream to receive Oscar consideration. Most notably, William Dieterle and Max Reinhardt’s 1935 adaptation won Oscars for its innovative cinematography and editing, and was nominated for Best Picture. Iterations of the same story over time can generate new awards and nominations, as demonstrated by reiterations of Mutiny on the Bounty (1935, 1962) and A Star is Born (1937, 1954, 1976, 2018). This also applies to Shakespeare films, demonstrated by nominations and/or wins for different versions of Hamlet, Henry V, Romeo and Juliet, and Richard III, as well as West Side Story and The Lion King.
Moreover, the cast of A Midsummer Night’s Dream was peppered with former winners, nominees, and Oscar-adjacent players: Kevin Kline was a Best Supporting Actor winner for A Fish Called Wanda; Michelle Pfeiffer was nominated thrice for Dangerous Liaisons, The Fabulous Baker Boys, and Love Field; and Sophie Marceau co-starred in 1995’s Best Picture victor Braveheart. Finally, the film’s historical setting and evocation of both a bygone era and fantastical realm create opportunity for nomination-worthy costuming, art direction, and photography. In these departments there was also Oscar pedigree: costume designer Gabriella Pescucci won for The Age of Innocence and was nominated for The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, whilst production designer Luciana Arrighi and set decorator Ian Whittaker won for their collaboration on Howard’s End and were nominated for The Remains of the Day. Douglas Lanier notes story and style attributes linking A Midsummer Night’s Dream to earlier heritage drama nominees and winners like Howard’s End and The Remains of the Day: “from the start Hoffman’s Dream situates itself firmly within the conventions of heritage cinema, in which nostalgia for an upper-class lifestyle and its material accoutrements is wedded to the high-cultural cachet of literary ‘classics’ adapted for film … viewers of these films are invited to indulge vicariously in the sensual delights of aristocratic finery”.
However, despite these Oscar-baiting aesthetics, A Midsummer Night’s Dream received no nominations. Like Much Ado, its early release (in May 1999) and comedy status perhaps impeded its consideration, although comedy-drama American Beauty was the Best Picture, Director, Actor, Screenplay, and Cinematography winner of that year (the -drama bit makes a difference; see also The Apartment, Annie Hall etc.). Ultimately, heritage dramas and films derived from classic literature were scarce at that year’s Academy Awards: two period dramas nominated for Best Picture, The Cider House Rules and The Green Mile, were set in early-twentieth century America and adapted from late-twentieth century texts (and were notably the softer nominees in that category), whilst the other Picture nominees—winner American Beauty, The Insider, The Sixth Sense—were contemporary-set. Moreover, many nominations celebrated works from new and emerging talents, including Sam Mendes (American Beauty), M. Night Shyamalan (The Sixth Sense), Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich), Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia), and the Wachowskis (The Matrix).
Though the Bard was represented in one category in 1999—Titus was nominated for Best Costume Design—and traditional Oscar fare like Angela’s Ashes was represented in craft categories, the race was consistent with the forward-looking timbre of American cinema in 1999, routinely hailed as one of the best and most diverse years in film. Arguably, A Midsummer Night’s Dream’s conservative approach to its source made it an outlier in that year’s competition. Moreover, the mixed aftertaste of Shakespeare in Love—with its Elizabethan showbiz satire perhaps rendering Hoffman’s equivalent scenes derivative—is another potential impediment.
2023 and beyond: The undiscovered country …
Whilst I’m all for speculating why completed films won or lost Oscars, or were or were not nominated, I’m less adept at Oscar prognosticating, especially for films that are unreleased, unmade, or indeed hypothetical. Nonetheless, the discussion above does beg the question: What would it take for future Shakespeare films to become Oscar darlings?
The last Best Picture winner hailing from Britain was The King’s Speech in 2010. The last Best Picture winners to grapple with the business of show, ala Shakespeare in Love, were The Artist and Argo in 2011 and 2012 respectively. The last historical drama set pre-twentieth century to win Best Picture was 12 Years a Slave in 2013. As the pools of nominees and voters have diversified in recent years, so too have the types of films crowned Best Picture: see, by way of example, The Shape of Water, Parasite, Nomadland, and Everything Everywhere All at Once. While there’s no doubt a place for Shakespeare adaptations at the Oscar table, some of the characteristics that defined both Shakespeare on screen and said table in previous decades—historical, British, etc.—have fallen out of favour.
It’s telling that none of the three Shakespeare-related films that featured in competition over the past five years were branded Shakespearean in the sense that Much ado About Nothing, Hamlet, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream were identifiably Shakespearean in the 1990s: The Lion King is Disney intellectual property with loose Hamlet parallels, West Wide Story adapts Romeo and Juliet third-hand via a Broadway musical and an earlier beloved film, and The Tragedy of Macbeth carries the competing authorial imprints of its revered director (Joel Coen) and lead actor (Denzel Washington). These films were also supported by the awards season promotional machinery of Disney, 20th Century Studios, and upstart crow Apple. While the film’s the thing—and as delightful as Daisy Ridley is, Ophelia was not the stuff that Oscar dreams are made of—a media juggernaut helps.
While it’s too early for another Lion King or West Side Story, I wager that any future Oscar attention for Shakespeare films will be exclusively for works in the Tragedy of Macbeth vein, i.e. steered by heavyweight directors with pre-existing Oscar credentials ala Coen, with the weight and clout of a studio behind them. It’s a rigged game, but them’s the rules. Looking ahead to the 2023 race, David Poland predicts an auteur-driven leading quintet in Barbie (from Greta Gerwing), The Holdovers (Alexander Payne), Killers of the Flower Moon (Martin Scorsese), Oppenheimer (Christopher Nolan), and Poor Things (Yorgos Lanthimos). I’d welcome Nolan’s take on King Lear with Tom Hardy doing a weird accent in the title role, or Scorsese working in his Vincent Minnelli mode on Antony and Cleopatra with DiCaprio teamed with long-time Cleopatra contender Angelina Jolie, or Payne’s Measure for Measure with Paul Giamatti as a particularly nebbish Angelo, or Gerwig’s whip-smart As You Like It, or Lanthimos’ deeply uncomfortable Richard II … and so would the Academy …
