On Olympian Heights: Remembering Olympia Dukakis

Through most of my moviegoing life, I’d never heard of Olympia Dukakis.  But the New York stage veteran, born in 1931,  made her first film in 1964. It was called Twice a Man, and she appeared in the credits as “Young mother.” It seems to have been her fate to play mother roles. In the course of a long career that ended with her recent death at age 89, she was credited as  “John’s mother” in John and Mary, “Gig’s mother” in Made for Each Other, and “Joey’s mom” in The Wanderers. She also often showed up in authority roles, as judges, doctors, and a Mother Superior, as well as a high school principal in Mr. Holland’s Opus. But of course the role that made her, belatedly, a star was that of Cher’s feisty Italian mother in 1987’s Moonstruck. Rose Castorini is a nurturer, a pragmatist, and a philosopher, one who knows what it’s like to be hurt by love. She’s memorably relieved when daughter Loretta announces she’s about to marry a man she doesn’t love. Says Rose, glaring at her straying husband Cosmo: “When you love them they drive you crazy because they know they can.” Fortunately for Dukakis, she herself had a long-lasting marriage with a fellow actor, Louis Zorich, that produced three children and four grandchildren. So she came by her mom-credentials honestly indeed.

 One of the things I most appreciate about Olympia Dukakis is that she always played intelligent women. Some of them might have done foolish things from time to time, but they were never dumb. Another thing I savor is the fact that she happily took on ethnic roles, giving them spirit and authenticity. As in Moonstruck, she made a great Italian mama, which was doubtless why she was cast as the unstoppable Dolly Sinatra in a 1992 miniseries about son Frank. And she was a convincing Jewish widow in The Cemetery Club. Curiously, despite her very Greek name and heritage, she rarely got the chance to portray her own ethnicity. She’s nowhere to be found in the cast list of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, the semi-autobiographical 2002 film by Nia Vardalos that found much of its initial popularity in Greek-American communities. She does, however, have the classical role of Jocasta in Woody Allen’s comic take on Greek mythology, Mighty Aphrodite.

 In her later years, Dukakis took on challenging roles (like that of a trans landlady in the TV series Tales of the City and a so-called “butch lesbian” in Cloudburst). She was outspoken in promoting women’s rights and LGBTQ rights, and also stayed active as a well-loved drama teacher, both at NYU and in other theatre programs across the nation. A 2018 documentary film, called simply Olympia, chronicled her eventful life, including her growing-up years in a Massachusetts immigrant household, facing anti-Greek prejudice and a patriarchal family structure. Her parents certainly had a flair for names: her younger brother, Apollo Dukakis, is an actor I’ve enjoyed often on California stages.

 Once I’d fallen in love with Dukakis in the delightful yet poignant Moonstruck, I was rooting for her to take home the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress. And she did. When the elegantly clad Dukakis mounted the stage, I was rather surprised that her speech was gracious but also somewhat sedate. I’d expected something more rambunctious from her, especially since it was well known that her cousin, Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis, was the Democratic candidate for President. But once she’d finished with her thank-yous, she confirmed my expectations by letting out a rip-roaring yell: “OK, Michael, let’s go!”   

 

The Academy Picks Its Oscar Favourites

Melissa McCarthy and bunnies

 Some folks in the Dakotas consider me an Oscar expert. I’ve long been a regular guest of Don Briscoe at KSDN in Aberdeen, South Dakota as well as Bob Harris at KFGO in Fargo, North Dakota, giving my predictions over the airwaves as to who will go home with golden statuettes. In truth, though, my insights into Hollywood jibe nicely with the dictum of screenwriter William Goldman: “Nobody knows anything.”

This year’s Oscar ceremony was supposed to be a disaster because it had no host. It was supposed to be (even more than usual) several long hours of endless self-congratulation, interspersed with failed attempts at humor. And, because of the political climate we’re living in – as well as logistical controversies within the Academy itself -- it was supposed to be marked by a good deal of negative emotion. Instead, surprise! This was the briskest show in years, a host’s opening monologue was not missed, and the evening played out in a spirit of “Can’t we all just get along?” If you enjoy listening to angry diatribes, this was not the show for you. Basically it was a good-natured lovefest for those passionate about the joy of making movies.

Which is not to say that it lacked lively moments. Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Maya Rudolph were cheeky and funny as presenters. Keegan-Michael Key descended from the rafters with an umbrella: shades of Mary Poppins. Melissa McCarthy (a deserving Best Actress nominee for Can You Ever Forgive Me?) took the stage in a regal costume that was an hilarious tribute to the bunnies of The Favourite. Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper were touchingly passionate in their rendition of the soon-to-be Oscar-winning ballad, Shallow.

Among the winners were women (including Asian and black women) making history. A victorious short documentary called Period. End of Sentence brought the subject of menstruation into the open. A gracious Mahershala Ali, claiming his second Supporting Actor Oscar in three years, was the first winner I can remember who thanked his on-camera double. (This was the pianist who both coached him and provided the hands for many of Ali’s character’s most vivid musical moments, so he was certainly worthy of a shout-out.)  I agreed with most of the honors, but was sad to see Glenn Close lose for the seventh time. How ironic that she was overlooked by the Academy for her brilliant portrayal of an overlooked wife. Still, it was priceless to hear Best Actress winner Olivia Colman exuberantly burble about how she was delighted, amazed, amused, even embarrassed by her victory over someone she’d long admired. And of course any event that features Spike Lee, in head-to-toe purple, rejoicing in the victory of his BlacKkKlansman script by leaping into the arms of Samuel L. Jackson, has got to feel special. 

Lee didn’t stay happy for long. He kept his seat when Alfonso Cuarón was named Best Director for Roma, but apparently couldn’t stomach the Best Picture victory of Green Book, the feel-good road trip movie that has raised hackles among some in the African American community. That’s when he tried, without success, to head for the exit. It fascinates me that some people are so upset by a movie that sees American life through an optimistic lens. (Others with genuine civil rights credentials, like Harry Belafonte and Representative John Lewis who was present to introduce the film, have given it their unbridled support.)

Significant factoid: There were eight nominees for 2018’s Best Picture. Each one of them nabbed an Oscar (Vice’s was for Christian Bale’s makeup). So a good time was had by most.

Surprise! (Part Deux): How Hollywood Celebrates Itself

Frances McDormand looking golden

As I’ve noted in this space, I love movies that have the ability to surprise me, without resorting to cheap tricks. And I love watching live-action television shows (NCAA basketball championship games, Olympic gymnastics competitions) in which the outcome is by no means certain. That’s part of why I’ve always loved watching the annual Academy Awards ceremonies: the fabulous dresses! the clever quips and heartfelt thank-yous! the oh-my-god-I- don’t-believe-it gaffes! How well I remember sitting around the TV set with my family, rooting for movies I wasn’t old enough to see. When Paddy Chayefsky’s modest little slice-of-life drama, Marty, triumphed over such big schmaltzy romances as The  Rose Tattoo and Love is a Many-Splendored Thing, there was joy in my house.

Times, of course, have changed. In my childhood, if you liked movie awards shows, the Oscars were pretty much the only game in town. And I was genuinely excited about the outcome, whatever it turned out to be. Today, so many craft guilds, film-support organizations, and critics’ groups weigh in from December through February that by Oscar night I suspect we all feel a sense of déjà vu. And -- though everyone agrees that there’s really no such thing as a “best” performance -- we find a surprising degree of unanimity when it comes to the major prize-winners. Whatever you think of Sam Rockwell, Allison Janney, Gary Oldman, and Frances McDormand (all of whom have been honored week after week in the run-up to the Oscars), it would have been surprising and delightful to see someone else accepting the golden trinket in their stead. (Sally Hawkins, this one’s for YOU!)

But I’ve got to go easy on Frances McDormand, because her unfiltered presence on the stage was (as always) a genuine tonic. Here’s a woman who seems (both at the movies and in real life) to say what she thinks, without the need for a carefully-polished veneer. She’s as different as can be from the Hollywood glamour queens of old, much as I have always enjoyed seeing them strut their elegant stuff. No wonder writer-director Martin McDonagh chose to put her at the center of his first American film, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. She plays a woman whose emotions have been rubbed raw by grief, but who probably wasn’t easy to live with at the best of times. On screen in this film, she’s ornery, obnoxious, and funny. On the Oscar stage she was a bit less ornery, definitely not obnoxious, and still funny—as well as a great cheerleader for the issue that the Oscar folk had been tiptoeing around all evening, that of equal and respectful treatment of women. Yes, the show nodded in the direction of the #MeToo movement at several junctures—pointedly referring to “women and men” instead of including women in the familiar second position, giving a cameo appearance to Weinstein whistleblowers Ashley Judd, Annabella Sciorra, and Salma Hayek. But McDormand seemed ready to take actual action. Aside from insisting that ALL the female nominees in the house stand up to be applauded, she put forth a phrase I expect we’ll be hearing a lot of: “inclusion rider.” This being, if you look it up, a contract clause that A-listers can potentially use to demand equal-opportunity hiring on the sets of their films. Go, Frances, go!

Meanwhile, among all the fabulously gowned ladies in attendance, I couldn’t help noticing that some (like Emily Blunt, Maya Rudolph, Helen Mirren, McDormand herself) were really covered up. Maybe a reminder that the touchy-feely ways of Hollywood are no longer welcome in all corners of the industry.