In the end we're all winners

Featuring a rogue taxi driver, a suicidal news anchor, a dustbowl poet, detective journalists, and an underdog from Philly, the 1977 Academy Award nominations for best picture are held as some of the most iconic films of the seventies, and arguably even in all of cinema's history. The nominations: Taxi Driver, Network, Bound for Glory, All the President’s Men, and Rocky, each film more amazing then the next, and nearly each great in their own way.  However, sadly, this philosophy does not exist within the Academy’s process. 

Granted the finite nominations, only one film can be deemed “Best Picture”. Of those films, Rocky, directed by John G. Avildsen, won the award in 1977. Truly an underdog tale through and through, the film was written by a virtual no name at its time (Sylvester Stallone), and was initially so underrated, it was projected to flop at the box office by its own producers. Yet, it ended up leaving with the championship belt, both at the box office and at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, out-competing some of the most revered films in all of cinematic history. Juxtaposed with All the President’s Men, a redefining political thriller (for its time) which was produced by movie star Robert Rodford, the film can equally be seen just as important and impactful as Rocky, despite the Academy’s exclusive choice. It’s with this challenge that it is revealed that the value posed by the Academy’s rituals hold no water, for the subjective value of both films, and all films for that matter, are too intense to measure, value and judge. 

To elaborate on the ideas of subjective value and the role it plays in determining meaning, a dissection of Rocky’s themes and narrative will serve as an example. The iconic story follows a struggling boxer named Rocky Balboa as he takes on the challenges of life as he trains to compete against undefeated heavyweight champion, Apollo Creed. In the midst of the story's triumphant themes, it is often overlooked how dark, broken, miserable, and self loathing the film's protagonists are. These deep dark flaws are found in Rocky’s reclusive girlfriend, Adrian and her alcoholic brother, Paulie, as well as Rocky’s coach Mickey, whose past as a boxer is full of nothing but broken dreams and promises. Despair is found even within Rocky, full of unfulfilled aspirations of greatness, Rocky is more of a punching bag then he is a boxer, not to mention he’s stuck in a run down apartment, speaks and thinks as slow as his pet turtles, and works for a slimey loan shark. His lack of fulfillment in life acts a constant phantom that haunts him throughout the film, taking a toll on his self esteem and self worth. When he encounters the chance to take on the champion Apollo Creed, Rocky seizes the opportunity, overcoming his life troubles in the pursuit of achieving a goal. Progressing and grinding despite his insecurities, despite his past failures and unfilled endeavors, and despite overwhelming doubts. Even upon realizing his efforts in victory to be frivolous, Rocky still battles Creed with all his might. Achieving what no other boxer was capable of, not only giving Creed a run for his money, by going 15 rounds, but by also knocking Creed to the ground. It is with this that the beauties of  Rocky’s ability to “go the distance” come to fruition.

By the end of the film, Rocky acts as the very symbolic vessel of the film's themes of triumph, themes of which bleed into almost every aspect of the film. His remarkable battle against Creed demonstrates the fruits of hard work and dedication. Rocky’s liberating accomplishment devalued the outcome of the match, self defining success, and going the distance not to prove it to the world, but to prove it to himself. These themes that are full of sincere accomplishment, self celebration, and pride, are so intimate to the individual viewer, that it would be absurd to objectively argue thematic and or narrative value between one film or another. 

In order to rival the nonsensical notion of thematic and or narrative superiority, another examination of the film, All the President’s Men, will reveal such a notion’s absurdity. Firstly, to understand the film, we must understand the historical events that it is based on. The film depicts the Washington Post’s legendary reports on the infamous burglary of the Democratic National Committee headquarters at the Watergate Hotel in D.C, on June 17, 1972. The two reporters assigned to the case, Carl Woodward and Bob Bernstein, scour all of D.C. to uncover the truth of what happened on that fateful summer night, eventually leading down a rabbit hole that led all the way to the White House and rooted up a corruption scandal that led to the resignation of the 37th president of the United States of America.

To memorialize and celebrate such an important demonstration of the freedom of press, producer Robert Redford pushed realism to its limits in his film to accurately represent such noble work. A painstakingly accurate recreation of the Washington Post writing room for a set, muddying dialog, awkwardly establishing shots and focus angles, and stringent recreations of the journalist methodology, all implemented within the film to immerse the viewer into the distracting, daunting, and sometimes dangerous world of investigative journalism. To accompany such praise, the honoring depictions of Woodward and Bernstien are soaked in integrity, honesty, and responsibility. Such values are perfectly represented in Woodward's very first encounter with Bernstein. After baiting an uninvited editor (Bernstien), Woodward catches Bernstien snatching his copy of notes and secretly editing them. When Woodward immediately confronts the thief, he doesn’t scold him for editing his work, but rather for being dishonest, telling him “I don’t have a problem with what you did, it’s how you did it.” The symbolic dedication to principles of honesty are pinned all throughout the film, such as Woodward and Bernstien’s boss Ben Bradly, who constantly demands more evidence from the two, representing the very embodiment of truth. Constantly shooting down Woodward and Bernstien’s ideas, always challenging convincing arguments, and demanding impenetrable evidence, Bradly and the bunch of journalists depicted within the film uphold strong ethical journalism that commemorates such professionality and code of ethics, deeply resonating with the public troubles of 1976.

Shining knights wearing ties, establishing righteousness and bearing constitutional celebration, All the President’s Men shined light in a dark America. The film celebrates constitutional correctness, and praises the viruties and benefits of a free press. Delivering expectations to an afflicted America, four years from the Watergate Scandal, when controversy over the matter was very much prevalent. A risky and sensitive film, the messages of All the President’s Men may not speak to the heart like Rocky, but instead to the country. With this film, Redford calls for an ethical standard, challenging America and the way we govern, holding a subjective value that is too intense to measure and value, rendering an objective comparison hollow. 

With ample thematic and narrative investigation, paired with subjective consideration, it becomes apparent that the objective rating from the Academy’s award becomes inane. We all have different ways to look at a piece of art, and no way is superior to the other. Film is like the colors we use to paint. Red, green, blue and so on, all inspire us in many different ways, but no one color is better than the other.