Nicholson at the Oscars: 1970 ("Five Easy Pieces")

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In 1967, a then-unknown Jack Nicholson filmed The Rebel Rousers, an independent outlaw biker flick, alongside fellow big screen newcomers Bruce Dern, Diane Ladd and Harry Dean Stanton. A choppy, nearly unwatchable picture, the film festered on the shelf for three years - that is, unless the release and smashing success of Easy Rider.

With Nicholson now on the A-list (and Dern having had some success to boot), The Rebel Rousers at last hit theaters in 1970, marketed with ads noting Nicholson's recent Oscar nomination. While the picture found no traction with critics or audiences, its release was a testament to the pull Nicholson now grasped in the industry - if he was involved, even the crummiest of projects could see the light of day.

That summer, while The Rebel Rousers languished in drive-ins across the nation, Nicholson also appeared in On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, Barbra Streisand's first picture since Hello, Dolly! the year prior. His role, as Streisand's free-spirited step brother, was slimmed down from the 1965 Broadway production, with his one filmed musical number ultimately left on the cutting room floor. While only a modest success at the time, financially and among critics, On a Clear Day... maintains a loyal following, particularly among Streisand fans. (Plus, the sight of she and Nicholson gracing the screen together is awfully irresistible, even if the proceedings aren't among their finest hours.)

Nicholson's third and final project of the year would not only dwarf the reception to his other two 1970 pictures but firmly cement the actor as robust leading man material. Working alongside filmmaker Bob Rafelson for the second time (after collaborating on the Monkees musical Head in 1968), Nicholson was about to garner the first of his eight (to date, at least) Oscar nominations in Best Lead Actor.

The 1970 Oscar nominees in Best Lead Actor were...

Melvyn Douglas, I Never Sang for My Father

Douglas portrays Tom Garrison, estranged father of Gene (Oscar nominee Gene Hackman, in one of his finest performances). Gene has long been troubled by their taciturn relationship and fears his planned move to California will create all the more distance between them. Father and son are forced to communicate, however, in the wake of matriarch Margaret (Dorothy Stickney)'s death. This performance marked Douglas' second Oscar nomination.

James Earl Jones, The Great White Hope

Jones portrays Jack Jefferson, a powerhouse boxer who, in the early 1910s, goes on a hot winning streak against a series of white boxers. Before long, racist sports fans and the press launch a search for a "great white hope" that can at last take Jack down. Spawning all the more hateful rage is Jack's romance with the white Eleanor (Oscar nominee Jane Alexander). This performance marked Jones' first (and to date, final) Oscar nomination.

Jack Nicholson, Five Easy Pieces

Nicholson portrays Robert Dupea, an oil rigger who rejected his upper-class background and training as a classical pianist for a more blue-collar life. When Robert learns his father has suffered multiple strokes, he reluctantly embarks on a road trip, alongside needy girlfriend Rayette (the brilliant, Oscar-nominated Karen Black), to see his family. This performance marked Nicholson's second Oscar nomination.

Ryan O'Neal, Love Story

O'Neal portrays Oliver Barrett IV, an affluent Harvard Law student who meets and falls head-over-heels for Jenny (Oscar nominee Ali MacGraw), a middle-class scholar studying music at Radcliffe. Despite family objection, the two marry, land jobs and build for themselves what looks to be a wonderful life together. Then, tragedy strikes. This performance marked O'Neal's first (and to date, final) Oscar nomination.

George C. Scott, Patton

Scott portrays George S. Patton, the controversial World War II general. Patton achieves immense success leading American forces in North Africa, Germany and Italy but a series of unforced errors, including the striking of a hospitalized soldier suffering post-traumatic stress, threaten to derail his sterling reputation. This performance, which won him honors from the National Board of Review, National Society of Film Critics and New York Film Critics Circle, plus a Golden Globe, marked Scott's third Oscar nomination and first win.

Overlooked: Albert Finney, Scrooge; Elliott Gould, MASH; Paul Newman, Sometimes a Great Notion; Donald Sutherland, MASH

Won and should've won: George C. Scott, Patton

Now this is a great line-up.

Not once over the course of 20 Years of Streep, the unheralded contenders considered, did I think the Academy completely nail a category. Here, however, I cannot object to a single nominee, even the usually stiff O'Neal - all five performances are absolutely marvelous, though one, no doubt, could also make a valid case for either or both of the MASH leading men.

The Old vs. New Hollywood rivalry remained hot for the 1970 telecast, as bloated box office blockbuster Airport (described by Pauline Kael as "bland entertainment of the old school") battled the bolder, more culturally significant likes of Five Easy Pieces and MASH for the top prize. Not unlike Gig Young the year prior in his category, it was ultimately the contender able to floor folks on both sides of the aisle - in this case, Patton - that emerged triumphant.

On the big night, with Patton steamrolling to a hefty seven victories, fellow Best Picture contenders Airport, Love Story and MASH each went home with one consolation prize a piece, while Five Easy Pieces struck out completely.

Even in 1970, Love Story was deemed aggressively schmaltzy, one of the more nauseatingly manipulative romances to grace the silver screen. Nonetheless, with two appealing stars and an immensely successful novel as its inspiration, the picture was a big, fat box office hit, the highest-grossing film of the year. It even managed to nearly sweep the Golden Globes, scoring trophies in Best Picture, Best Director, Best Lead Actress and Best Screenplay.

It's tough to rationalize such a Love Story sweep without O'Neal among the honorees, considering he is, by far, the strongest, least mawkish part of the film. While molasses practically oozes from MacGraw's pores and the Erich Segal screenplay leaves viewers gagging, O'Neal turns in a remarkably poised, sensitive performance. He's downright heartbreaking toward the picture's end, even if the film itself hasn't an ounce of nuance.

Of the five actors recognized here, O'Neal is of course the most limited - I like to think of him as the male Cybill Shepherd - but let's not overlook the handful of fine turns he's delivered over the years. Besides Love Story, he's marvelous in What's Up, Doc?; Paper Moon; The Driver; and Irreconcilable Differences. There were far more clunkers than winners for sure but even if O'Neal's career skid off the tracks by the following decade, he's unimpeachably terrific here. Heck, in a really anemic year, I can see even considering him for the Oscar win. This, of course, was no lackluster line-up, though.

I Never Sang for My Father is truly an unsung picture, merely a modest success even upon its release and almost entirely forgotten now, sans by the most ardent movie buffs. It's a shame, since its leading men - two of the finest actors to ever grace the screen - are operating right at the tops of their game. To boot, Robert Anderson's screenplay (adapted from his Broadway play, which too wasn't a hit) is something so special, an honest, evocative examination of a rancorous father and son relationship.

Douglas is brilliant here, just as riveting as in his two Oscar-winning turns (Hud and Being There). He runs a gamut of emotions through the picture, making Tom an alternately combative, charming, aloof and wistful man - it's no wonder Hackman's Gene has such a taxing time figuring the guy out.

What is kind of odd here is the category placement - both Douglas and Hackman are indisputably Lead here, yet the latter garnered a Supporting push, no doubt to give the pair the off-chance of scoring two Oscars for the film. If pressed to split them, however, I would do the reverse and place Hackman in the top category. This isn't a knock on Douglas' performance at all but Hackman has greater screen time and in Supporting, a much lesser category this year, I actually think Douglas could have prevailed.

Also headlining a stage-to-screen adaptation is Jones who, unlike Douglas, originated his role in the Broadway production (and scored a Tony Award for it).

The Great White Hope packs a fierce punch, as does Jones' powerhouse performance (and Alexander, per usual, is fabulous too). It's a thrilling effort from an actor who should have graced the silver screen in many more leading roles than he ultimately did (check out 1972's Claudine for another top-notch Jones performance). This may not be a revolutionary turn on the level of Robert De Niro in Raging Bull, and the film itself certainly doesn't have the visual ambition or electricity of the Martin Scorsese picture, but it's still a pleasure watching Jones tear it up in such a substantial starring role.

Not awarding Nicholson the victory here is like not giving the win to Meryl Streep for Silkwood - in just about any other year, I undoubtedly would have given him his first Oscar for Five Easy Pieces, a film I actually think should have taken the Best Picture prize, even though I prefer Scott in Lead Actor (odd as that sounds).

Nicholson is devastatingly great here. Yeah, yeah, there's the chicken salad moment and that's terrific and iconic but there's so much more to the performance than just the diner scene. I especially love Robert's strained interactions with his family, not to mention Catherine, his brother's alluring fiancee. And when Robert at last approaches his father, it's some of the best, most unaffected acting of Nicholson's career. His chemistry with Black (who surely should've won the Oscar over Airport's Helen Hayes) is of course legendary stuff too.

Part of me, frankly, cannot believe I'm not giving Nicholson the win here but sublime as he is, I do think the Academy nailed this one. Scott in Patton is truly among the greatest performances to ever grace this or any acting category at the Oscars.

What's remarkable about Patton, among other things, is how at three hours in length, it never feels like a Gandhi-level endeavor. Franklin J. Schaffner's filmmaking isn't terribly striking but the screenplay - by Francis Ford Coppola and Edmund H. North - is a leading man's dream, packed with rich, formidable dialogue, if that actor is up to the task. And holy shit, is Scott plenty game.

This is a towering barn burner of a performance, a turn that should grace the thesaurus under 'tour de force.' Scott grabs viewers by the throat in his opening monologue and never lets go for the picture's duration. This is a film that runs 170 minutes in length and has, largely on account of the ferocious performer steering the ship, not a single lull. Moreover, Scott's performance, while overwhelming, isn't really heavy on histrionics. You can sense the vulnerabilities in this larger-than-life man that probably wouldn't have been there with an actor hellbent on just hamming it up.

Poor Jack, James and Melvyn. And Ryan even! In any other year...

The performances ranked (thus far)...

  1. George C. Scott, Patton
  2. Jack Nicholson, Five Easy Pieces
  3. James Earl Jones, The Great White Hope
  4. Melvyn Douglas, I Never Sang for My Father
  5. Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
  6. Jack Nicholson, Easy Rider
  7. Ryan O'Neal, Love Story
  8. Elliott Gould, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice
  9. Rupert Crosse, The Reivers
  10. Anthony Quayle, Anne of the Thousand Days

Nicholson at the Oscars: 1969 ("Easy Rider")

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Between 1958 and 1968, young actor Jack Nicholson appeared in 14 feature films, plus landed guest appearances on television programs like The Barbara Stanwyck Show, Dr. Kildare and The Andy Griffith Show. To say Nicholson was not a household name, however, would be an understatement.

Four of Nicholson's first silver screen appearances were in Roger Corman B-movies, the likes of The Raven and The Terror, both opposite horror legend Boris Karloff. Perhaps his most memorable early turn came in Corman's The Little Shop of Horrors, in which he portrayed, in one scene, a masochistic dental patient (later played by Bill Murray in the 1986 movie musical). Even with an eye-catching turn like that, however, Nicholson was not drawing the attention of major studios and certainly not piquing interest as a potential leading man.

At last, in 1969, Nicholson kicked down the door into the Hollywood mainstream with a key supporting role in Dennis Hopper's Easy Rider, a picture that would prove an unlikely box office smash and emerge one of the essential motion pictures of the New Hollywood era.

The 1969 Oscar nominees in Best Supporting Actor were...

Rupert Crosse, The Reivers

Crosse portrays Ned, pal and distant cousin of adventuresome handyman Boon (Steve McQueen). Enamored with a new car in town, Ned and Boon steal the vehicle and, alongside impressionable adolescent Lucius (Mitch Vogel), embark on a haphazard southern road trip. This performance marked Crosse's first and final Oscar nomination.

Elliott Gould, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice

Gould portrays Ted Henderson, husband of Alice (Oscar-nominee Dyan Cannon) and best friend of Bob (Robert Culp). Ted is perplexed when Bob and wife Carol (Natalie Wood) return from a group therapy retreat with longing to loosen up and experiment with sexual freedom. He and Alice merely humor their friends at first but it isn't long before suppressed sexual tension among the foursome comes to the surface. This performance marked Gould's first (and to date, final) Oscar nomination.

Jack Nicholson, Easy Rider

Nicholson portrays George Hanson, an alcoholic ACLU lawyer who in jail befriends Wyatt (Peter Fonda and Billy (Dennis Hopper), two bikers road tripping through the American south after selling off heaps of cocaine. George helps his new pals get out of jail and is later introduced to the wonders of marijuana. This performance, which won him Best Supporting Actor honors from the National Society of Film Critics and New York Film Critics Circle, marked Nicholson's first Oscar nomination.

Anthony Quayle, Anne of the Thousand Days

Quayle portrays Thomas Wolsey, cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church in England, circa-1536. Wolsey pleads with King Henry VIII (Oscar-nominee Richard Burton) to abandon the King's desire to ditch wife Catherine of Aragon (Irene Papas) for the youthful and enticing Anne Boleyn (Geneviève Bujold). This performance marked Quayle's first and final Oscar nomination.

Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Young portrays Rocky, scheming emcee of a Great Depression-era marathon dance contest for a then-hefty $1,500 cash prize. As the competition drags on from days to weeks, the publicity-hungry Rocky is willing to go to sinister lengths to exploit the vulnerabilities of the remaining contestants. This performance, which won him a Golden Globe, marked Young's third and final Oscar nomination and first win.

Overlooked: Red Buttons, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?; Jack Klugman, Goodbye, Columbus; John McMartin, Sweet Charity; John Vernon, Topaz

Won and should've won: Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Like many ceremonies of the New Hollywood era, the 1969 Oscars are very much indicative of the wrestling between the industry's old guard - more often than not, losing money on their pictures, desperate to deliver another My Fair Lady or The Sound of Music - and those pesky progressive newcomers, determined to give American cinema a long overdue face lift.

This year proved a victory for the latter, as John Schlesinger's X-rated Midnight Cowboy defeated the more traditionally Oscar-friendly likes of Anne of the Thousand Days and Hello, Dolly! for the Best Picture prize. That Anne and Dolly were recognized in the first place, however, was a testament to the considerable influence Old Hollywood still sported among the Academy membership - neither film was a commercial success.

The old vs. new rivalry could be seen down the ballot too, including in Best Supporting Actor, with Quayle representing the old-school wing and Gould and Nicholson gracing two signature New Hollywood pictures. In a way, it made complete sense that Young - a veteran character actor who'd graced the silver screen for three decades, worked along countless performers and was recognized for a pivotal role in a bold, violent film - would triumph, drawing affection across the spectrum.

The Quayle nomination, while understandable, given the Academy's adoration of Anne of the Thousand Days (no doubt a result of Universal Pictures' aggressive campaign behind the picture), is still pretty inexplicable. Not that Quayle wasn't a brilliant actor - he most certainly was, having been a key force in the founding of the Royal Shakespeare Company and making memorable appearances in films like The Wrong Man, The Guns of Navarone and Lawrence of Arabia. But he looks bored out of his mind here.

Quayle, Burton and the rest of the cast may look exquisite in their Oscar-winning costumes but they're at a loss when it comes to making something of the stiff dialogue that plagues this picture. Anne marked the directorial debut of Charles Jarrott, perhaps best-known among movie buffs as a regular punching bag of critic Pauline Kael's. His staging of the picture is miserably uninspired and though the proceedings in actuality run just under two and half hours in length, the endeavor feels like a lifetime.

No doubt, with a competent filmmaker and stronger script, Quayle could have made something special of this role. Alas, under these circumstances, the actor phones it in.

At least having some fun on the screen, even if it's in a negligibly satisfying picture, is Crosse, the first African-American to ever grace Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars. Crosse, a protege of John Cassavetes', made his memorable big screen debut in Cassavetes' Shadows before finding greater success on a plethora of television series in the 1960s. His most prominent (and ultimately final) role on the silver screen was this one, McQueen's curious follow-up to Bullitt.

The Reivers marked director Mark Rydell's second picture, years before directing the likes of Marsha Mason (Cinderella Liberty), Bette Midler (The Rose), Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn (On Golden Pond), among others, to Oscar glory. The film has the feel of an idiosyncratic pet project for McQueen, the kind of picture that could only be green-lit on the heels of a big, fat hit. There are shades of Paper Moon but, in sensibility and sophistication, the proceedings most recall sitcoms like The Beverly Hillbillies and Petticoat Junction.

Crosse seems to be having a ball as McQueen's sidekick. It's a mostly madcap comic turn that often upstages the picture's leading man (who has, frankly, limited comic timing) and he's able to show some range later in the picture when racism rears its ugly head. The film, however, is so humdrum that it's difficult to get terribly involved in any of it, unless you're a diehard McQueen or William Faulkner (who wrote the 1962 novel on which it's based) fan. Kudos to Crosse for making Oscar history (and for a fabulous run on the small screen) but it's not a performance remarkable enough to make this a must-see.

The remaining three nominees are leaps and bounds more compelling, and it sure doesn't hurt that their pictures are among the year's (if not the decade's) finest to boot.

Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice is a fabulous ensemble comedy, nearly the best film of Paul Mazursky's stellar career, just behind An Unmarried Woman (some might make a case for Enemies, A Love Story too). I think, however, it is more a triumph in screenwriting than acting. Not that the foursome isn't pitch-perfect - they're uniformly fantastic but if pressed to name a standout, I would actually side with Cannon, not Gould (and even then, Cannon would be my third or fourth choice among the Supporting Actress nominees).

I'm delighted Gould managed to pick up an Oscar nomination during his career, I just wish it were for a vehicle like The Long Goodbye or California Split instead, where the actor stood out in a more striking way. He's in fine form here but it's not a turn I could quite consider for the Oscar win.

Stealing his scenes with startling vigor, albeit with less screen time than Gould, is Nicholson, who comes roaring into Easy Rider like a tornado. Even without his presence, the picture would be one hell of a ride and still left an immense cultural impact.

When Nicholson does enter the film, however, he is able to take something already extraordinary and lift it to an even higher level. His performance here feels fresh and anomalous to this day, not just coasting on that natural Nicholson charisma, so I can only imagine how remarkable his screen presence felt to moviegoers back in the day, perhaps seeing him grace the screen for the very first time. Like, for instance, Jack Lemmon in Mister Roberts and George C. Scott in Anatomy of a Murder, it's one of those riveting supporting turns that all but guaranteed juicy lead roles to follow.

Much as I adore Nicholson in his Oscar debut, I think the Academy got this one right.

One's impression of Young in They Shoot Horses... will, no doubt, be shaped by familiarity (or lack thereof) with his filmography. Prior to the Sydney Pollack picture, the actor was largely known for supporting turns light romcom fare, like That Touch of Mink, Desk Set and Teacher's Pet, the last of which earned him an Oscar nomination. Young graced his fair share of dramas too but, far more often than not, would still play the affable sidekick.

So, just imagine the audience response to Young, reliable for charming the pants off his fans, in the chilling role of emcee Rocky. What makes the performance all the more powerful is how Young never once overplays the proceedings, which certainly may not have been the case in the hands of a hammier actor. The role is a villainous one for sure, with shades of genuine sadism, but Young also instills humanity into Rocky, particularly opposite Susannah York's Alice.

They Shoot Horses... marks the career-best performance of one of the finest character actors of the 1950s and 1960s - a richly deserved victory for sure.

The performances ranked (thus far)...

  1. Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
  2. Jack Nicholson, Easy Rider
  3. Elliott Gould, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice
  4. Rupert Crosse, The Reivers
  5. Anthony Quayle, Anne of the Thousand Days