Nicholson at the Oscars: 1975 ("One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest")

In 1975, with four Oscar nominations and losses under his belt, Jack Nicholson inexplicably found himself on the same track as the likes of Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole as one of the all-time Oscar losers. No doubt hungry to at last emerge victorious, the actor lined up four ambitious projects for the year.

First up was a cameo, portraying "The Specialist," in Ken Russell's film adaptation of The Who rock opera Tommy. While leading lady Ann-Margret and the film's soundtrack stole all thunder, the picture proved a critical and box office success, with Nicholson garnering fine notices for his small role.

Also the the subject of great critical acclaim, albeit much less commercially successful, was Nicholson's second screen appearance in 1975, a leading turn in Michelangelo Antonioni's The Passenger. On paper, the picture had the look of an Oscar contender, with Nicholson portraying a U.S. journalist who gets caught up in the civil war he's been sent to cover in northern Africa. The film competed for the Palme d'Or at Cannes and was well-received there but proved inaccessible to a wider audience in the states.

Winning over hardly anybody was Nicholson's third picture, the 1920s-set screwball comedy The Fortune. Despite the presence of Mike Nichols (in his second collaboration with Nicholson, post-Carnal Knowledge) and co-stars Warren Beatty and Stockard Channing, the film failed to click and, worst of all, was entirely devoid of laughs. The picture was such an overwhelming flop, Nichols would bolt from Hollywood and not return to direct another motion picture until Silkwood in 1983.

Last, and most certainly not least, was One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

For nearly a decade, Kirk Douglas, who originated the role of Randle McMurphy on Broadway and owned the film rights to the story, had valiantly tried, with no success, to get a Cuckoo's Nest motion picture off the ground. Eventually, he passed along the rights to son Michael, who was able to secure financing for a film but, at this point, Kirk was too old to take on the role himself.

The suggestion of Nicholson for McMurphy came from none other than Hal Ashby, who'd directed the actor to his third Oscar nomination for The Last Detail and scored another success in 1975 with Shampoo. The rest, of course, is history.

The 1975 Oscar nominees in Best Lead Actor were...

Walter Matthau, The Sunshine Boys

Matthau portrays Willy Clark, one half of the legendary vaudeville comedy duo Lewis and Clark (Lewis being portrayed by George Burns, in an Oscar-winning turn). Lewis and Clark performed together for more than four decades, ultimately calling it quits on not-so-great terms. A decade following their split, Willy's talent agent nephew (Richard Benjamin) secures a reunion for the two on a TV special on the history of comedy. This performance, which won him a Golden Globe (tied with Burns), marked Matthau's third and final Oscar nomination.

Jack Nicholson, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Nicholson portrays Randle Patrick McMurphy, a free-spirited criminal who, upon getting in trouble again, pleads insanity to avoid prison and is instead sent to a mental institution for evaluation. There, he befriends the hospital's motley crew of patients, winning them over with a Live Free or Die spirit sorely lacking in the facility. Not so keen on McMurphy's behavior is the chilly Nurse Ratched (Oscar winner Louise Fletcher), wary of the new resident shaking up the stability she's established on her ward. 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 and BAFTA Award, marked Nicholson's fifth Oscar nomination and first win.

Al Pacino, Dog Day Afternoon

Pacino portrays Sonny Wortzik, a man so desperate to secure funds for his lover (Oscar nominee Chris Sarandon)'s sex change operation, he decides to lead a bank robbery. The siege quickly goes awry for Sonny and accomplice Sal (John Cazale), as it turns out there is nearly no money to steal in the first place. As law enforcement closes in and a media circus emerges, Sonny must bargain with Police Captain Moretti (Charles Durning) to move the standoff toward a conclusion. This performance, which won him honors from the Los Angeles Film Critics Association and a BAFTA Award, marked Pacino's fourth Oscar nomination.

Maximilian Schell, The Man in the Glass Booth

Schell portrays Arthur Goldman, a Manhattan businessman and Nazi death camp survivor who is kidnapped by Israeli underground agents. Transported to Israel, Goldman is put on trial, accused of being a Nazi war criminal himself. This performance marked Schell's second Oscar nomination.

James Whitmore, Give 'em Hell, Harry!

Whitmore portrays Harry S. Truman, 33rd president of the United States. During World War I, Truman serves as an artillery officer in France and, not long after returning home, he runs for public office, battling the ever-prominent Ku Klux Klan in his home state in Missouri. In the White House, Truman is a fierce defender of the Bill of Rights and outspoken opponent of Joseph McCarthy. Beneath the surface, however, is a very vulnerable man, one who seeks counsel from the ghost of his old boss, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. This performance marked Whitmore's second and final Oscar nomination.

Overlooked: Woody Allen, Love and Death; Tim Curry, The Rocky Horror Picture Show; Gene Hackman, Night Moves; Robert Mitchum, Farewell, My Lovely; Robert Redford, Three Days of the Condor; Roy Scheider, Jaws; Donald Sutherland, The Day of the Locust

Won and should've won: Jack Nicholson, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

The 1975 Oscars were remarkable on so many counts.

For one, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest marked the first film since It Happened One Night in 1934 to stage a clean sweep of the big five categories (Picture, Director, Lead Actor, Lead Actress and Screenplay). To boot, Isabelle Adjani (The Story of Adele H.) set a new record for youngest-ever Lead Actress nominee and George Burns emerged the oldest acting winner to date. This was also the year in which ABC wrestled rights away from NBC to broadcast the Oscars - rights held by the network to this day.

Also extraordinary is how this one category, Lead Actor, manages to include both my all-time favorite winner of the category and one of my all-time least favorite Lead Actor nominees.

That sore thumb is none other than Schell, an actor I'm typically wowed by (his turn in Judgment of Nuremberg is richly deserving of the Oscar he won) but who's embarrassingly bad in Arthur Hiller's The Man in the Glass Booth.

I have not read the novel or play (written by, of all people, actor Robert Shaw) on which the picture is based but I can see how, with the right actor and director, it could work as a sort of shocking stage production. As directed by Hiller, however, the film is just as witness and overwrought as the likes of The Boys from Brazil and The Formula, two other dreadful Nazi films from this era.

Schell delivers all of his lines as if he's shouting at the last row of the balcony and Hiller, hardly one of cinema's finest auteurs, just seems to encourage the scenery chewing. The film has the look and feel of a '70s TV movie, one that never should have warranted even a VHS release. What a shame Schell was recognized at the expense of other, supremely superior contenders.

Beyond Schell, there's a whole lot to like among this line-up.

Matthau is an actor I have wholeheartedly adored since childhood. I'll never forget waking up over the summer of 2000 (I was 10 years old) to turn on the tube and learn, to my great dismay, that Matthau had just passed away. I'd loved him in the Grumpy Old Men films, The Odd Couple, The Bad News Bears, even Dennis the Menace, among others.

It was not until several years after his death that I got around to The Sunshine Boys. It really isn't among my favorite Matthau vehicles, nor Neil Simon comedies. He and Burns are a pleasure to watch but the writing isn't as sharp as in the best Simon works, much of the slapstick just doesn't gel on film and the proceedings, directed by Herbert Ross, so often feel stagebound. That said, the two stars juice what they can out of the material and are clearly having a ball (and Matthau's acting chops are particularly on display when the film takes a more dramatic turn toward the end).

The next performance, while a masterful one, is kind of tough to assess in the context of a contest among acting on the big screen.

Give 'em Hell, Harry was a play, headlined by Whitmore and written by playwright Samuel Gallu, which opened at Ford's Theatre in Washington D.C. in the spring of 1975, before embarking on a nationwide tour. The film is simply a video recording of his Whitmore's stop in Seattle, taped by director Steve Binder, who'd scored a smashing success the decade prior in filming Elvis Presley's 1968 NBC comeback special.

Instead of broadcasting the recording on television, which probably would have been a more appropriate fit, Binder sent the film into theaters, where it played in a scattering of theatres across the country.

Whitmore's performance, while brilliant and dead-on convincing (just as great as Gary Sinise's turn in the 1995 HBO film), is tailored much more so to the stage than screen. There are monologues that must have been so much more powerful to witness in-person, feet away from Whitmore, than they ultimately play on film. The actor, who should have won an Oscar for 1949's Battleground, also isn't well-served by poor lighting and a grainy look that appears to grace all copies of the film.

Still, Whitmore's effort is a remarkable one - he even won a Grammy for his Truman!

In almost any other year, Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon would for me surely be in contention for the win. He is in heartbreaking form here, vividly capturing the desperation of a man committing a crime out of love. I actually see the picture as more an ensemble showcase than the best Pacino vehicle - it baffles how Cazale and Durning weren't nominated alongside Sarandon for their stellar work here, not that there's a lackluster nominee among the Academy's fivesome.

A marvelous performance in one of the seminal films of the '70s but even so, nothing comes close to touching Nicholson here.

Just thinking about Nicholson in Cuckoo's Nest makes me smile, before sending a lump down my throat. Few performances in any medium have ever been so full of effervescent life. It's the jubilation and humor in Nicholson's performance that makes the events of the picture so tragic. He has one wonderful scene after another with this ensemble - you could've filled out Best Supporting Actor with just performers from this - and I'm especially moved by his moments with Will Sampson (who portrays the Chief) and Brad Dourif (Oscar-nominated for his devastating turn as Billy).

Then, of course, there's his sparring with Fletcher, just as unforgettable as her Nurse Ratched works to suck the life out of her new patient and bring an end to the elation McMurphy's instilled in the ward. Neither actor ever overplays it but their resentment toward each other can sure be felt throughout the proceedings, until finally bursting to the surface in the film's shattering conclusion.

While I hesitate to label Nicholson in Cuckoo's Nest as my all-time favorite performance period, he is most certainly way, way up there among all Oscar nominees.

The performances ranked (thus far)...

1. Jack Nicholson, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
2. Al Pacino, The Godfather Part II
3. George C. Scott, Patton
4. Jack Nicholson, Five Easy Pieces
5. James Earl Jones, The Great White Hope
6. Al Pacino, Serpico
7. Jack Nicholson, The Last Detail
8. Al Pacino, Dog Day Afternoon
9. Jack Nicholson, Chinatown
10. Melvyn Douglas, I Never Sang for My Father
11. Dustin Hoffman, Lenny
12. Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
13. James Whitmore, Give 'em Hell, Harry!
14. Jack Nicholson, Easy Rider
15. Marlon Brando, Last Tango in Paris
16. Ryan O'Neal, Love Story
17. Walter Matthau, The Sunshine Boys
18. Jack Lemmon, Save the Tiger
19. Elliott Gould, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice
20. Art Carney, Harry and Tonto
21. Robert Redford, The Sting
22. Albert Finney, Murder on the Orient Express
23. Rupert Crosse, The Reivers
24. Anthony Quayle, Anne of the Thousand Days
25. Maximilian Schell, The Man in the Glass Booth

Nicholson at the Oscars: 1974 ("Chinatown")

Prior to 1974, the paths of Jack Nicholson and screenwriter Robert Towne had crossed on two occasions. First, less notably, there was Drive, He Said, Nicholson's divisive, barely seen directorial debut, on which Towne both served as an uncredited script doctor and performed in a supporting role. More auspicious was the writer's screenplay for The Last Detail, which scored Towne his first of four career Oscar nominations.

Along the way, Towne had also made uncredited contributions to the screenplays of the legendary likes of Bonnie and Clyde and The Godfather, plus penned episodes for acclaimed television series including The Man from UNCLE and The Outer Limits. 

So, when Nicholson and Towne, hot as ever in the industry, embarked on their third collaboration, it was a pretty big deal. Add fellow New Hollywood icons Roman Polanski and Faye Dunaway into the mix and you had one of 1974's most anticipated motion pictures.

While production on Chinatown was not without its tension, namely between Polanski and his actors, the film would prove one of Nicholson's most critically heralded films and land him his fourth career Oscar nomination.

The 1974 Oscar nominees in Best Lead Actor were...

Art Carney, Harry and Tonto

Carney portrays Harry Coombes, a retired New York City teacher who, upon being evicted from his apartment, decides to travel across the country to visit his children, plus an old love. Along for the extraordinary ride is his beloved cat Tonto. This performance, which won him a Golden Globe, marked Carney's first and final Oscar nomination and win.

Albert Finney, Murder on the Orient Express

Finney portrays Hercule Poirot, a brilliant, if insufferably eccentric detective whose relaxing ride home aboard the Orient Express is interrupted by the murder of a passenger. An avalanche preventing police from investigating, Poirot takes on the case himself and must navigate through an array of colorful characters to determine just who committed the crime. This performance marked Finney's second Oscar nomination.

Dustin Hoffman, Lenny

Hoffman portrays Lenny Bruce, the notorious comedian whose unfiltered material turns him into a cult hero of the 1960s. Authorities' attacks on Bruce for breaking obscenity laws only fuels the comedian's act but also drives him down a path of drug-laced self-destruction. This performance marked Hoffman's third Oscar nomination.

Jack Nicholson, Chinatown

Nicholson portrays J.J. "Jake" Gittes, a Los Angeles private eye hired by "Evelyn Mulwray" (Diane Ladd) to investigate her husband's adulterous activities. Gittes' work is turned upside down when he meets the real Mrs. Mulwray (Oscar-nominee Faye Dunaway) and, when Mr. Mulwray turns up dead, the detective finds himself stumbling upon a vast conspiracy involving murder, incest and, of all things, corruption pertaining to the L.A. water supply. This performance, which won him honors from the National Society of Film Critics and New York Film Critics Circle, plus a Golden Globe and BAFTA Award, marked Nicholson's fourth Oscar nomination.

Al Pacino, The Godfather Part II

Pacino portrays Michael Corleone who, in the 1950s, is running the family business out of Lake Tahoe and eager to expand into Hollywood, Las Vegas and pre-revolution Havana. Business is running smoothly until an assassination attempt on Michael's life sends him into a paranoia that is only worsened by the back-stabbing of business partner Hyman Roth (Oscar-nominee Lee Strasberg) and his crumbling marriage to wife Kay (Diane Keaton). Adding even more stress is a lingering federal indictment and the worrisome recent behavior of brother Fredo (John Cazale). This performance, which won him a BAFTA Award, marked Pacino's third Oscar nomination.

Overlooked: James Caan, The Gambler; Peter Falk, A Woman Under the Influence; Elliott Gould, California Split; Gene Hackman, The Conversation; James Earl Jones, Claudine; Jack Lemmon, The Front Page; Walter Matthau, The Front Page; Gene Wilder, Young Frankenstein

Won: Art Carney, Harry and Tonto

Should've won: Al Pacino, The Godfather Part II

Ah, 1974, that gangbusters year at the Oscars when the colossal likes of Chinatown, The Conversation, Lenny and the triumphant The Godfather Part II (and, uh, The Towering Inferno) faced off for awards glory. Drop the Irwin Allen flick, add A Woman Under the Influence and you'd pretty much have the greatest Best Picture line-up of all-time.

Likewise, there's Best Lead Actor. Hoffman, Nicholson and Pacino are devastatingly great, turning in three of their finest career performances. Knock out the supremely inferior Carney and Finney, toss Falk and Hackman into the mix, and you'd be looking at a fivesome to rival the sterling nominees of 1951, 1962 and 1967 in this category.

Carney, who's often cited as one of the lamer Best Lead Actor honorees, is not, I don't think, quite the weakest of this bunch. That's Finney, one of my all-time favorite actors, mercilessly hamming it up (and yet somehow not all that fun to watch) in his worst Oscar-nominated performance.

There's a lot to like in Sidney Lumet's Murder on the Orient Express, from Geoffrey Unsworth's sumptuous cinematography to the stirring Richard Rodney Bennett score. Several of the starry ensemble's actors are in marvelous form too, particularly Lauren Bacall, Martin Balsam and Anthony Perkins. Leave it to the Academy to recognize two performances in the picture that I'm not so fond of - Finney's and Ingrid Bergman's, the latter of which inexplicably defeated the likes of Valentina Cortese (who Bergman herself said should've prevailed) and Diane Ladd (my personal favorite) for the Best Supporting Actress prize.

Finney is, perhaps purposely so, downright unbearable here at times. Some, no doubt (including many members of the Academy, obviously), get a real kick out of seeing this brilliant actor gobble up scenery and try to upstage one silver screen legend after another. The performance just leaves me exhausted, though, and wishing Lumet had reigned in his star a bit, as opposed to giving him the license to run rampant.

Better, albeit still not a satisfying winner, is Carney.

Harry and Tonto isn't without its pleasures. While it doesn't sport one of Paul Mazursky's sharper screenplays, it's still a picture with a lot of heart and it's also great to see the likes of Ellen Burstyn, Geraldine Fitzgerald and Larry Hagman pop up along the way. The film and lead performance are just entirely out of their league vis a vis the remaining three nominees. Carney is in fine form but lacks the gravitas of Hoffman, Nicholson and Pacino and he's not even the best of the "senior citizen on a road trip" Oscar winners (the superior honorees being Jane Darwell and Geraldine Page).

It's not hard to rationalize how Carney prevailed - he was a beloved veteran of the small screen, with five Emmys under his belt, at last scoring a leading role on the silver screen at age 55. His opponents, Finney aside, were a trio of New Hollywood up-and-comers, still not wholeheartedly embraced by some in the industry's old guard. Had Lemmon and/or Matthau managed to get in, perhaps the result may have proven different.

Beyond Finney and Carney, it's a tough call - not for the winner, which for me is a runaway victory here, but for runner-up. Hoffman and Nicholson are both pitch-perfect but I still wouldn't label them the most compelling parts of their respective films.

Hoffman, for instance, is dead-on convincing as Lenny Bruce - it's a stellar performance, leaps and bounds superior to say, his Oscar-winning turn in Rain Man. But the real stars of Lenny, I would argue, are Valerie Perrine, astonishing as Bruce's bombshell wife (she probably would've won the Oscar in Supporting, not Lead where she ended up), and Bruce Surtees' stunning cinematography (and yes, Bruce is Robert's son).

Lenny would not work without Hoffman's performance but it's Perrine and Surtees who take the proceedings to the sky-high level on which the film operates.

Likewise, Nicholson's Gittes is among the most iconic and memorable roles of his career. He grabs our attention from start to finish and instills so much life into what could've been a stock character. Chinatown is dependent on his success but at the same time, it's Dunaway, John Huston (how the hell was he not Oscar-nominated?!) and the Jerry Goldsmith score that really give me the chills.

I would have no problem awarding Hoffman or Nicholson under different circumstances but in 1974, they have the misfortune of facing what I believe to be one of the greatest performances to ever grace Best Lead Actor (or any category) at the Oscars.

There is so much to be in complete awe of in The Godfather Part II, from Francis Ford Coppola's acing of its tricky nonlinear narrative, to the sublime look and feel of the proceedings (another year, another egregious Gordon Willis Oscar snub) and of course the acting is all-around mesmerizing (how odd, though, that Talia Shire's fine but brief turn was recognized over Diane Keaton, in one of her greatest dramatic efforts).

The heart and soul of the picture, however, is Pacino, in the richest, most riveting performance of a career full of them. His Michael, at this point in the Corleone saga, is an intimidating sight with just as powerful a presence as Don Vito in the first entry. While his exterior may be a menacing one, Pacino beautifully captures Michael's vulnerabilities, doubts and inner turmoil, as he battles anxiety and faces the most impossible of decisions, both at home and in business.

When Michael and Kay duel over the ramifications of a decision she has made, it marks some of the most magnificent acting of Pacino and Keaton's careers. But Pacino has so many other haunting, unforgettable scenes too, even ones in which he's just sitting there, taking it all in. You can feel the rage and torment eating away at Michael from the inside.

I'm not one for hyperbole but I truly believe Pacino in The Godfather Part II to be among the 10 or so greatest performances ever recognized at the Oscars.

The performances ranked (thus far)...

1. Al Pacino, The Godfather Part II
2. George C. Scott, Patton
3. Jack Nicholson, Five Easy Pieces
4. James Earl Jones, The Great White Hope
5. Al Pacino, Serpico
6. Jack Nicholson, The Last Detail
7. Jack Nicholson, Chinatown
8. Melvyn Douglas, I Never Sang for My Father
9. Dustin Hoffman, Lenny
10. Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
11. Jack Nicholson, Easy Rider
12. Marlon Brando, Last Tango in Paris
13. Ryan O'Neal, Love Story
14. Jack Lemmon, Save the Tiger
15. Elliott Gould, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice
16. Art Carney, Harry and Tonto
17. Robert Redford, The Sting
18. Albert Finney, Murder on the Orient Express
19. Rupert Crosse, The Reivers
20. Anthony Quayle, Anne of the Thousand Days

Nicholson at the Oscars: 1973 ("The Last Detail")

After the smashing success of Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces, Jack Nicholson remained close to his New Hollywood roots with a trio of pictures in 1971. Two of the films, despite the actor's rising star, were met with a disastrous reception.

Drive, He Said did not feature Nicholson in an acting role but rather marked the star's directorial debut. With a cast including Karen Black, Bruce Dern and Robert Towne, plus heaps of nudity, profanity and drug use, the film had the sensibility of a New Hollywood picture but was decidedly not an Easy Rider-level success. Premiering at that year's Cannes Film Festival, Drive, He Said proved polarizing among critics and was overwhelmingly ignored by audiences upon hitting the states.

LIkewise, there was A Safe Place, another idiosyncratic effort that failed to reap much traction. This one found Nicholson in a supporting role, opposite Orson Welles (!) and leading lady Tuesday Weld. One of the most peculiar pictures of Nicholson's career, the film was unanimously panned by critics and failed to obtain release beyond New York and L.A.

Nicholson's third 1971 effort, thankfully, was no turkey.

Carnal Knowledge for the first (but hardly final) time paired Nicholson with filmmaker Mike Nichols, supremely hot off the success of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate. With a screenplay by celebrated playwright and satirist Jules Feiffer and cast including Ann-Margret (who's never been better), Candice Bergen and Art Garfunkel (!!), the picture had the looks of a surefire awards contender.

Released that summer to warm critical notices, Carnal Knowledge proved one of the year's highest-grossing and most discussed films. Nicholson emerged part of the Oscar conversation but it would ultimately be Ann-Margret garnering the film's sole nomination. She would lose on the big night to The Last Picture Show's Cloris Leachman.

The following year, Nicholson graced the screen in just one film.

The King of Marvin Gardens marked the actor's third collaboration with filmmaker Bob Rafelson and also reunited Nicholson with pal Bruce Dern. Also among the cast? Ellen Burstyn, Oscar-nominated the prior year for The Last Picture Show, and Scatman Crothers, Nicholson's future co-star on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and The Shining. Though given a prime, awards season-friendly fall release date by Columbia Pictures, the gloomy film divided critics and produced scant audience interest.

Nicholson fans could, however, rejoice in 1973. The actor was about to team up with filmmaker Hal Ashby, who'd won an Oscar for editing In the Heat of the Night and made a significant name for himself in directing 1971's Harold and Maude, and land his third Oscar nomination.

The 1973 Oscar nominees in Best Lead Actor were...

Marlon Brando, Last Tango in Paris

Brando portrays Paul, an American hotelier in mourning following his wife's suicide. While apartment hunting, he meets the young, beautiful Jeanne (Maria Schneider). The two become transfixed and engage in a steamy sexual relationship, the catch being Paul insists they share no personal information, not even their names. This anonymity proves difficult to maintain as the affair continues. This performance, which won him honors from the National Society of Film Critics and New York Film Critics Circle, marked Brando's seventh Oscar nomination.

Jack Lemmon, Save the Tiger

Lemmon portrays Harry Stoner, a disgruntled clothing manufacturer, demoralized over the downfall of his business and always daydreaming about the good old days. Convinced there is no way to save his company, Harry arranges for an arsonist to burn down his factory so he can cash in on the insurance settlement. This performance marked Lemmon's fifth Oscar nomination and second win.

Jack Nichoson, The Last Detail

Nicholson portrays Billy "Bad Ass" Buddusky, a naval patrol officer tasked with escorting young sailor Meadows (Oscar-nominee Randy Quaid) to a New Hampshire prison, where he's been sentence to eight years. En route, Buddusky and fellow Navy man Mulhall (Otis Young) grow fond of the sensitive Meadows and, with a few days to spare, opt to give him a good time before hitting the big house. This performance, which won him Best Actor honors at the Cannes Film Festival, plus a BAFTA Award, marked Nicholson's third Oscar nomination.

Al Pacino, Serpico

Pacino portrays Frank Serpico, an idealistic New York City cop appalled by the widespread corruption he witnesses among law enforcement colleagues. His concerns ignored by superiors and peers viewing him with intense hostility, Serpico sees no choice but to go public on the misconduct. This performance, which won him honors from the National Board of Review, plus a Golden Globe, marked Pacino's second Oscar nomination.

Robert Redford, The Sting

Redford portrays Johnny Hooker, an aspiring con artist who, following the murder of his partner, yearns to score revenge on the man responsible, merciless crime boss Lonnegan (Robert Shaw). Skeptical of his own abilities to do so, Hooker seeks the assistance of veteran grifter Gondorff (Paul Newman) in setting up an intricate scheme to bring Lonnegan down. This performance marked Redford's first Oscar nomination.

Overlooked: Woody Allen, Sleeper; James Caan, Cinderella Liberty; Robert De Niro, Bang the Drum Slowly; Robert De Niro, Mean Streets; Richard Dreyfuss, American Graffiti; Gene Hackman, Scarecrow; Christopher Lee, The Wicker Man; Michael Moriarty, Bang the Drum Slowly; Ryan O'Neal, Paper Moon; Al Pacino, Scarecrow; Robert Redford, The Way We Were; Paul Scofield, A Delicate Balance; George Segal, A Touch of Class; Martin Sheen, Badlands; Donald Sutherland, Don't Look Now

Won: Jack Lemmon, Save the Tiger

Should've won: Al Pacino, Serpico

Woah. This is one of those mammoth years in which one could easily conjure up two or three entirely different line-ups of five and all would rank among the category's all-time finest. From the comic gold of Allen and O'Neal, to career-best turns from Scofield and Sheen and the stunning big screen breakthroughs of De Niro, Dreyfuss and Moriarty, there is so much to love here.

So, given the embarrassment of skill gracing the screen among the leading men of 1973, it's a bit disappointing to see the Academy's selections not inspire awe across the board. While there's not a bad performance to be found among the five nominees, there are a couple of honorees (including the winner) who, given the gangbusters nature of the field, probably should've been sitting on the sidelines.

The Sting is a fun caper romp and, given the incredible box office (it was the highest-grossing film of 1973) and star wattage of its leading men, it makes sense the picture would resonate come awards season. That said, it kills me it managed to largely steamroll over the superior likes of The Exorcist, Cries & Whispers and American Graiffiti, preventing those films from achieving a whole lot of Oscar glory. Unlike those first two pictures, it's a conventional crowd-pleaser, so its success is no surprise but still, this is one of those years that leaves me somewhat sighing.

My feelings on The Sting itself are largely applicable to Redford - it's an entertaining performance but come on, there were so many more riveting, compelling turns to recognize here.

Redford (again) makes for an iconic team with Newman and has boundless matinee idol charisma but it's not a terribly challenging role and he's often upstaged by the more colorful supporting players and scenery. Also, if pressed to recognize Redford this year, I would probably honor his poignant, sensitive turn in The Way We Were first. (I do, however - sorry, Ordinary People haters - wholeheartedly support his 1980 Oscar win in Best Director.)

I also, much as I typically adore this actor, would not have nominated Lemmon.

Lemmon is among my all-time favorite stars of the silver screen. I of course love him in the legendary likes of Some Like It Hot, The Apartment and Days of Wine and Roses but even later, inferior efforts like the Grumpy Old Men pictures and My Fellow Americans satisfy, given my immense affection for the actor.

Save the Tiger is not, I'm afraid, among his finest films. It's not Lemmon's fault - his performance is a credible one and especially in the picture's early-going, before the proceedings sink into complete bombast, his portrayal of a man in crisis is entirely convincing. Veteran character actor Jack Gilford, who too was Oscar-nominated for his turn as Lemmon's anxious business partner, is also in strong form. Problem is, their film is an overwrought one and they can only rise so high above the shoddy material.

Director John G. Avildsen and screenwriter Steve Shagan, who later collaborated on one of the worst films of Marlon Brando's career (1980's creaky The Formula) seem to be aiming for a Norman Lear-level '70s social commentary. They lack, however, the nuance and sharpness of Lear's work on the small screen and while the acting is able to keep things afloat for a while, the picture grows more pretentious as it moves along, Lemmon's character winding up in episodes that just don't ring true.

With another, better filmmaker and writer, Save the Tiger no doubt could have worked. As it stands, it's a picture that finds Lemmon courageously swimming upstream, to negligible success.

There was a time when Brando may have garnered my vote here. Not long after seeing Bernardo Bertolucci's The Last Emperor and The Dreamers in high school, I at last checked out Last Tango in Paris and found myself downright transfixed with the picture. The film looks sumptuous, is directed with a tad more electricity than the aforementioned Bertolucci efforts and yes, Brando's performance is quite a triumph, his last truly great leading turn.

That said, in light of disturbing revelations by Schneider and Bertolucci regarding the picture's notorious rape scene, I have considerably soured on Last Tango and Brando's performance.

On one hand, I consider this among the most vivid efforts of Brando's career, a dark, stirring portrayal by a legendary actor who should have tackled many more projects like Last Tango over his final decades in cinema. On the other hand, I'm appalled by the extent to which Brando look his "method acting" on this picture, and by the filmmaker's encouragement to do so. It's an exceedingly difficult performance and film to watch now, even if there's no shortage of prowess gracing the screen.

Beginning in 1973, Nicholson and Pacino dueled in Lead Actor at the Oscars, each recognized for three of their best, most iconic performances. Each time for me, it's a devastatingly close call but, if pressed, I would give Round One to Pacino.

Not that Nicholson isn't brilliant in The Last Detail, though. With the picture largely overshadowed in recent years by other Nicholson films, this, alongside Ironweed, is perhaps his most underappreciated turn on the silver screen.

The Last Detail is just as vibrant as fellow New Hollywood films Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces, an exquisitely written (by Robert Towne) vehicle for not only Nicholson but his two equally marvelous co-stars. Nicholson and Quaid have remarkable shades of the former and Brad Dourif in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, the all-knowing, witty Nicholson enlightening his unworldly young co-star on the facts of life until a heartbreaking end.

The film and performance don't quite reach the sky-high heights of Cuckoo's Nest but then, nor do 99.9 percent of pictures. This is still a great one and, without Pacino, I'd likely be giving Nicholson his first prize here.

Alas, I do give Pacino the edge here.

With his victory for Scent of a Woman standing as one of the all-time worst wins in this category, it can be easy to forget that Pacino's first few Oscar nominations are in fact among the all-time best in Lead Actor. Serpico, while not the best (that's The Godfather Part II), is among the richest Pacino turns recognized by the Academy.

When Pacino and director Sidney Lumet collaborated (on this and Dog Day Afternoon), the result was fireworks. Serpico, which should have garnered a Best Picture nomination, is an engrossing and aggravating film, one of the best, most convincing cop corruption dramas to ever hit cinemas. The script - by Waldo Salt (fresh off an Oscar for Midnight Cowboy) and Norman Wexler (just a few years away from scoring a smash on Saturday Night Fever) - never rings false, nor does Pacino's performance.

This is hardly the 'hoo-hah'ing Pacino of the '80s and on. His Serpico is Frank Serpico. It's a pitch-perfect, powerful and completely lived-in portrayal that's so convincing, it gives the proceedings the feel of a documentary.

Speaking of impossible decisions, next up shall be none other than 1974, the year of The Godfather Part II and Chinatown. Yeesh.

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. Al Pacino, Serpico
5. Jack Nicholson, The Last Detail
6. Melvyn Douglas, I Never Sang for My Father
7. Gig Young, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
8. Jack Nicholson, Easy Rider
9. Marlon Brando, Last Tango in Paris
10. Ryan O'Neal, Love Story
11. Jack Lemmon, Save the Tiger
12. Elliott Gould, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice
13. Robert Redford, The Sting
14. Rupert Crosse, The Reivers
15. Anthony Quayle, Anne of the Thousand Days

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

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")

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