I was personally wounded—deeply struck in the heart—when Sing Sing wasn’t nominated for Best Picture. That is one of my favorite films of the year, and I think it deserved far more than the polite round of applause it’s getting. It is lush, it is tender, it is painful, it is alive. A depiction of prison life that resists the usual grim, dehumanizing tropes, Sing Sing instead contemplates the role of art and drama in our lives—whether we’ve ever set foot in a prison or not. And listen, I’m a sucker for films about the creative process, about making art, about performing in general; especially when they’re done like this.

There is an undeniable warmth to Sing Sing, a generosity of spirit that runs counter to the kind of prison narratives we’re used to seeing. It is a film about rehabilitation, about men who have been written off by society engaging with their emotions in ways that feel rare and radical. The casting of real formerly incarcerated actors playing themselves only deepens its authenticity. It is a film that believes in people.

I wouldn’t change a thing about Sing Sing.

Now, let’s talk about my Oscar darling Colman Domingo.

This man is electric. He is such a compelling actor. Domingo is so good in this film that I want to give him a massive hug and tell him so. There is a gravitas to his performance that made me grateful to be alive. He is bright, he is moody, he is real, he is brutal. He is like the sharpest line in a life changing poem. Like the coworker you desperately want to be friends with because you just vividly imagine they lead a cool, effortless life outside of work. He embodies the full spectrum of human experience, carrying Sing Sing without overshadowing it. The ensemble shines, and Domingo holds his own; elevating those around him, allowing them to shine just as brightly. 

If the Academy had any sense, they’d have thrown every nomination at this film. But alas, we live in an unjust world.

It should be Mikey Madison for Anora. It should be Fernanda Torres for I’m Still Here. At the very least, I can say with confidence that it won’t be Angelina Jolie for her jarring performance in Maria—an experience that felt like being trapped in a collapsing house with no way out.

But what I really want to get across is this: it just shouldn’t be Demi Moore.

I know—saying this might make it sound like I missed the point of The Substance entirely. But in a year brimming with powerhouse performances, I struggle to see how Moore’s turn rises to the level of Oscar-worthy. Not only do I find the film itself unremarkable as an awards contender, but her performance, while commendable, doesn’t match the depth and nuance of her fellow nominees.

If Moore wins, it will feel less like a recognition of this particular role and more like a lifetime achievement award in disguise. Frankly, I would have loved to see Vic Carmen Sonne nominated for The Girl With the Needle, but that’s a different conversation.

The Oscars should be about celebrating the most extraordinary work of the year. And yet, on the eve of the 97th Academy Awards, the momentum suggests that Moore may take home the statue. I want to see Demi Moore succeed—I like Demi Moore. I just don’t think this is the film that should earn her Hollywood’s highest honor.

Oof. Do you think Jeremy Strong’s neck hurt from craning it the entire movie?

There’s a way to tell the story of an opaque, pampered rich kid failing upward that’s subtle and full of nuance—The Apprentice is not that. Instead, we get a psychotic millionaire whose only fault is being too successful, a portrayal that fails to explore the unsettling truth of the system it depicts. Rather than focusing on the absurdity of a hedge fund kid bleeding the system dry, the film falls into the biopic trap, offering a triumphant protagonist when it should’ve simply left us in discomfort, questioning the structure of it all. The result is a film that's both insensitive to history and devoid of depth—more interested in dog-whistle visual tropes than offering any real commentary.

The performances? They are surface level. That’s the problem—these great, idiosyncratic impressions are just that: impressions. The Apprentice is little more than a parade of costumes, with Sebastian Stan’s eerily accurate Trump impersonation standing out in a film that never commits to a cohesive tone. Stan’s portrayal of the Donald Trump of today is impressive, but that’s the issue: it’s the Trump of today, not the Trump of 1985. There’s no depth or emotional weight to it, just a surface-level imitation. The film might resemble history, but it’s no lifelike replica. When asked to show true emotion, Stan falls short, and the film is left floundering in its lack of substance.

Ultimately, it's about the project serving the actor in the way it should. Sebastian Stan, one of my favorite actors working today, and has the skill and presence to carry drama with remarkable depth. I can’t help but feel that Stan’s A Different Man deserves far more attention than his Trump role. 

A Different Man is a sharp, witty exploration of human insecurity and our perceptions of beauty, one that never lapses into being cold or alienating. It strikes a perfect balance between melodrama and absurd humor, making us laugh at the absurdity of the characters’ circumstances rather than ridiculing them.

Sebastian Stan anchors this film with an extraordinary physical performance that stands among the best of the year. His character evolves both mentally and physically, and Stan nails every transformation—whether it’s subtle or extreme. As he slides deeper into jealousy and paranoia, the film itself becomes increasingly unhinged, blurring the line between reality and surreality. The message of A Different Man is clear: external changes can’t fix internal problems, and Stan’s performance brings that idea to life in ways that The Apprentice never does.

The contrast between Stan’s character and Adam Pearson’s confident, charismatic portrayal of a man whom Stan’s character wishes he could be is brilliantly drawn. Pearson should also be nominated here, but that’s a discussion for a different time. The two actors elevate the film through their dynamic, with Pearson adding depth to Stan’s journey. On top of all this, A Different Man serves as a satirical, meta commentary on how media and art depict people with disfigurements, offering a refreshing, socially probing perspective that is often missing in contemporary cinema.

A Different Man is a delightful, surreal joyride that’s both thought-provoking and emotionally engaging. Endings are difficult—the last shot of this film is such a delightfully perfect punchline. The irony, of course, is that while Stan’s role in The Apprentice requires him to wear layers of makeup to transform into a version of Donald Trump, A Different Man is all about the futility of pretending to be someone you're not. The point it makes—how such transformations ultimately leave you feeling hollow—is exactly what The Apprentice amounts to in the end; hollow and unsatisfying. Stan’s character in A Different Man learns that pretending only gets you so far. Sorry, but Stan should be recognized for more than simply pretending to be Trump in a lackluster biopic. 

If there’s any role he deserves praise for this year, it’s his nuanced, transformative performance in A Different Man—a film that fully embraces the complexity of identity—rather than his flat, makeup-heavy turn in The Apprentice.