A writer for a movie site should probably relish watching the Academy Award nominations and prepare for the witty banter that comes from surprise winners and lovable losers who just can’t seem to take the ten-pound, gilded man home; however, for the last few years, disillusion has outweighed the entertainment value of the awards, and awards seem based more on pay backs and life time achievements than on merit. For an example, you can take a look at this year’s Best Actor race and try to explain how Jeff Bridges took home an Oscar for a mediocre movie with a decent performance, but nothing profound like Colin Firth in A Single Man. The strangeness here lies where Bridges would probably win this year for True Grit if Firth weren’t going to make up last year’s snub with The King’s Speech. Is it all a one-hundred percent sham? No, but Oscar pools are often won by picking the person who will win, not who should win. That said, for the past few years – much like the equally meaningless BCS National Championship Game – I root for chaos, and this year, it might just happen if Banksy wins an Oscar for Best Director of a Documentary for Exit Through the Gift Shop.
For starters, the movie is great, and it takes a look at how we define art, whether it’s worth is monetarily-based or whether its value stems from social impact or generational longevity.
Most of all, the contradiction within Banksy winning is the best part of this potential chaos. First of all, he is notoriously reclusive and protective of his identity, so there’s no way he will appear on stage to collect his Oscar in any way that would jeopardize this. That said, there are rumors that he will don a monkey mask should he win. If so, I would bet it would be the first time anyone has accepted a statue while impersonating a primate. But more importantly, he would justify the validity and the theme of Exit Through the Gift Shop by negating the importance placed on aesthetic-related fame and emphasizing the value of the message within a piece of art. If Banksy remains anonymous, the film must stand on its own and the thematic content therein garners more praise than his papparazi-blitzed visage.
Now, one could suggest that a monkey-mask stunt will further glamorize the mystery that is Bansky, and I can’t say that this is completely incorrect, though Banksy the person still remains a mystery and his art will have to be the lone, unadulterated version we get of him, forcing us to look for the social commentary rather than poking and prodding into his personal life. In other words, he remains an enigma, further positioning himself away from Thierry Gueta, “the guy who tried to make a documentary about [Banksy], but he was more interesting” in that he followed a number of “subversive graffiti artists,” those who work under the cover of night and occlude their identities by forcing the public to view the artwork rather than the person behind it. The person remains a specter, so the recurrent image generates and then maintains its power with every emergence on a brick wall, scaffolding, or highway overpass.
This method is antithetical by Guetta, who became an artist by parodying art that had already been parodied by Any Warhol and others. Does this make him less of an artist? I have no idea, but Guetta’s selling a million dollars of artwork thrusts him onto the street art scene despite the way in which he differs from other street artists like Banksy and Shepard Fairey, integral cogs in the birth of “an explosive new movement that would become known as street art – a hybrid form of graffiti driven by a new generation.”
“The biggest counterculture movement since punk,” street art takes advantage or repetition and breaks the monotony of cityscapes. In addition, the monotony interrupting images catch the eyes of passersby and beg them to take photographs and capture them on the newest digital recording devices. Therefore, temporariness of street art – primarily because unsanctioned art is labeled graffiti and is often covered by city officials and beautification programs – gains permanence, allowing it to its way onto the internet, epidemically spreading throughout cyberspace.
What differs between Guetta and other street artists is that he is more obsessed with his own celebrity, more focused on giving interviews and delegating incomprehensible and at times incoherent instructions to artists who have volunteered to help him set up a gallery showing, though he is often called “retarded” and will not draw these same volunteers to his next opening. Guetta is also more focused on mimicking other street artists than he is with creating his traditional art, and maybe this is what Exit is getting at: the birth of an artist caught up in the hype of being an artist, not one trying to make a social or political statement.
The contradiction between celebrity artists and social artists would also be a fine catalyst of chaos to inject into the Academy Awards, namely because the Oscars are often used to springboard stars into the spotlight or capitalize on “It” status, revolving around beauty on the red carpet, hookups at the after parties and celebrity gossip that threatens the inclusion of roasting monologues, but often lobs tepid verbal Koosh balls about the number of kids adopted by the Pitt-Jolies or how many women Jack Nicholson slept with thirty years ago.
In the end, handing this award over to an artist who rails against many of the Hollywood-based artists and the celebrity obsessed might be the most interesting occurrence at the Oscars since Brando hired a woman to dress like a Native American and refuse his Oscar. However, this year the Academy might just give Banksy the award in hopes of drawing extra viewers. Thus is the paradox of Hollywood. Some are famous for talent; some for being famous; some for rejecting fame; but with receipt of that little gilded man, all become property of the Academy.
However, the entire film could be another elaborate Banksy hoax: source