"And the winner is...someone else...again."

Fifth nomination for directing. Fifth disappointment.

Martin Scorsese: one of the greatest American directors of all time. Zero Academy Awards. Beaten by the likes of—most recently—Clint Eastwood, Roman Polanski and…Kevin Costner?!

Why do you think I wanted to watch the Academy Awards this year? It was for Marty. I wanted to be there in front of the television screen when his name would be called. When he would go up to accept the recognition for which he has so long been overdue. The word injustice comes to mind. And I’ve only been a fan for like two years! He’s been making incredible movies since the early 70’s.

Now the question comes to mind: Would it just be better to continue losing the Best Director Oscar, having already lost the chance of winning it for his best films, in hopes of earning the Lifetime Achievement Oscar that would recognize the genius of his entire career? I don't know. I shouldn't have to ask such a silly question.

I’m sorry, Marty. If it were my vote—which it surely is not—I would have already given you at least five of them. Keep making unforgettable films like you always have. It's like making a sandwich for you. A really expensive sandwich, perhaps, but a sandwich nonetheless.

This week F'er recommends:
The Aviator (2004)
Gangs of New York (2002)
Casino (1995)
Goodfellas (1990)
Raging Bull (1980)
Taxi Driver (1976)
Mean Streets (1973)

Red Road

Features of a
Landscape like Hell:
Leathery gnarled limbs and
Harsh-postured shrubbery
Crying mercy to
Silent waves of heat
Like spirit-blooded fingers
That tempt you hither
Across the plane of
Fiendish vegetation.

Cracked and parched
Places of ground.
It’s a choked and dried throat,
Disdainful of water;
A ground that is
Wickedly pious in its thirst.

Most notable feature of a
Landscape like Hell:
Red graveled roadway
Cutting through
Long and straight,
A red slit across the orange valley.

Traveling down this road,
Rubbery burning soles
Bring unrest to
Then settled now trampled dust;
Clouds of red confusion swirl.

No peace in such environs.
Gray boulders waste to
Piles of orange rubble to
Wind-fettered specks of red;
Red specks that bounce
Throughout the burning valley,
Till perhaps a flooding rain
Pleasantly rushes to drown,
To carry trapped substances to
An imagined bed of peace
At the bottom of an imagined sea.

Weary and feverish you
Trudge halfway upon your hazy way
And pause in the depression of
A natural sluice to
Gaze wistfully sideways.
The teasing, waving air
Watches and yet beckons.
A fancied watery wall
Approaches with intentions of
Smothering as you smile and stand.

Now crawling low,
Red road presents
Magnified features:
Sundry scraps of metallic relic machinery,
Rusty razors embedded in Red Roadway;
Fitting implements.

Dead wooden sign
Suspended from a
knotted Joshua tree
(the tree itself recalling
a shrub-assuming
shade of Dante’s seventh circle),
crudely contrived and engineered,
the crooked hanging of the block of wood
more noticeable than its words:
“Beware flash floods.”

This is a place of spillage,
Red rusty water or
Red ripe blood
Makes no matter.

Failure

Ease up
Side by
Side. Yes (actually
I have no
Idea).

Too far ahead of car
Next to me.
But perhaps
Not. Okay,
Back it up, nice and slow.

Turn, she
Tells me.
Yeah (somebody else
Is controlling this).

Turn-
Ing. Turning.
Curb, that’s
Definitely the curb
Behind my back wheel.

No problem. Push forward
And turn. Spin that wheel, she says
(where are the pats on the back?)
(or the horse whip?).

I know! Now back and
Spin!
No progress

Three
More
Tries

Same result

I
Can’t
Parallel
Park

Period