Stanley Kubrick’s body of work gifted us a number of larger-than-life performances, from Peter Sellers’ triple duty in Dr. Strangelove to Malcolm McDowell’s wide-eyed rapist in A Clockwork Orange to Jack Nicholson’s deranged, ax-wielding dad in The Shining. He loved to get actors out of their boxes, to get them to go what they might think is a step too far; he famously had to trick George C. Scott into hamming it up during Dr. Strangelove in order to capture the true madness of Gen. Buck Turgidson, suggesting they do just one over-the-top take of each shot and then using most of those in the final product.
As a film critic of medium-low importance, one of my most sacred duties is participating in the Washington Area Film Critics Association (WAFCA) year-end awards extravaganza. During this hallowed time of year, I watch dozens of movies and mine my own recollection of the good, the bad, and the ugly to determine what, precisely, the best films of the year were. At the end of this grueling process—this death march through endless stacks of DVDs, searching for the rarest pearl in an ever-increasing sea of muck—we WAFCA members nominate up to five films/people in each category. The five films/people who earn the most votes in every category are then voted upon by the whole of the membership, the winners are chosen, the press release is sent out, and blessed, blessed relief descends upon us as we put the exercise to rest for 11 months.