2026 Oscar Nominees (pt. II)

The Secret Agent

Hamnet

Howdy, my little Hamnets, and welcome to the final crawl to the Oscars. Even if you’re a casual movie-watcher and awards show spectator, give yourself a pat on the back for making it this far into what feels like the longest awards cycle ever. I love any excuse to watch and discuss movies, but you know it’s bad when even the film nerds are over it. Sinners—which is nominated for a historic 16 Academy Awards and better win every single one of them—came out 11 months ago. And don’t get me wrong, I do think we should keep talking about this spectacular film, but that was a loooooong ass time ago, and several other cinematic happenings have occurred since. There aren’t that many controversies this year, especially compared to the treasure trove of drama that Emilia Pérez provided last year, but my para-social ex-bf Timothée sure is trying to start some shit right before he’s set to win Best Actor. At least Conan (who should be nominated for his supporting role in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, tbh) is hosting again, and hopefully he’ll roast the studio execs and streamers who are systematically trying to ruin the industry, as well as any lingering Epstein collaborators sitting in that room. I am cautiously optimistic, because this year I like more of the Best Picture nominees than I dislike, and statistically speaking, some of the genuine best movies of the last year have to take home some awards. Human society and the world at large continues to be an unending cycle of unprecedented, unhinged occurrences, so I’m extra thankful for the predictably kooky and traditionally annoying Oscars this time around. Let’s wrap up the leftover Best Picture nominees, and finally put this self-aggrandizing season behind us with two wildly different but similarly historically-fictional films that both clearly came from the heart.

First let’s discuss a film I actually saw about a month ago, but have continued to think about—not just due to its story, but the way it was chosen to be told—this is Kleber Mendonça Filho’s neo noir The Secret Agent. This film is nominated for both Best Picture and Best International film, and I predict that it will win the latter prize—though that category is similarly-stacked (minus the shocking No Other Choice snub.) Much like I’m Still Here, last year’s Brazilian film up for Oscars, The Secret Agent is set during a sepia-toned and sweltering season in late 1970s Brazil, during a time of dangerous political unrest and socio-economic anxiety. (And I think I still prefer I’m Still Here in comparison, though The Secret Agent had more eye candy.) Wagner Moura stars as Armando, a former researcher who is on his way to Recife to see his son and his in-laws. On his way there, he stops for gas and observes in the near-distance a dead body, partially covered, which according to the gas station attendant, has been there for days. It is Carnival in 1977, and in the turmoil and chaos of the rising military dictatorship, several obscene scenes are going unchecked. When the cops do finally show up to dispose of the body, they are more interested in Armando and his completely non-threatening yellow Volkswagen Beetle, because I suppose to them, the concern of a rotting human carcass is overshadowed by the presence of this handsome stranger and his hippie car. The cops let him go, but this immediately establishes Armando as a person of suspicion for many paranoid, powerful men in town. Armando then arrives at a refuge operated by former anarcho-communist Dona Sebastiana, where he adopts the name Marcelo and befriends other political dissidents and a few Angolan Civil War refugees. It’s an oddly idyllic commune of revolutionaries, where Armando/Marcelo is welcomed with open arms. Meanwhile, corrupt police chief Euclides, along with his sons Sergio and Arlindo, are called in during the holiday to investigate a severed human leg that has been found inside a captured shark. And while this bizarre incident certainly catches the eye of the local police, they are even more intrigued by the tall, dark, and handsome Armando that just came on their radar (and I can’t say that I blame them.) Eventually, just as he’s settled into a quiet little life in Recife, Armando discovers that there’s been a hit put out on him, and he must act quickly. All the while, as Armando’s story is unfolding, we are shown scenes from present-day Brazil, where a history student named Flavia is listening to old, archived audio recordings of Armando and his fellow rebels. It was an interesting way to frame this story, and it made the systemic, governmental corruption at the center of this story seem all the more universal and timeless. The Secret Agent feels like an old-school thriller that was actually made in the 1970s, due to its slow-burning, somewhat misleading nature. It is simultaneously bold and incredibly subtle, and its dreamy, stylish aesthetic made every detail all the more visceral—I could almost feel the sweat dripping off the beautiful tanned skin of every gorgeous actor in this. I loved the pop-cultural details of this film: from the hypnotic music to the references to the biggest movies of the time like Jaws and The Exorcist. My biggest gripe with The Secret Agent—other than it being a little hard to follow at times—was its nearly three hour long runtime. I’m all for a layered, lightly-lurid, historical thriller (especially one starring the late, great, Udo Kier), but it did, unfortunately, begin to drag on just a tad. I think the same elegant storytelling and riveting mystery could’ve been accomplished with a 2-hour long runtime, but at least the majority of this film is dedicated to showcasing the many beautiful angles of Wagner Moura, who is at his hottest and most confident here (and whom is my third choice for Best Actor on Sunday night.) I may not have followed every breadcrumb in The Secret Agent, but I was still engaged the whole time, and the same could be said for tonight’s next film and this season’s last Oscar leftover.

Last, but not least (that moniker can be assigned to Bugonia, imo), we have Chloe Zhao’s film Hamnet, which, like all prestigious media, is streaming on Peacock. Hamnet, to be confused with Hamlet, is based on Maggie O’Farrell’s novel of the same name, and O’Farrell and Zhao worked on the script for this adaptation together. Many people, myself included, were confused as to why this was the film’s title—but the film thankfully clears this up immediately with text that reads: “Hamnet and Hamlet are in fact the same name, interchangeable in Stratford records in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.” We are then shown a beautiful, lush, emerald green forest, where the enchanting Jessie Buckley, at her most impish and fairie-like, is calmly snuggling in the leaves at the base of a giant tree. Buckley stars as Agnes, who is awoken by the squawking of a large hawk, one that is revealed to be her companion as soon as she slips on a giant glove and the bird happily lands on her arm. Agnes exits forest and heads into town, where she is spotted by the new kid on the block—Mr. William Shakespeare (Paul Mescal)—an academic who is meant to be tutoring the young boys of the village, but whom is increasingly distracted by this ethereal, mahogany-haired being in his midst. Will charms Agnes with his storytelling, and recounts the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—perhaps the first evidence of Shakespeare’s alleged penchant for plagiarism(?)—and Agnes’ inexplicable connection to animals and nature dazzles Will to his core. Agnes and Will are instantly smitten with one another, even though both of their respective families talk shit about one another. Agnes’ stepmother is suspicious of this writer who has yet to find any success, and Will’s mother insists that Agnes is the daughter of a forest witch who taught her herbal lore—a medicinal practice Agnes utilizes later to heal a cut on Will’s head. Despite the disapproval of both of their families, and mostly due to the fact that Agnes is now pregnant, Agnes and Will are married in a quaint, lovely, candlelit ceremony. Nothing about this relationship is particularly seamless or traditional—Agnes is a few years older than Will, and their shotgun wedding is not looked at with pride by their families—but Will has finally found a muse in Agnes, and this couple couldn’t be happier. Agnes has inherited various intuitive gifts from her maternal bloodline and she learns to trust her dreams and her body, which compel her to give birth to her first child on the roots of a large tree in this bright green forest. Together they have three children, and for awhile, everything is a fairytale. But then the bad part of the fairytale kicks in: Will’s writer’s block forces him to travel back and forth to London for culture and inspiration, and one of their children soon falls very ill. I don’t think it is too much of a spoiler to note that the big, tragic reveal of this film is the gut-wrenching and historically-accurate death of one of the Shakespeare children, which sends both Agnes and Will into unfathomable despair. The film doesn’t drag out the death of this child in a gratuitous way, but it does linger on the quiet but harrowing aftermath of this loss, as we witness Agnes’ anguish in particular. I appreciated that she was the focal point of this story, as opposed to Will, who reacts to his child’s death with an odd but welcomed spark of motivation. Will chooses to memorialize his child’s death with a play—one that Agnes is at first vehemently opposed to. But she eventually sees the beauty in her husband’s work of historical fiction, and in particular, she finds strange comfort in the audience’s earnestly emotional reactions to the play’s tragedy. Hamnet is mostly about love and loss, but it is also about the transference of grief, and how the Shakespeare family is no longer alone in their mourning the moment that the public bears witness to the baring of this artist’s soul. I liked it a lot more than I thought I would, but this was mostly due to Jessie Buckley, and her reliably committed performance. (And it’s even more impressive knowing that she went from playing the boisterous and feral titular character in The Bride! to this understated and tender role!!!) She is so effortlessly radiant and powerful in this film (and in most things) that Paul Mescal seemed all the more flat and uninteresting by standing next to her. It’s not fair, honestly, to place a still-green, mid-tier performer who still needs a bit more time to cook next to this absolute powerhouse of an artist. On paper, Hamnet is about a loving mother, a deadbeat dad, and a dead kid, but Chloe Zhao and Maggie O’Farrell added something deep and lovely to this otherwise bummer of a premise. Additionally, Jacobi Jupe, who plays Hamnet, was a remarkable stand-out, and should honestly be nominated for an Oscar alongside Jessie Buckley (who is likely going to win Best Actress.) Though my ranking is mostly unchanged for this Best Picture class, I’m happy to report that the tragedy of Hamnet was mostly manageable, and its witchy elements made the film way more whimsical and delightful than I’d anticipated. Movies about dead kids could always use more whimsy, and I’m always saying this. Well, that’s all the time, energy, and interest I have left in this Oscar season, so I’ll close out this chapter. Now, let’s get through this damn awards show and then we can get back to our regularly-scheduled, random and weird programming on Double Feature Thursday. Ta ta for now!