The awards season for films ended last Sunday with the Oscars. Though I make absolutely zero claim on having any Mystic Meg capabilities, this time around it turned out that I had interviewed both Adrien Brody and Mikey Madison, respective winners of this year’s best actor and actress, for the Observer.
Asked whether they believed they were in with a chance they answered the only way an actor can in their situation: by not really answering the question at all. Madison noted that her film Anora wasn’t even out yet, so it was weird talking about awards. Brody, star of The Brutalist, mumbled: “If that day comes…”.
The only actor I’ve spoken to who didn’t observe this protocol of humility and bashfulness was Adam Pearson, whom I interviewed last October for his film A Different Man. The buzz for his (excellent) performance was already ratcheting up and there was talk of a best supporting actor nod. Pearson, however, made no attempt to dampen the flames. “I want to go to the Oscars and clean up,” he told me. “I’ve already gone to Ikea, I’ve got the flat-pack shelves in the shed ready for it.”
In the event, Pearson wasn’t nominated, which is a shame, because he’d have given one hell of a victory speech. Still, Ikea shelves always come in handy.
Covid amnesia
How are you going to mark – “celebrate” is definitely the wrong word – the fifth anniversary of the Covid pandemic? Sunday has been designated the National Day of Reflection, or maybe you would go by 23 March 2020, the date the first national lockdown in the UK began.
Perhaps you could grab your trainers and do the “silly billies” with Joe Wicks in your living room? Or go for a walk of exactly one hour’s duration and sporadically scream “TWO METRES!” at your kids? Or order some online shopping and leave it in the bath for two days to disinfect?
Of course, everyone’s experience of the lockdowns was deeply personal, and those who lost family and friends – more than 230,000 people died in the UK – will want to reflect in their own way. Mostly, it seems, we choose not to look back on this bizarre and traumatic period; “collective amnesia” is often used to describe our response.
I’ve found myself thinking about it at strange times recently: walking past a skate park that was packed in the balmy spring of 2020, but sits dormant and unloved now.
I’m going to try to remember some of the positive aspects: those few months when we revered school teachers as we always should; the strange acts of kindness between neighbours, rather than pass-agg WhatsApp arguments over whether you should put CCTV on your street. And maybe at 8pm on the 23rd, I’ll quietly bang a pot.
Age shall not wither ’em
Heartwarming video of the week klaxon! For reasons best known to itself, my social media algorithm served me up a short clip of the tie-break in the men’s 90-plus-years tennis championships from Finland.
I may not have asked for this content, but it turned out to be just what I needed: a pair of nonagenarians – Leo Lindblad and Pentti Seppälä – going at it hammer and tongs with the drama of McEnroe and Borg at their peak. The match lasted almost two and a half hours, and 91-year-old power-baseliner Lindblad came out victorious.
Tennis fans have often marvelled at the longevity of players such as Roger Federer and the Williams sisters, competing into their 30s and early 40s. But their feats always came across as the actions of superhumans. On that indoor court in Tali, Finland, it felt like watching a couple of old geezers choosing not to be defined by their years. I may be just over half their age, but I wouldn’t fancy my chances.
• Tim Lewis is an Observer writer
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