Get over it, my husband says. It’s just the Oscars. Move on,
Friends advise. Yes, Lily Gladstone’s performance required more, on and off camera, than any other role under consideration. Yes, the screen-time alibi adds insult to injury. But if you write about it, Mary — particularly if you belly-ache about it — it’ll be seen as sour grapes. Pfft. I keep remembering my closing words in last week’s column: “We’re behind you, Lily. We’re beside you.” That declaration comes with an obligation — the obligation not to vanish when the outcome disappoints. And so … Dear Lily, Like so many others, I was crushed not to see you center-stage last Sunday, cradling that coveted statue, introducing yourself once again in a language all but stolen from you. You played an iconic role in a story that, as a crotchety history teacher in another Oscar-nominated film said, isn’t just a story of the past, but a way to understand the present. I’m sure you’re disappointed too. But know this: You wowed us. Not just for the performance you gave in “Killers of the Flower
moon,” but for the responsibility you assumed in giving it, a responsibility requiring a respect for a woman long gone, a sensitivity to the tribe that survives her, and a commitment to reveal a slice of history that, however painful, we must all reckon with. You continued to shoulder that responsibility on the grueling road to the Oscars. In interview after interview, you told a story that is at once not yours and very much yours to tell, a story that is many stories – the murders-in-plain-sight of the Osage people, yes, but also boarding school stories, the code-talker story, “rez kid” stories. You represented Montana so well on that road. You showed a wisdom undergirded by the down-to-earth wryness of those of us who live with all the foibles and unpredictabilities of Montana’s weather, landscapes and people. That wisdom is also reflective of the much-maligned liberal arts education you pursued here. One interviewer, I remember, was coaxing you to trace your own journey through Maslow’s hierarchy, culminating in your self-actualization as an
Actress. You schooled him! Actually, you pointed out, Maslow amended that view later, after living among the Canadian Blackfeet. That experience led him to believe that self-actualization is not the final step. The final step is a value system that transcends actualizing the self to actualizing community. I never knew that. Thank you for teaching me. Thank you, too, for uplifting Montana’s first people by making them truly visible. In the past few weeks, I’ve watched a seasoned Native stateswoman get choked up describing how she felt when you introduced yourself in Blackfeet at the
Golden Globes. I’ve seen classrooms of Indigenous children singing, dancing, and chanting their proud support as the
Oscars approached. I’ve seen a little Blackfeet girl standing in awe before her television set, gawking at you in the front row of the Dolby Theater. Scenes like that live long beyond the moment. And, remember, Robert DeNiro and Martin Scorsese watched “Rocky” beat “Taxi Driver” for best picture in 1977. Four years later, DeNiro was named Best
Actor for “Raging Bull,” but Scorsese went home empty-handed. In the years since, DeNiro’s been nominated for seven Oscars; Scorsese, for 11. Both won only once — and, like you, it wasn’t last Sunday night. Scorsese told a story that had to be told, but you’re the one who made it matter. A golden statuette pales beside an achievement like that. So win some, lose some, Lily. But suit up all the same. With deep regard, Mary