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The Hill (1965)   The kind of movie that gives you faith there are positives to star power. The Hill wouldn’t have been made, were it not for Sean Connery’s Bond cachet, and if it failed to create any waves at the box office, it still ranks one of the very best things most of its cast did. Which also goes for director Sidney Lumet and cinematographer Oswald Morris (who won a BAFTA for his efforts). It’s also the kind of picture which, when confronted by the empty fireworks of an awards favourite like 1917, serves as a reminder that intelligent, thought provoking

The Sixth Sense (1999)   It has usually been a shrewd move for the Academy to ensure there’s at least one big hit among its Best Picture Oscar nominees. At least, until the era of ever-plummeting ratings; not only do the studios get to congratulate themselves for their own profligacy (often, but not always, the big hits are also the costliest productions), but the audience also has something to identify with and possibly root for. Plus, it evidences that the ceremony isn’t just about populism-shunning snobbery. The Sixth Sense provided Oscar’s supernatural bookend to a decade – albeit, The Green Mile also has a

Philomena (2013)   The Oscars’ current dose of Anglophilia can likely be traced back to success of Chariots of Fire and the posture of celebrating English (British) Heritage, but with a twist. The ingredients of Empire may be reclaimed just so long as there’s a fleeting acknowledgment of past lapses. Sumptuous period trappings present older, better eras to hearken back to, but with a twinge of implicit criticism that the mores and values of the day may not have been all that snazzy. Conscience is relived sufficiently to permit the viewer a good wallow in past hues while tutting sagely at the