Going My Way - From now on, 1944 is going to be known as the Year of the Dumbass. They're dumbasses because they thought this pointless movie deserved not only the highest attendance in the theaters that year, but also 7 fucking Oscars! Seven is an impressive haul in any year, but back then it was huge. Bing Crosby won Best Actor. Let me tell you, he had a great singing voice, but acting-wise he was bland as a fucking rice cake. He's Father O'Malley, the new priest at St. Dominic's, a poor church in the shittiest shithole section of NYC. There's no problem he can't fix with a tune. Are you a small town girl who wants to be a big-time singer in the city? Sing like Father O'Malley. Hey look! Your shit's fixed! Are you one of two dozen street kids with no future? Join the choir and sing like Father O'Malley. Hey look! Your shit's fixed! Church behind on mortgage payments? Father O'Malley will write a song and use the proceeds to pay it off. Hey look! Your shit's fixed! Thanks, Father O'Malley! Thanks for slightly nudging us in the right direction with a breezy tune, you great underhanded motivator. Oh, and thanks for not hammering us over the head with that Bible shit. I notice you don't carry one, or ever quote one, for that matter. And when troubles arise, why bother us with a parable or an uplifting verse when a quick pop tune will do? Ya know, if it weren't for the collar, I'd probably think you're a shoe salesman. You're the most secular priest ever, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
But let's get back to the Year of the Dumbass thing. Barry Fitzgerald plays the antiquated Father Fitzgibbon. He was nominated for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor. I'll repeat that: He was nominated for Best Actor AND Best Supporting Actor...FOR THE SAME FUCKING ROLE! It seems by 1944, all the smart people had died in the war. Or maybe they didn't care. I'm leaning toward the latter since it's the only thing that makes sense about the heap of praise this movie received. He won Supporting Actor, btw. He didn't deserve it. As an old Irish priest who doesn't understand the young people of 1944 (really, who did?), I couldn't comprehend a single word that came out of his mouth. All I ever heard was "grumblegrumblecrotchetyballscratch". Learn to carry a tune, old man. He's also about 109 in this movie. It closes with him reuniting with his mother. She's 148. Would've brought a tear to my eye if it weren't so damned ridiculous. Father O'Malley seemed to agree as he slipped out quietly once the mother and child reunion was only a motion away. His work here is finished and he's headed to another town. It's Christmas Eve, it's snowing, and 1944 is almost over. Good fucking riddance. Dumbasses.
Did it deserve to win?: Did you ever read the fucking review? The answer is no. N-N-N-N-N-NOOOOOO. Here's some lyrics I wrote to the tune of "Swinging on a Star": No-no-no no no no-no-no/No-no-no no no no-no-no. Catchy, isn't it?
(out of 5)