Three-6-Mafia, 1. Alfred Hitchcock, 0.

There weren't many surprises when the Oscars were announced, except for The Reader from left field, Kate Winslet's Best Actress switcheroo, and the fact that Revolutionary Road, The Dark Knight, In Bruges, Doubt, Happy-Go-Lucky, The Wrestler, et al. all craved a Best Picture nod, while what does Oscar recognize? Kung Fu Panda.

But after the year dies down, we'll argue about how it should have been Sean Penn, or how Kate Winslet deserved it more for Revolutionary Road, or if Brangelina were nommed because they are paparazzi moguls. And then we'll find some distance. Outside of the competition, there are these things called films, and we tend to forget about them in our quest to award them. Frost/Nixon could be a great movie on its own - I haven't seen it - but give it a nod and suddenly, everyone rails on it for being too stage bound (obvious fodder for adapted plays), or conveying little beyond its lead performance, or for being recognized solely because Oscar loves Opie.

I propose that we award movies five or ten years hence. Watch their immersion in our culture, note their durability. We still won't call them timeless, but there's something to be said for perspective. "As many performances as Meryl Streep has given recently," we might say, "none were as witty, pointed, surprising, vigorous, or peculiarly sympathetic as her turn in The Devil Wears Prada."

Here's my experiment: Let's flash back to 1996, and I'll use the nominated films for ease. Does anybody still watch The English Patient? What is Secrets & Lies? As earnest as Shine and Jerry Maguire were, the most lasting film of that year, for its offbeat ensemble, comedy amid tragedy, and wood chipper cameo, was Fargo. Hold the ceremony today, and I bet we'd hear another stammering, I-haven't-seen-sunlight-for-weeks speech from Mr. and Mr. Coen. The next year, James Cameron was king of the world. But after all the hype, maybe we can concede that the revised film noir of L.A. Confidential was a superior film. From that year, The Full Monty has definitely lasted (and it's about time comedies got some Oscar buzz), and Good Will Hunting still retains its fresh-off-the-bus authenticity. Would As Good as it Gets even be nommed today? It's the epitome of "Oscar-baiting film"... poor misanthrope Jack, who learns to love and accept. Yes, who knew Helen Hunt could act, but does she really deserve a statue for one good moment in a career that's tapered off?

I dub these revisionary Oscars the Kanes, in honor of that little 1941 movie that lost (in a now inconceivable vote) to How Green was My Valley. Even The Maltese Falcon was bested by this time-forgotten drama. Green may deserve gold, but as the sands of time have fallen, Orson Welles' film has had a greater impact on how we invent cinema, play tricks with light and sound, tell stories, not to mention the development of the surprise ending and, following that, the movie spoiler. Another example from 1964: My Fair Lady is a faithful adaptation of a musical adapted from George Bernard Shaw, but its most lasting contribution was upheaval over Julie Andrews being spurned; Dr. Strangelove, on the other hand, has come to define the black comedy. Even Mary Poppins is a more satisfying, continually inventive musical, and it also gave us years of poking fun at Dick Van Dyke's, um, dialect. And how on earth did these films even get nods?: Doctor Dolittle (1967), Hello, Dolly! (1969), Love Story (1970), and Ghost and The Godfather Part III (1990).

So with much ado, I present the Kanes to movies that last, for permanence is, I believe, one of the keys to art. 

1998: Even back then, Saving Private Ryan's loss was a shock.

1999: American Beauty and The Sixth Sense tie, the first for casting the suburban malaise myth as a comedy, the latter for a haunting psychological thriller that exemplifies quality genre direction. (Though M. Night may have lost voters for his recent output.)

2000: Memento for turning the screenplay inside-out.

2001: Sorry, Ron Howard, I'm going The Lord of the Rings here. Yes, the editing was ridiculous, but the first installment was the most fun, and few epics had accomplished such scope of vision since the 1960s, when everything was epic.

2002: Chicago didn't really revive the movie musical as much as Moulin Rouge! did. Adaptation had a devilishly ingenious third act. Y Tu Mama Tambien was raw, imperfect, overly ambitious in its symbolism, but a hilarious-deflating road film that refused to shy away from the pain of fading youth.

2003: Lost in Translation. The rise of the indie and Sofia Coppola's near-redemption for the evils of nepotism (see above: The Godfather Part III).

2004: Million Dollar Baby vs. Sideways. I think it's fair to say Clint Eastwood appeals to popular and critical audiences alike, and I'll give him the edge. Next year, though, I may choose the effervescent Sideways. Some years, more than one great movie makes it out (1994: how to choose between Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption? Oh, right, pick Forrest Gump). And this is why I stress perspective. 

2005 on are too soon to call, though I will wager that Brokeback Mountain, Capote, A History of Violence, and even Match Point will outlast the improbable Crash. Both No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood will likely top future lists for the decade, but how to choose between their equal despairing wails against the death of fate and the soullessness of capitalism?

Sometimes I agree, for the Academy often awards good films. But with the tears and campaigning and politics, we tend to forget it's about The Movies, how they entertain us, how they reinvent genres, how they express what mere words cannot. Plus some moments become iconic: would anybody currently give the 1987 Oscar to Cher (Moonstruck) over psychotic Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction? Or 1939 to Robert Donat in Goodbye, Mr. Chips over Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind, James Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and Laurence Olivier in Wuthering Heights? Dare we bring up the losses of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Blvd. (1950) or Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)? They are what last beyond the scope of this year's seven-hour, humorless (I'm conjecturing) extravaganza of not-so-pithy acceptance speeches and interminable montages. Honorary Kanes round the table.