Adam Driver did not receive an Oscar nomination, despite winning and being nominated for several critical prizes, for portraying Paterson in Paterson.
Paragraph 1: I approach my keyboard preparing to write a review for Adam Driver in Paterson a film where he plays a bus driver for the city Paterson while playing a man named Paterson. I notice there is a hangnail on one of my fingers. It could easily be pulled so I retrieve nail clippers from a drawer and remove the unneeded attachment. I return back to the keyboard. I press on the f key, it's a bit sticky, I should replace it. I type noticing that there is strange task in reviewing this performance in a film about seemingly nothing. Who is this Adam Driver guy anyways? I probably should investigate. I go off to the local library only to find there are no books written about Adam Driver, though there is a book on how to drive a Vauxhall Adam. A random bystander passes by exclaiming "that dudes Kylo Renn, he's got his light saber he goes broommmmm, broommmmm, he killed Han Solo, screw that guy".
Paragraph 2: I return to a keyboard somewhere to continue to the review. I find in the comments section of my last review a question "Thoughts on Buddy the Wonder Dog in Air Bud?'. I ponder the question. The comment continues "Big fan of the air bud franchise but I noticed you've barely ranked any of the dogs.". At this time my own dog barks in the room. I walk outside to notice that the light is on in my car. I turn off the light, and see my neighbor is home. He beckons me to come inside. My neighbor is playing darts with a picture of himself across the room. He asks what am I doing. I say I'm reviewing Adam Driver in Paterson. I explain it is a hard nut to crack. He asks "why". I explain that it is a curiously compelling work even though he doesn't seem to do anything. "Sounds boring" he says as he throws a dart in his own photographic eye. I say but it's not.
Paragraph 3: I decide to take a break from the rigors of performance review and go off to the store in order to gather food for my dinner. As I wait in the line I stand behind two shoppers deep in conversation. The first person exclaims "Count Chocula doesn't taste like it used to" the other person asks "What do you mean?", the first continues "Count Chocula doesn't taste like it used to", "the cereal?" the other inquires, "who else is there?" the first counters "I sure love Boo Berry" the other claims, "What are you talking about? It doesn't taste the same anymore either" the first finishes. After my dinner, I continue the review questioning what it is there about this portrayal of a bus driver who likes to write poems is engaging. I ponder if it is the way Driver says certain words like "Blue Tip", there may be something to this.
Paragraph 4: I arrive at a local bar sitting at the counter to contemplate the performance further. I am approached by an actor who overhears my dilemma. "What's the drama, where is the conflict?" the actor inquires. I explain that there is none. We mostly just observe this man who goes about his day, a few slightly atypical things happen, nothing major and he treats any of the strange things in a pretty straight forward fashion. "What? You gotta have conflict to connect.". I attempt to tell the actor that there is just something strangely fascinating about watching the man be himself, perhaps there's just something strangely fascinating about Adam Driver. "Nothing bad happens to him?" the incredulous man asks. I reply that his poetry book is ruined by his dog. "That's it! I'm dealing with real drama" the actor balks at the idea. What you are in? I ask. "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I'm the titular role". Where? "At the High School down the street." You're a student? I wonder aloud. "I'm the janitor, they let me play there though, it's going to be great.".
Paragraph 5: Still unsatisfied I walk down to a park, sitting at bench next to a trickling stream. A German approaches and sits next to me. The German has a book that reads "Performance Review". "I love a good performance" the German exclaims. I say, huh? "I write reviews of performances, this is my book." Is there a performance your currently writing about, I ask. "Jerry Lewis in The Day the Clown Cried.". Haven't seen that one, how is it? I pose the question. "Heartbreaking work, deals with a clown during the holocaust" I say oh, then explain that I am also writing a review, about a guy who just kinda gets upset in a normal fashion over having his poetry destroyed. He never gets too upset no matter what happens, somehow it feels natural, and is actually pretty funny as well as endearing. It's a performance that fits the film's tone perfectly, and just happens to be captivating in this unique way. "Hmmm" the German nods, "Give him a 4.5". The German leaves the park. I wait a moment more before getting up myself, walking home, and going to bed.