All too often, Academy Award-nominated films suffer from an air of superiority, or worse, pretension. I always look back on movies like The English Patient or, worse, Crash as the pinnacle of self-righteous awfulness the Academy heralds from time to time.

That’s why it is so refreshing to be able to say that, above all else, American Hustle, the fast-paced and visually striking look at con artistry in the 1970s, is a genuinely fun movie. You may not walk out of the theater shaken to the very depths of your soul, but you will be smiling.

We’re first introduced to our protagonist, a pudgy, balding con man named Irving Rosenfeld, as he stands in front of a hotel mirror meticulously combing, styling, and gluing on an epic toupee. It’s an opening scene for the ages, staged by director David O. Russell, and is an instant tutorial on the character we’re about to follow for the next two hours. Irving, played with usual greatness by Christian Bale, is a man who puts appearances before all else: he doesn’t necessarily care that he has a beer belly or a bald dome, but he sure as hell isn’t going to let that stop him from walking into a room and owning it instantly.

The opening scene sets us up stylistically and thematically for what is to follow: a zany, kinda-sorta-ripped-from-the-headlines tale of double- and triple-crossing, government embezzlement, and good, old-fashioned, white-knuckle suspense. Irving and his partner, Sydney Prosser (Amy Adams), get pinched in a loan shark scam. In order to save their tails, they must work under the direction of hotshot FBI agent Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper) to entrap politicians in money laundering schemes.

Russell’s direction, equally fluid and unobtrusive, keeps the action moving forward while knowing when to slow down just long enough in some scenes to bring a small sense of gravity to the situation. The triangular relationship between Irving, Sydney, and Richie is far from a traditional “love triangle,” but under Russell’s steady hand, the interplay among these three does carry enough weight to make the viewer actually care about what happens.

For the second year in a row, Russell has orchestrated one of the most impressive feats I’ve seen in movies: his film’s actors have scored Academy Award nods in all four major acting categories (following last year’s slightly-overrated Silver Linings Playbook). Bale and Adams shine brightest in Hustle, while Cooper more than holds his own.

The final key to the acting piece is Jennifer Lawrence, who plays Irving’s long-suffering (and suffering-causing) wife. Lawrence’s work over her career has always been spectacular, so her nomination this year is not surprising, but in contrast to the work of her three co-stars, Lawrence seems to be phoning in this performance. It doesn’t take away much from the film, but it does leave the viewer wishing her role had more substance.

There is much purposely left unsaid here about how American Hustle unfolds. The joy of the film comes from allowing yourself to go with the flow, to let Russell and his cast take you on a madcap adventure that leaves you breathless and craving each new twist and turn. Ultimately, the gravitas and emotional weight of 12 Years a Slave or Gravity may sway Academy voters on March 2, but by overlooking American Hustle, the Academy would be scamming us all.

Alexander Payne, director of Best Picture award nominee Nebraska, allegedly refused to make the movie for several years until the studio relented to his request that the film be shot entirely in black and white.

But now that Nebraska has been released and is earning nearly unanimous positive reviews, one is left to wonder how it could have been filmed any other way. Not in recent time — sorry, The Artist — has the decision to shoot in black and white so effortlessly and powerfully reinforced the main themes of a film.

For the uninitiated, Nebraska tells the story of Woody Grant, a worn-down man who may be suffering from the effects of Alzheimer’s, convinced that he needs to get from his home in Billings, Mont., to Lincoln, Neb., to claim the winnings of a mail sweepstakes. His son, David, unsuccessfully tries to get the old man to see that the winnings are bogus, but when reasoning fails, he decides he will drive his dad to claim his prize.

Let’s be honest: there’s no easier plot convenience than a buddy road trip setup. Yet to call Woody and David buddies would be a stretch. It’s clear throughout the film that Woody preferred alcohol to parenting, and the relationship now seems frayed to say the least.

As Woody, Bruce Dern gives one of those performances that blogs, magazines, and Hollywood Foreign Presses can’t stop raving about. In this case, they’re all absolutely right. Dern’s performance is a jaw-dropper; layered, believable, and heart-wrenching. Every year of Woody’s long, difficult life seems to be implanted in the cracks of Dern’s face and slow-deliberate nature of his vocal delivery.

Aside from Dern’s powerful performance, June Squibb shines as Woody’s vulgar and put-upon wife, Kate, and Will Forte, as David, gives a nuanced performance that stands as one of the most underrated of this movie season.

And yet, for as good as all of the actors are, what really allows them to shine is Bob Nelson’s stunning script: a delicate, interwoven peek into Midwestern United States life. The dialogue is genuine and authentic of the townsfolk who populate the film’s landscape. When Woody and David make a stop in Woody’s hometown on their way to Lincoln, his old friends and neighbors take the rare opportunity to chat with their friend in a way that somehow manages to condense 30 years of real life into one scripted exchange.

Nelson’s script is a tour-de-force, and when he walks away with the Best Original Screenplay award in a few weeks, you’ll understand why. It’s rare that a film’s script actually has the guts to treat all of its characters with the care they deserve, and this may be Nebraska’s greatest attribute.

Nebraska is one of those films that doesn’t allow for passive viewing. Some may find themselves overwhelmed by nostalgia while watching, and I would be hard-pressed to blame them. The black-and-white pictures on the screen seem to enhance the longing that many characters feel: longing for things lost, for family separated, for hometowns long left. Even amid the film’s bits of brevity and occasional hilarity (thanks, Ms. Squibb!), there is unmistakable sadness at its center that was hard to shake days and even weeks afterward.