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With less than a month to go until the 97th Academy Awards ceremony, this year’s awards season is in full swing. As a seasoned film enthusiast, I’m already looking ahead to next year’s race. After all, the Oscars aren’t just a celebration of cinema; they’re also a “psychological battle” filled with strategy and omens. So, are there any signs or secrets to a film securing a place at the Oscars? You might say that biopics are more likely to win the Academy’s favor, or that Cannes Film Festival winners tend to be highly regarded by the Oscars. But today, I want to highlight a more interesting discovery: playing a president (or head of state) seems to be a shortcut to winning an Oscar.
Let’s start with a recent example. At this year’s Golden Globe Awards in January, Sebastian Stan won Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy for his performance in A Different Man. However, when the Oscar nominations were announced, Stan was nominated for a different role—The Apprentice. In this film, he portrays Donald Trump, who was recently re-elected as the President of the United States. Although The Apprentice focuses on Trump’s rise to prominence in New York during the 1970s and 80s with no direct connection to his presidential career, it’s clear that Stan’s portrayal has attracted attention because of Trump’s real-life identity. When Stan’s character delivers the famous mantra “Make America Great Again,” audiences can’t help but think of the real Trump. This spillover effect makes The Apprentice not just a biopic, but a movie about a president. Even though Trump wasn’t president yet when the film was released, viewers still associate him with his presidential image. This subtle connection may be the key to Stan’s Oscar nomination.
So, is it really easier to win an Oscar for playing a president or head of state? Let’s look at the statistics. Over the past 20 years, four actors have won the Best Actor Oscar for portraying presidents/heads of state (if we include nominees, the number rises to six), which accounts for 20% of the winners. These four actors are: Forest Whitaker (The Last King of Scotland, 2006), who played Ugandan dictator Idi Amin; Colin Firth (The King’s Speech, 2010), who portrayed King George VI of England in a touching story about overcoming his stutter; Daniel Day-Lewis (Lincoln, 2012), who portrayed one of America’s greatest presidents, Abraham Lincoln, and won his third Best Actor Oscar for the role; as well as Gary Oldman (Darkest Hour, 2017), who brought Winston Churchill, Britain’s World War II Prime Minister, to life.
As for Best Actress, three actresses have won for playing presidents/heads of state (four if we include nominees): Helen Mirren (The Queen, 2006), who played Queen Elizabeth II, depicting her emotional struggle after Princess Diana’s death; Meryl Streep (The Iron Lady, 2011), who portrayed former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, and won her third Best Actress Oscar for the role; as well as Olivia Colman (The Favourite, 2018), who played Queen Anne of England—while the film focused more on court intrigue, Colman’s performance was still remarkable. Interestingly, although the proportion of actresses winning the Oscar for playing presidents or heads of state is slightly lower, the win rate for nominees in this category is as high as 75%. This might be because there are fewer women holding such positions in the real world, making these roles more rare and challenging. Just think about it, the United States has never elected a female president.
So why is it easier to win an Oscar for playing a president or head of state?
First, the complexity of political figures is like a diamond, with each facet reflecting both the bright and dark sides of human nature. Take The Last King of Scotland as an example—Whitaker’s portrayal of Amin shows him as both an amiable party host and a ruthless tyrant who executes political rivals at will. In one chilling scene, Amin delivers a speech at a banquet. He starts as a hospitable, well-read leader, proudly referencing Uganda’s history, but suddenly shifts tone with a cruel joke about the food, playfully claiming none of it is made up of human flesh. Through neurotic glances and exaggerated gestures, Whitaker fuses the dictator’s madness and vulnerability into a horrifyingly complete whole. Such roles are like tailor-made exam questions for Oscar judges: they must convey both the weight of power and reveal the trembling soul beneath the iron curtain of authority.
Speaking of performance precision, Streep’s portrayal in The Iron Lady is a textbook example. To bring Thatcher to life, she transformed herself into a master of voice mimicry. She broke down Thatcher’s iconic deep voice into different levels: an authoritative chest resonance during her governance and a hoarse tremor in old age. The most impressive aspect of the film is Streep’s southeastern British accent—she even studied how Thatcher deliberately corrected her rural accent while studying at Oxford and how she intentionally elongated vowels during parliamentary debates to sound more dignified. When Streep strides down 10 Downing Street wearing a puffy silver wig and a royal blue suit, this biopic almost feels like a documentary. But Streep’s truly divine moment comes when she portrays an elderly Thatcher with Alzheimer’s: one moment she’s commanding the air around her, the next she’s clutching her late husband’s suit while murmuring. Her imagined interactions with her already deceased husband Denis throughout the film becomes a defining moment for this towering figure: she isn’t merely the Iron Lady, but also a human being who suffers from pain and vulnerability.
The same magic happened with Colman in The Favourite. The Queen Anne she played isn’t the formal figurehead typical of period dramas; rather, she’s an irritable woman tormented by gout and the grief of losing her children. During a performance by the court musicians, she suddenly screams for them to leave, dragging her heavy body as she stumbles through a hallway in the palace, crying helplessly, “Where am I?” When her servant tries to assist, she roughly pushes him away, snarling, “Don’t speak to me like that!” What’s even more brilliant are her subtle mannerisms: her fingers nervously fidget with her dress tassels during emotional outbursts, and she suddenly switches to a girlish high-pitched voice when flirting with her lover. These details build not just a name from history books, but a living, breathing person who hiccups, farts, and gradually sinks into a quagmire of power and deception.
The success of these presidential portrayals lies deeply in history’s natural drama. Take Day-Lewis in Lincoln—when he’s huddled in a shawl in the war room, sharing jokes about an English lord putting George Washington’s portrait in the water closet with his distinctive Midwestern drawl, we see not a distant historical figure, but a witty workaholic who happens to be president. His delivery of the line “Abolishing slavery by constitutional provisions settles the fate for all coming time” transforms a pivotal historical moment into something deeply personal and immediate, especially as he half-jokingly cajoles his team to secure the votes they need.
In Darkest Hour, Oldman’s Churchill interacts with ordinary British citizens in the subway, grappling with the decision of whether to negotiate with Nazi Germany. He’s moved to tears by their unwavering opposition to totalitarianism—a moment that resonates deeply with viewers. These monumental historical choices not only shaped the past but continue to influence our present. In today’s climate of rising social anxiety, the film serves as a powerful reminder of our capacity for justice and goodness.
The Academy’s fondness for these transformative performances is no surprise. There’s something amazingly magical about watching skilled actors breathe life into historical figures, turning textbook names into complex human beings who doubt, sweat, and stumble. In our current climate, where real-world politics often feels like high drama, these portrayals offer a unique way to process our relationship with power. When we critique these presidential performances from our theater seats, perhaps we’re also finding a healthy outlet for our real-world political frustrations.
Yet interestingly, playing an American president proves particularly challenging at the Oscars. Only Day-Lewis has won for portraying Lincoln, while actors playing foreign leaders have found more success. This might be because American audiences have such strong, preconceived notions about their presidents that actors face extra scrutiny—as the line between impression and interpretation becomes razor-thin.
This brings us to Stan’s current Oscar nomination for The Apprentice. Though he portrays Trump before his second presidency, Stan has taken on one of Hollywood’s riskiest challenges—playing an American president. Whether he succeeds or not, his nomination already speaks to both the enduring appeal and the immense challenges of these presidential portrayals.
For actors seeking Oscar recognition, taking on a presidential role remains a compelling strategy—provided they have the skill and courage to tackle such complex historical figures. The Oscar stage, after all, loves nothing more than rewarding those who dare to bring history’s most powerful figures back to vivid, complicated life.
I’m excited to kick off a new series of analysis articles about the Oscar season as we count down to the 2025 Academy Awards! Instead of taking a stuffy, formal approach, I want to keep things authentic and fun. This article is just the start of our journey together—if you enjoy this more casual take on the Oscar season, be sure to follow along!
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