Adrien Brody is a great actor. So why is everybody so annoyed by him?

First, let me state this clearly: Adrien Brody’s behavior at last week’s Academy Awards deeply frustrated me.

Aside from the Screen Actors Guild Awards, Brody had been sweeping the precursor awards throughout the season. So, he was quite confident about securing his second Oscar for Best Actor. However, the first thing he did when his name was announced was take the chewing gum out of his mouth and throw it into his girlfriend’s hand.

Why did he do that? It was utterly baffling. Given that he knew he had a high chance of winning, why not take care of such etiquette matters beforehand? And let’s not even mention the blatant disrespect this action showed towards his girlfriend (regardless of whether she personally minded, the nature of the act remains unchanged).

Then, the Brutalist star walked up to the stage and delivered an acceptance speech that broke an Academy Awards record for length—lasting a staggering 5 minutes and 36 seconds.

He talked about the hardships of being an actor, shared the struggles of his career, and expressed his hope that this performance would open doors for better roles. He also made vague political statements like, “We must unite! We must love each other!”—sentiments so empty that they held no real meaning. And as the orchestra tried to play him off twice, he boldly gestured for them to stop: “Stop it. I’ve been here before.”

If you ever wondered why Brody’s career took a nosedive after becoming the youngest-ever Best Actor Oscar winner for The Pianist, his speech may offer part of the answer. This is a story of success arriving too soon, warping a person’s character into a mix of arrogance and insecurity—a psychological turmoil that ultimately erupted on Hollywood’s grandest stage.

Contrary to popular belief, Brody did not shoot to stardom overnight with The Pianist. He had been acting for years before collaborating with Roman Polanski, spending much of his early career in the American indie film scene. He had already worked with Steven Soderbergh, Terrence Malick, and Spike Lee, consistently delivering solid performances. He may not have had the artistic-idol aura of Ethan Hawke, but his strong acting fundamentals secured him a place in the indie film world. Had fate not intervened, he could have built a respectable career along that path.

Then came the overwhelming success of The Pianist. Perhaps as a collective rebellion against Harvey Weinstein’s industry dominance, the biggest awards-season frontrunner that year—Gangs of New York—ended up winning nothing, and Daniel Day-Lewis lost Best Actor to the then-under-30 Brody. It was a joyous surprise for Brody that night, but in the long run, this victory proved to be more of a curse than a blessing for his career.

After winning the Oscar, Brody was signed by CAA, the most prestigious talent agency in the industry. His new agents convinced him that he could be the next Tom Cruise—an action and blockbuster star. This led to major roles in The Village, King Kong, and Predators, yet none of these films achieved the expected success. Even Peter Jackson failed to fully revive Brody’s stardom.

With his leading-man trajectory floundering, Brody pivoted to genre films. He starred in Splice, Giallo, and Wrecked. While some of these projects had promising teams, their scripts and overall quality only declined further. Brody’s enthusiasm also visibly waned. By the time Midnight in Paris and The Grand Budapest Hotel rolled around, he had essentially abandoned his ambitions of leading blockbusters or genre films. The youngest-ever Best Actor winner had returned to playing supporting roles.

This kind of fall from grace is bound to mess with a person’s psyche. Hollywood’s fame-driven environment only amplifies the emotional turmoil that comes with such dramatic career swings. When you’re riding high, everyone wants a piece of your success. But when you’re struggling, people treat you like bad luck itself, avoiding you as if your misfortune is contagious.

Fortunately, over the past decade, Brody has managed his supporting-actor career well. He has become a regular in Wes Anderson’s films and delivered memorable small roles in Peaky Blinders and Succession. These low-profile yet well-crafted performances helped pave the way for his comeback, ultimately culminating in The Brutalist.

However, standing on the grandest stage once again, Brody revealed his true nature. His years in obscurity hadn’t humbled him. Instead of showing gratitude and acknowledging the unpredictable nature of success, he acted as if his victory was owed to him. His record-breaking speech and his attitude suggested one thing: that Hollywood had wronged him, that the 23 years between his two Oscar wins were an injustice he was finally rectifying.

One could argue that Brody’s reaction is simply human nature. But on the flip side, moments of success and failure often reveal a person’s character most clearly. Some people maintain composure in both triumph and defeat, embracing their careers with an open mind. Brody is clearly not one of those people. So the next time he plays a character like Wladyslaw Szpilman or László Tóth—someone who has endured immense hardship—I might find myself feeling less sympathetic toward his performance.