The Oscar Curse: 15 Actors Who Seemed to Disappear After Winning an…

Jean Dujardin the artist cropped processed by imagy

Jean Dujardin – The Artist (2011)

Awards season loves a “new” kind of leading man, and Dujardin arrived with that rare combo of elegance and mischief that feels tailor-made for a studio to bottle. The twist is how quickly the American conversation moved on once The Artist stopped being the movie everyone referenced in the same breath as classic Hollywood. Instead of a neat runway of big, bankable follow-ups, his choices leaned sideways – more French projects, more offbeat parts, more “working actor” energy than freshly minted Oscar royalty. That’s not a knock; it’s just not the trajectory people expect after Best Actor. When he does pop up in English-language work, it tends to be a cameo, a supporting turn, or something deliberately odd, which only reinforces the sense that his Hollywood moment came and went fast. | © The Weinstein Company

Halle Berry – Monster’s Ball (2001)

History got made, and then the industry did that thing where it celebrates the milestone while still not building a steady lane afterward. After winning for Monster’s Ball, Halle Berry stayed omnipresent as a celebrity, but the run of truly great, headline-level roles didn’t line up with how seismic that victory was. The 2000s turned into a string of high-profile gambles – some remembered for the wrong reasons – and you could feel the momentum sputter even when she was booked and busy. That’s the maddening version of the “curse”: not disappearing from the public, but disappearing from the kind of scripts that keep an Oscar winner in the A-tier on purpose, not just on reputation. She kept swinging, yet Hollywood rarely gave her the clean, confident vehicles that should’ve followed that night. | © Lionsgate

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Gwyneth Paltrow – Shakespeare in Love (1998)

Her Oscar win didn’t spark a loud takeover; it sparked a quiet pivot. The expectation after a Best Actress moment like that is a conveyor belt of prestige leads and studio romances, but Gwyneth Paltrow’s post-win path kept drifting away from “constant movie-star output.” She worked, she stayed famous, she made smart appearances in big franchises – but the center of gravity shifted, and the film career never stayed in that inevitable, dominant mode people associate with an acting Oscar. That’s why her “curse” story reads differently: the gap isn’t total absence, it’s the absence of the obvious next era. Plenty of winners become unavoidable; she became selective, and eventually her cultural presence had as much to do with everything around acting as it did with acting itself – especially after Shakespeare in Love. | © Miramax Films

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Renée Zellweger – Cold Mountain (2003) + Judy (2019)

A second Oscar is supposed to erase the idea of a career “quiet spell,” and Renée Zellweger somehow ended up with two different versions of the same phenomenon. After winning for Cold Mountain, the expected avalanche of major, must-see leading roles never fully arrived in a steady line – she worked, but the momentum felt oddly stop-start for someone freshly crowned. Years later, she returns with a full-on transformation in Judy, wins again, and you’d think that would lock her into a new, permanent prestige lane. Instead, the post-win stretch goes quiet at the blockbuster level once more, with fewer headline projects than the trophy usually guarantees. Two statues, two moments where Hollywood’s attention span seemed shorter than it should’ve been, and that’s exactly why her name keeps coming up in “Oscar curse” conversations. | © Pathé

Catherine Zeta-Jones – Chicago (2002)

Velma Kelly isn’t a performance you forget, and that’s part of the irony here: she wins, she steals scenes, she looks like the definition of a durable A-list force… and the filmography that follows doesn’t stay on that same bright, consistent runway. After Chicago, Catherine Zeta-Jones remained famous, but the pipeline of major, centerpiece roles didn’t keep matching the trophy’s promise. Personal headlines and health realities became intertwined with the narrative, and the work that came after often felt more sporadic than inevitable. When she returns in something splashy, it’s a reminder of how easily she can command a screen – followed by another stretch where her name isn’t attached to many of the era’s biggest movies. That stop-start rhythm is exactly the kind of thing people point to when they talk about an Oscar “jinx.” | © Miramax Films

Brie Larson – Room (2015)

That win stamped her as “next up,” and it’s hard to think of a more emotionally demanding performance than what she pulls off in Room. The strange part is how quickly the post-Oscar narrative got complicated: massive fame arrived, but it didn’t translate into a simple parade of prestige leads. Big franchise visibility can crowd out everything else – time, perception, even what kinds of scripts land on your desk – so the years after her statue have felt more like strategic zigzags than a clean ascent. She’s never vanished, but the type of roles that feel like the natural sequel to an Oscar-winning turn have been less frequent than people expected. That mismatch fuels the “curse” talk: the trophy says “Hollywood centerpiece,” while the reality becomes a mix of blockbusters, smaller bets, and long gaps between truly juicy, headline-driven parts. | © Element Pictures

Rami Malek – Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)

Winning for a real-life icon can freeze the way the industry sees you, even when you’ve got range to spare. After Bohemian Rhapsody, Rami Malek didn’t slide neatly into a steady run of big leading roles; instead, the post-Oscar stretch has often placed him as an intense supporting presence, an ensemble wild card, or a prestige add-on to someone else’s vehicle. He’s remained high-profile, but that’s not the same as being handed the kind of star-building projects that keep an Oscar winner in the driver’s seat year after year. It’s the quieter version of “disappearing”: your name still pops, your face is still recognizable, yet the industry keeps casting you around the center rather than as the center. For a Best Actor winner, that detour is exactly what makes people raise an eyebrow. | © 20th Century Fox

Hilary Swank – Million Dollar Baby (2004)

Hilary Swank is the rare case where the “curse” doesn’t just linger – it repeats, like the industry needed two reminders and still didn’t build her a reliable runway. The first win, for Boys Don’t Cry, should’ve flipped her into automatic A-list vehicles, yet the years that followed didn’t turn into a clean streak of big, defining roles that matched the shockwave of that performance. Then she does it again with Million Dollar Baby and becomes a two-time Best Actress winner, the kind of résumé that usually guarantees first dibs on prestige leads for life. But the same strange gap returns: solid work, flashes of visibility, and a surprisingly thin supply of true headline parts for long stretches afterward. When your career has two peaks that high and still keeps dropping into quieter valleys, it’s hard not to see why people call it the Oscar jinx. | © Warner Bros.

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Jennifer Connelly – A Beautiful Mind (2001)

Winning an Oscar can turn a performer into Hollywood’s new default “serious lead,” but Jennifer Connelly’s post-win career took a quieter, less predictable route. After A Beautiful Mind, the industry didn’t suddenly build a run of big, star-making vehicles around her, even though the credibility was undeniable. She kept working – often picking roles with sharp edges or emotional restraint – yet there were long stretches where she wasn’t the face of major studio prestige the way people assume an Oscar winner will be. Part of the “curse” vibe with Connelly is how easily she can slip out of the spotlight without actually going away, then reappear in something high-profile like it’s no big deal. The trophy didn’t launch a nonstop leading-lady era; it gave her the freedom to drift. | © Imagine Entertainment

Adrien Brody – The Pianist (2002)

That Best Actor win made Adrien Brody instantly legendary, and not just because The Pianist demanded everything from him – it also set expectations that were almost impossible to satisfy. Hollywood loves the idea of “next great leading man,” but the roles that followed didn’t line up into a neat, dominant streak. Instead, his career wandered: bold indies, oddball character parts, and big studio swings that didn’t translate into an automatic prestige pipeline. That’s what makes his post-Oscar stretch feel like a disappearance in hindsight; the visibility stayed, but the center-of-the-poster momentum didn’t. When a performance that definitive doesn’t result in years of A-list headliners, the gap becomes the story – and Brody’s gap is exactly the kind people point to when they talk about the curse. | © StudioCanal

Cuba Gooding Jr. – Jerry Maguire (1996)

For a lot of actors, the dream version of an Oscar is “instant elevation” – better scripts, bigger directors, a clear new tier. Cuba Gooding Jr. got the statue for Jerry Maguire, became a household name overnight, and then the next chapter didn’t deliver the kind of major, must-see roles that usually follow that kind of win. The post-Oscar years turned into an uneven run where the projects rarely matched the charisma that won him the award in the first place. He stayed recognizable, and he stayed working, but the career didn’t lock into that sustained mainstream lane where every new release feels like an event. When people talk about an awards “jinx,” this is the version they mean: the moment is huge, the follow-up is strangely small. | © TriStar Pictures

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Roberto Benigni – Life Is Beautiful (1997)

It’s hard to overstate how massive the international breakthrough was – Roberto Benigni wasn’t just celebrated, he was embraced as a once-in-a-generation screen presence. Then the afterglow faded faster than expected, especially in Hollywood terms. Life Is Beautiful became the defining calling card, but the industry never quite found a follow-up that turned that Oscar moment into a steady run of big, global starring projects. Benigni continued to create and perform, yet the mainstream U.S. spotlight didn’t stick, and his post-win output didn’t keep him in the awards-season center the way a Best Actor winner usually stays. That’s why his “curse” story hits so cleanly: the win felt like a new beginning, and it ended up feeling more like a singular peak. | © Melampo Cinematografica

Mo’Nique – Precious (2009)

The performance that won Mo’Nique her Oscar didn’t feel like a “one-off” – it felt like the start of a whole dramatic era. In Precious, she’s terrifyingly specific, the kind of work that should open every door in town, and yet the years that followed didn’t bring a flood of major film roles. Instead, her presence in big productions thinned out, and the industry momentum people expect after an Academy Award never really arrived on schedule. She remained a force – stand-up, TV appearances, later acting work – but the curve of her movie career didn’t match the size of the win. That disconnect is the curse in its bluntest form: Hollywood applauds the achievement, then somehow doesn’t capitalize on it. | © Lionsgate

Ariana DeBose – West Side Story (2021)

An Oscar for a star-making musical role should be the cleanest runway imaginable, but Ariana DeBose’s post-win path has looked more like a zigzag than a victory lap. She stayed visible – working across film, voice roles, and high-profile hosting – yet the immediate “here’s your next defining movie part” moment didn’t land with the inevitability people assume after West Side Story. That’s the modern version of the curse: not a disappearance in the literal sense, but a stretch where the projects don’t quite translate into a single, undeniable next step as a major screen headliner. DeBose has talent that reads huge, and she’s clearly in demand, but the industry still hasn’t handed her that obvious signature follow-up that locks in a new tier permanently. | © 20th Century Studios

F. Murray Abraham – Amadeus (1984)

A Best Actor win can create a lifelong image that’s impossible to shake, and F. Murray Abraham’s is so iconic it almost boxed him in. After Amadeus, the expectation would be a long reign of leading roles, but what followed was a different kind of career – rich, respected, and steady, yet rarely centered on him as the primary movie star. He became the definition of a prestige presence: the actor directors call when they need authority, bite, or elegance in a supporting slot. That’s why he’s a classic “Oscar curse” name: the trophy didn’t translate into decades of headline vehicles, even though the talent never stopped being obvious. In his case, the disappearance is from top billing, not from the craft. | © The Saul Zaentz Company