Jon Stewart is God.

Whoever has Lauren Bacall in the death pool is going to cash in soon.

It is just plain cruel to schedule a nominee as a presenter if his nominated category comes before his presentation category.

Especially when there is no alcohol served at the event.

It is just plain stupid to shill for the film industry’s output by saying “you just can’t watch something like this on TV” and then proceed to do just that.

As much as I hated the big, vomity production numbers, I miss them even more.

Oh, wait—”It’s Hard Out There for a Pimp” just came on.

M. Night Shamalamadingdong’s AmEx commercial was more compelling than any of his last three movies. And it still had a shitty ending.

Whoever has Dolly Parton in the death pool might cash in pretty soon, too.

Clooney/Obama in 2008.

All the ladies look very chic and subdued.

Even, amazingly, Meryl Streep, who usually looks like she was styled by a gaggle of five-year-old girls playing dressup out of an old trunk in the attic.

Meryl Streep’s birth name was Mary Louise.**

If I had any doubts that Philip Seymour Hoffman should win the Best Actor award, hearing that he shot the role in 36 days while producing has forever dispelled them.

If the Oscars moved to a points system whereby the most passionate and interesting nominees got to speak the longest, that director of Tsotsti would have been speaking for an hour and a half.

Having just heard (yawn) Reese Witherspoon give her acceptance speech, I don’t think we’re in danger of that happening anytime soon.

xxx
c

*blusings = blog musings

**UPDATE: this is not technically a blusing, I know. My actual blusing after thinking about exciting, trashy days of Oscars past was ‘I miss Cher’, however I was so bowled over about Meryl Streep’s birth name it knocked all real Oscar blusings out of my head. Also, I have had three scotches. At least.

Photo of setting up the 2006 Oscars by Donna Grayson via Flickr

TOPICS: List-o-rama!, Oscars, reviews/film, reviews/film, TV.

Somewhere back in the 1980’s, someone shanghai’d my Oscars® and turned them into a who-cares fest. At least, that’s all I can think after (half-)watching 3+ hours of Hollywood crapping all over the Kodak Theater last night.

For too long now, the only thing fun about the Academy Awards® has been the parties, and I think that sentiment goes double for those unfortunates sitting captive in the audience. Most of them look like they’d prefer gum surgery over being stuck in a big red candy box watching Josh Groban rip it up with Beyoncé. At least the periodontist offers high-quality intoxicants.

Do yourself a favor and quit trying to be hip. You can’t: the hip train has moved on; it no longer stops at network stations. Either move the whole shebang to HBO and let the freaks run the show or go back to the old-school faux glam that you do better than anyone.

But whatever you do, for chrissakes, 86 the “creative” award presentation. The humiliation of receiving an award at one’s seat is exceeded only by not receiving one on the stage with the rest of the nominees.

My vote? Pull the plug on the whole free-televised thing, put it back in a big restaurant, serve shitloads of booze and make it a pay-per-view event. The farther Oscar® gets away from his closed, dinner-and-booze-fiesta roots, the more he acts like Felix: precious, overly-organized and about as much fun as watching glittery, registered-trademark paint dry.

xxx
c

TOPICS: Oscars, Rants, Television, TV.