Friday, March 05, 2004

Belated Oscar Thoughts - UPDATED 5pm

I know, I'm way too late on the Oscar wrap-up, and anyway everyone knows you're not truly a blogger until you've blogged the Oscars live/in progress. But hey, I was still on sabbatical/getting my chakras scrubbed when it all went down, so this will have to suffice.

First lets get poor, poor, sexy Scarlett Johansson out of the way. Like Rodney Dangerfield, she still gets no respect, as once again, just like at the Golden Globes, bitch hag Sofia Coppola totally neglected to thank Scarlett in her acceptance speech (don't believe me? read it yourself: "And every writer needs a muse. Mine was Bill Murray." Sofie, honey, a muse is a busty blond who uses her big fat rack to inspire you: Arthur Miller had Marilyn Monroe, Albert Brooks had Sharon Stone, Donatella Versace had Britney Spears, and you should have had curvaceous Ms. Johansson, not some crotchety old white dude with a bad tan. It all worked out in the end, though, when Scarlett strutted onstage with those pouty lips and that come-hither-and-rock-my-panties voice to give the award for Best something or the other—who knows, I was too busy wetting myself. And in her emerald green Alberta Ferretti dress, she was channeling the look of my Oscar crush from last year, Julianne Moore. Yes please!

Otherwise this had to have been one of the most boring Oscar ceremonies in recent memory: no surprise wins, no upsets, no wacky ballerina-inspired dresses, no saucy acceptance speeches, nothing. Zzzzzzz. I think ABC realized how much of a snorer it was and edited it down—didn't it feel shorter than normal to you? Or maybe it just seemed not as long to me because my brain has blocked out all the parts filled with Billy Crystal's wretched "jokes." Also, everyone wore boring white or flesh-tone dresses, so there weren't any easy fashion victims/targets (other than Marcia Gay Harden in her blueberry dress channeling Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka). Even Joan and Missy Rivers were wearing tasteful frocks; I guess the terrorists really have won.

Oh, there was some tsk-tsking over Uma Thurman's bizarre (but still blah white) sashed bolero dress by Christian Lacroix (how AbFab!), but I don't think it's possible for Uma Thurman to ever truly look unappealing. Uma's true comeuppance will come courtesy of Ethan Hawke's interview with Barbara Walters tonight, in which he will admit (according to the AP article on the interview): "It's just too hard to be married to a woman that wants to be a movie star." Excuse me, did you say a woman that wants to be a movie star? I wouldn't exactly call Uma Thurman an unknown hoping to get discovered. Maybe Ethan's confusing Uma with his new girlfriend Jen Perzow, who's such a nobody she's just a model, not even a "model/actress." And, um, hate to break it to you, Ethe, but those are some choice catty words coming from a dude who manages to not only star in shitty movies but also direct shitty movies and write shitty books. I guess we shouldn't expect much mental acuity from the man who gave up the chance to bone Uma Thurman.

Speaking of boning, how many of you ladies out there went into Tantric convulsions when Sting took the stage to make sweet sweet love to his dulcimer or whatever the hell instrument he was playing when he performed 'You Will Be My Ain True Love' with Alison Krauss? I mean cmon, he was rubbing and fondling that thing from BOTH ENDS! I changed my underwear at least 5 times, but I think one of those instances was because of Alison's shimmering Stuart Weitzman stilettos, which ended up being the big story of the evening since the nominations were so uninteresting and predictable. The shoes cost a whopping $2 million to make and are covered in real diamonds; in comparison, a pair of Judy Garland's original ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz sold at auction in 2000 for about ¼ of that price.

Let's see, what else....Boston gave a respectable showing, with Sean Penn and Tim Robbins winning for the faux Southie-set Mystic River and Cambridge's own Errol Morris winning Best Documentary for The Fog of War. It would have been nice to see Dennis Lehane there—I hated Mystic River the novel, on which the movie is based, but his Kenzie & Gennaro series of mysteries are one of my favorites. I guess since he technically wasn't nominated—though he wrote Mystic River, Brian Helgeland was the sole Best Screenplay nominee for the movie adaptation—maybe he wasn't invited.

On the topic of books and the Oscars, I realized (well, Steven Spielberg mentioned it in his intro to the Best Picture noms) that the Best Picture and Best Director nominees (except Lost in Translation) were all based on books. I also realized that I've read all these "nominated" books, except for Seabiscuit. (I'm sorry, Fred, I know you love the book, but I just can't bring myself to read it; gay men just don't read sports books, even if they contain the phrases "mounting" and "horse-hung.") Anyway, I must say that I thought the movie was way better for every single book, Mystic River especially. Or maybe I'm just stupider now.

UPDATE: Let's talk briefly about the distaff winners of the evening. First up, Charlize Theron: WTF? Here's a rundown of Charlize's accomplishments in Hollywood so far (taken from IMDb.com): Children of the Corn III; costarring with a gorilla; costarring with Keanu Reaves; The Italian Job; and Oscar winner. One of these things is not like the other! But hey, isn't it neat how (as IMDb claims) Charlize won the Oscar for playing executed serial killer Aileen Wuornos on what would have been Aileen's 48th birthday? And re: Renée Zellweger. I loathe the stupid twat. Yet I clapped harder than anyone else Oscar night when she won Best Supporting Actress for her cornpone-chawing turn in Cold Mountain. Why? Let's put it this way: have you seen any movies (OK, any good and/or successful movies) lately starring Kim Basinger ('98), Angelina Jolie ('00), Mira Sorvino ('96), or Dianne Wiest ('95), all recent Best Supporting Actresses? Didn't think so! Everyone knows that winning the Best Supporting Oscar sounds the death knoll for an actress's career—so after the Bridget Jones sequel comes out later this year, Renée should be out of our hair for good and back to doing coke in the bathroom on Oscar night (remember that from 2002)!

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