Sunday, February 27, 2011

Oscar musings

So the Oscars were an unmitigated failure. Let's muse...

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Insert Pineapple Express joke here.

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Everyone was buzzing about whether Banksy would reveal himself if his film won for best Documentary. Problem is, his film was nominated alongside a movie called "The Inside Job", which was about Wall Street corruption. That movie could have been 90 minutes of Bill Paxton playing flute in front of Goldman Sachs and it would have won.

Banksy wasn't going to happen.

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Anne Hathaway sang a song about being on her own because her partner bailed on her. How apropos. James Franco spent he entire evening looking both high and mildly inconvenienced.

Dude, you're hosting the Oscars. You can't just do an ironic thing with it. This is no time for bemusement. Smile and make jokes about the British. Dammit, do something!

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Whoever thought it was a good idea to kick off the show with an extended presentation crafted for a person severely debilitated by a stroke should not be hired again to do much of anything. That was about as comfortable as watching Saddam's hanging.

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Hathaway introduces Billy Crystal, who introduces a hologram of Bob Hope, who introduces more presenters. Well, you can't say it looked good on paper.

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Melissa Leo said the 'F' word, rather obviously on purpose. The media hype she got reminds me of the way a room of adults will devote attention to a screaming toddler instead of ignoring or spanking it.

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The Wolfman won best makeup. I think Wolfman should take out television ads touting it as "The Oscar Winning Wolfman"?

That has to be the least relevant Oscar win of all time.

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I mean, aside from every award Shakespeare in Love won, of course.

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In a night punctuated by famous film scores, it is unnecessary to do a montage in honor of film scores.

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Nobody likes Gone With The Wind, okay? Everyone who did like it is dead. You hear me? Dead. I will never show that movie to my children. They will not show it to their children's children. It. Has. Not. Aged. Well.

We don't salute The African Queen 22 times per Oscar telecast, do we? Enough with this damn movie.

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Upon winning some Oscar, the winner disses his daughter's guinea pig. That was the best moment of the evening.

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Trent Reznor looks like a YMCA camp counselor now. I wonder if he drives a Subaru Outback. When was the last time a truly great score won the Oscar for best score?

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Did this just happen in our media market, or was there a multi-part marathon commercial for Fancy Feast that segued abruptly into ABC announcing it is renewing it's contract? That was some disconcerting TV, right there.

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The person who pitched a two-part Fancy Feast advertisement should join the guy who lined up Kirk Douglas to riff for five minutes to sell banana-peeling robots to the homeless. I mean, if nobody is there to second-guess your ideas...

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Good of the Academy to spoil a key plot development in True Grit in the midst of announcing the nominees for best sound mixing. Seriously?

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Men in drag is pretty much an act of desperation. Are there not enough writers in Hollywood to make a three minute sketch work between two Oscar nominated actors? 'Cause I'm available.

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Colin Firth ends the night on a classy note. Prepared speeches are the way to go. Spontaneous revelations of one's inability to compose a coherent thought are not impressive to anyone.

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I'm done with this. Next year, Billy Crystal, Steve Martin or Jon Stewart.

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