So, another Oscar night done and dusted. And what have we really learned?
Seth McFarlane? Likes boobs, singing, self. Dislikes Hollywood, women.
‘Argo’? Fun, American as Apple Pie, directed by a ghostly presence whose reflection only appears in a mirror when you say his name three times.
Jennifer Lawrence? Adorable, falleded over.
‘Lincoln’? So worthy that it’s TOO worthy for the Oscars (at least that’s what Stevey’s muttering as he cries himself to sleep, his head buried in his pillow stuffed with $100 bills).
Meryl Streep? Does not need to even open an envelope, has earned the right to decide winning nominees for herself.
‘Chicago’? Apparently the musical of our generation (incidentally, last night’s Oscars were produced by Craig Zadan and Neil Meron, who also produced… ‘Chicago’. Oscars tribute to the Musicals, and two separate tributes to ‘Chicago’ kinda makes sense now, huh?).
Anne Hathaway? Has Manic Pixie Twitter Nipples.
But the key takeaway for me?
Was that the Oscars once again reinforced that harshest of truths about actors and actresses – they are incandescent creatures. Winners of the genetic lottery, owners of an ethereal beauty beyond most mortals.
But without a gifted writer to put words in their mouths for them, they more oft than not are incapable of stringing together an interesting sentence.
And yet screenwriters remain eternally unappreciated at these shows. An example? Chris Terrio won Best Adapted Screenplay for ‘Argo’, and the only recognition of any kind I saw him receive from most mainstream media outlets was a) mentioning that he has a passing resemblance to ‘Stifler’ himself, Sean William Scott, and b) that he was an undeserving winner because the ‘Argo’ script lacked real depth.
Wait… what? So ‘Argo’ was, by most accounts, a popular ‘Best Picture’ winner. Alan Arkin was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. People are STILL upset about Ben Affleck not being nominated for Best Director. But the screenplay was not especially well written?
Wow. So the cast and crew just turned up each morning and made up on the fly that day’s shooting pages, huh? Affleck directed an empty page, Arkin obviously made up all of his dialogue, and Clooney produced a $45 million film based on a stack of 120-odd pieces of bound, blank paper.
With that all being said, Academy Awards 2013: We Out.
Only 364 days to wait until Tina & Amy.
I wonder if they’ll sing a song about boobs too…