Ok, I admit it. The Oscars were so boring last night, I feel asleep. Right in the middle. Right in the middle of the Oscars, I feel asleep. Zzzzz. Even fresh pizza bits and some happening freshly made lemony iced tea could not keep me awake, I tell you.
Now, I know you’ve grown used to me giving you my “extra snarky” take on the Oscars and, believe me, in years passed, I’ve actually enjoyed that. But, this year, the Oscars were so boring even I, queen of all things snark, couldn’t stay awake long enough to snark out some snark-a-ly clever responses. It was boring. It was dull. It was celebrating a host of movies I’ll never bother to see. It was 99 hours long and, did I mention, boring?
I did stay awake long enough to snark together a few observations and, in no particular order, here they are:
Somebody needs to tell Al Gore he’s not vice president anymore. What’s with that? They kept introducing him as “Vice President, Al Gore.” Didn’t these people notice the last election? I mean, I’m certainly not a Cheney fan by a long-shot (buckshot in the face, anyone?) but at least I’m snarky enough to know that he’s Vice President. Don’t these Hollywood idiots remember enough history to know that titles in the US went out with that *other* old president, George Washington? Get with the program and start ignoring the megalomaniac Gore. He’s bad for you, bad for us, and totally hypocritical. Pulls up to an awards show in a gas guzzling limo to accept a phony award for a movie about “global warming” where he tells us all to take the bus. Yeah right. The boy who would be king needs to sit down, shut up, and stop stuffing his pants on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. He’s a joke that’s just not funny anymore and, every time you keep telling it to me, well, I find myself laughing less and less until, now, he’s just starting to piss me off. I’d be really pissed off if I weren’t so bored I passed out. Obama’s going to be king, deal with it.
Dreamgirls was great. Awesome singing and Beyonce looked fab in her gown. Metallics are the new black and everything was all “aglitter” which is grand. It will be boring by the time the next awards show rolls around though and Hollywood, being seventeen years behind what everybody wants, will undoubtedly fail to notice. Call it the trend that should fade but probably never will, if you must but, ladies, put that shimmery crap-o-la away. We’ve had our fill, now go back to black.
Jack Nickelson is getting older. He has less hair and his dates are getting younger. Actually, I take that back, his dates are getting crazy kiddie young. If this trend keeps up, next year, he’ll not only be a pedophile but he’ll be completely bald, wear no sunglasses, and have to pull up to the ceremony in a limo with kiddie wheels. Jack, man, get a grip. Date a woman in her 50’s once, just to keep the jail-bait at bay next year, ok, dude?
The kid from “Little Miss Sunshine” is a darling. Really. They should have given her a little gold statue. It would have matched her dress. She’s a princess, now give her another starring role before we shoot you.
Jennifer Hudson deserved her golden accessory. She’s on her way to matching Kelly Clarkson as “the little miss American Idol who could.” You go girl. Rock on with your bad self.
Who knew Clint Eastwood could speak Italian? Did you catch that? The translation? All I heard was a bunch of “tu ti’s” that didn’t make any sense. He barely speaks 3 words in English and, all this time, how were we supposed to know he was holding out on us? Ciao, Clint! Next movie, make it 4 ok? Even if one of them is Roman. What’s next? (Is Chuck Norris suddenly going to burst into Swahili in his next movie?)
British people go home with a lot of awards and have cooler accents. Yeah, yeah, maybe so but, I can’t tell them apart, so there. Somebody got best actress but I was snoozing so I didn’t care. (My pillow tastes better that your accent. So there.)
Martin Scorsese’s eyebrows are bigger than he is. I think they gave him an award just to fend off the small woodland creatures nesting on his face.
Ellen’s funny but only in small doses. Actually, I take that back, she was one of the high points of the evening. It was just too long, too drawn out, and too much Oscar for me. But Ellen was good. I liked her. The digital camera bit was funny but then, I’m a photographer so, of course, I’d say that.
Did you catch that dance troop that dances in silhouette behind the curtains? Fantastic. And, all this time, I thought they only did car commercials. Who knew? They should have just mimed the entire evening. I would have stayed awake for that.
George Clooney is turning into a joke of himself. His hair has it’s own point. It’s like a “widow’s peak” without the widow. Tom Cruise is still short, hasn’t won any awards, doesn’t deserve any awards, and should just go home. Leonardo looks lost without his boat and he’s short too. (Don’t they invite any tall actors to these things?) Since when did “Marky-Mark” become a serious actor? I’m sorry but I can’t get visions of new kids dancing out of my head long enough to deal with it. (No award for you, buster.)
Melissa Ethridge is gay. Yeah, yeah, tell me something I didn’t know. “It’s the only naked man that will sleep in my bedroom” Ha ha. Now go back to writing some music already. Trust us, you don’t have what it takes to do stand up. Sit down and sing already. You next album has been, what, four years in the making? Put a move on it before your guitar gets dusty and you get replaced by an “American Idol: season 42” runner up at the top of the pop charts.
Samuel L. Jackson should have gotten a motha-phucking award for Snakes on a motha-phucking plane. It wasn’t a good movie, and he wasn’t good in it, but who else could string together nine million “motha-phucking’s” to make a movie? Don’t they have an award for that? They give out “best adaptation,” “3rd string costume designer,” and “assistant sound man,” and those aren’t really entertaining either, right? In fact, that was my biggest complaint of the evening. Too damn many “motha-phucking” awards to watch in one night. Next year, take a clue, Hollywood and don’t strain your arms from twisting to pat yourselves on the back so hard, ok?
Some of the Coppola Klan was there but I just couldn’t bear to look. It hurt my eyes. Or maybe that was Martin Scorsese’s brow, I’m not sure.
Yeah, yeah, ok. Next year I’ll try to stay awake for more than an hour in the middle. Maybe next year they should keep it to an hour and give awards away to movies that actually deserve them?
Now, that would keep me awake.
Until next time…