Oh, what's that? The Academy Awards are on? Hold on a second, I have to scratch a little spot on my heel that's been itching all day. Ahhh...much better. And, maybe I'll just fold that towering pile of clean laundry that's been waiting to be put away.
Now back to the awards...unfortunately, both the scratching and folding were more interesting than the 84th Academy Awards this year.
Oddly lack luster, I wondered if my lack of enthusiasm was a result of the fact that the world is currently a simmering bowl of crap pudding and that watching a parade of "entertainers" exchange air kisses and self-aggrandizing accolades for playing dress-up seemed, well, damn stupid in the face of Syrian massacres and global recession. Usually, I celebrate things like award shows and royal weddings as a welcome distraction from a harsh reality but, this year, I wasn't really feeling it.
|Aunt Myrna, is that you?|
Billy Crystal, a nine time Oscar host, looking like somebody's Aunt Myrna after she'd been embalmed (hint: men, it's okay to go gray) summed it up for me as I started to fidget on the couch. To paraphrase Billy--maybe "watching millionaires giving each other golden statues" wasn't going to make me -- or the rest of the world -- feel any better this year.
But I stayed with it.
Despite falling asleep during, of all people, Chris Rock who -- for all I know -- may have provided a welcome moment, I endured uninteresting fashions and presentations that were likely written by Academy saboteurs instead of writers: an unfunny appearance by the typically adorable Emma Stone who gamely struggled through an awful bit about how exciting it was to be a first time presenter and some unsettling shtick from the usually amusing Will Ferrell and Zach Galifinakis.
Wearing all white and carrying cymbals they confused me, and the rest of America, by introducing this year's nominated songs by belittling the likes of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and "Moon River" while introducing some musical drivel about being a muppet.
|That's it, Sandy. Try to smile.|
I can't put my finger on what he had done but he did not look much like himself. Was it an eyelift, new cheekbones or just what happens to all scientologists as they age?
The highlight of the evening for me, as well as exterminators all over the deep south who've been searching for the predatory insect leader of a strain of giant, exoskeletal mutants terrorizing homes in the gulf states yet has eluding capture, was Miss Angelina Jolie. Men with giant nets were immediately dispatched, hopefully arriving in time to catch her at the Vanity Fair after-party.
Skinnier than ever (let's get this out of the way for those who will accuse me of being jealous of her lean appearance-- yes, when the local I-Max theater had technical issues, they did ask to project a wide-screen movie about the Grand Canyon on my ass--happy now?), she velociraptored her way to the center of the stage and struck a pose that can only be described as totally nutso.
|Brad's on the left.|
Thrusting one emaciated leg out of the slit of her gown and placing a bony claw on a shriveled hip, she crazy-smiled and read her lines, finally (I hope) alerting Brad Pitt that it's time to grab the kids and run for the hills. Rumor has it that you're planning to marry her, Brad...do not do it! Give her back the vial of Billy Bob Thornton's blood that she used to wear around her neck and cut your losses before she devours you immediately after mating---just like the female praying mantis.
|Jean DuJardin kissing his director...|
Okay, we get it...you European guys are uninhibited and totally comfortable demonstrating emotion and physical affection to each other. Now stop.
|...kissing his award..|
All in all, it was a deadly bore. I found myself mentally alphabetizing the spices in my kitchen as tuxedo clad and be-jeweled presenters and recipients came and went. If J-Lo's "nip-slip" couldn't rescue the show from being a crashing bore, I don't think even Tim Tebow could have saved it. Better luck next year.
|Slip? You decide.|