My Review of the 2015 Academy Awards

At the beginning of last night’s Academy Awards, after a song and dance number I barely glanced at having been traumatized by decades of awful Oscar night musical numbers, Doogie Howser told us that we were about “to fall in love with moving pictures all over again.” 

Speak for yourself, Doogie. I never fell out of love with them. 

A good movie, one that whisks me away from the realities of a full litter box and a mountain of laundry, is precious and always has been. While, occasionally there may be a dry spell of new releases I'm anxious to see, hand me the clicker, sign me up for Amazon Prime and I am on my way. 

The Oscars, however, are less and less about the movies and more and more about the red carpet, gossip and scandal as well as providing a pulpit for an increasingly pompous Hollywood’s political and social agenda. 

Therefore, I intend to focus on these very  aspects today which means this review will be very easy. I am sitting back with a bellini and a copy of "Fifty Shades..." while it writes itself.

At the Oscars, after the host has nattered on for a bit, they hit you with a few big awards so you emotionally commit and don’t start flipping around looking for CSI re-runs. One of the first awards of last night was for best supporting actor... 

Won by the familiarly jowly JK Simmons, whose status in the movies is such that you know his face as well as your husband’s but never knew his name, is an excellent and reliable supporting actor and this was his moment.

"Yep, it's me."

“Oh, look who it is!” people across America murmured but, in his acceptance speech, he made it very clear to the universe and beyond that he must have pissed his wife off very badly sometime before the broadcast.  JK kissed Mrs. JK’s ass to the point of confusing everyone, including her, and then segued into an odd warning about the evils of texting. The Oscars were off to a weird start….

Soon after, the ever lovely Adam Levine, thanks to the tightest pants of the award show season, performed something in so high a voice that only dogs could hear it. He did so while wearing not just one ear piece but two and was soon followed by the normally stunning but shockingly drab Reese Witherspoon who presented an award for hair and make-up both of which she, apparently, chose to decline before taking the stage.

Blah.

Nicole Kidman

Silicone bakeware

Before you could say Tom-Cruise-is-on-the-couch, Nicole Kidman -- virtually aglow in her status of mortuarial porcelain goddess -- proved yet again that she is the finest example of silicone since flexible bakeware.Shirley McLaine followed wearing a wig from the clearance pages of an Eva Gabor catalog circa 1982, poor thing. Even the magnificent Marion Cotillard looked washed out as last night’s make-up theme appeared to celebrate waxy pallor and nude lips.

But, wait—the great and gorgeous Viola Davis showed up wearing all the make-up that the previous presenters had refused while Gwyneth Paltrow proved that it is, indeed, possible to actually walk like a bitch.

"I know. Too much."

One alien greets another.

Did Liev tell you this
looked good, Naomi?

After Jared Leto, in a pale blue tux straight from your cousin Dee Dee’s 1976 wedding in Jersey made me smile and I asked myself why Emma Stone had borrowed a dress from Betty White, a parade of some of the weirdest dresses I have seen since a Blondie Concert followed: Siena Miller in a strangely cut black number, Scarlett Johannson wore the crown jewels of the Klingon empire while Naomi Watts wore a tube top with straps. 

Everyone’s stylist seemed to have gone to the same place for these edgy (and I mean that in a bad way) clothes and were all sharing a good laugh as they cashed their checks at the ATM across the street from the Dolby Theater.

Thank the god of scientology that John Travolta appeared! Wearing someone else’s head and a dog collar, he was creepier than ever as he fondled poor Adele Dazeem above the neck until Kelly Preston threw up on the seat filler next to her.

"If he touches my face one more time, I will knee him in the groin."

One of the evening’s few highlights for me was Lady Gaga and her over the top rendition of some of our favorite songs from “The Sound of Music.” I knew Lady G could sing but she surprised me with her range. She camped it up just enough to trouble us slightly but not offend the 80 year old Julie Andrews who appeared after the performance, all while flashing a trumpet tattoo on her inner upper arm and a hint of wig glue at her hairline.

"I will Birdman your ass, Eddie."

I was happy "Birdman" won for best picture.  I loved it (and its star, the gritty streets of the theater district in New York) but wanted to warn little Eddie Redmayne to watch out for Michael Keaton at the after party. 

Michael who had been vigorously chomping gum throughout the evening, spit it out before the winner for best actor was announced which means he thought he had it sewn up.

All in all, this was one of the worst Oscar nights I, wearing my best jammies and grippy socks, have experienced in years.

I intend to spend the day drinking spiked cocoa until the image of Neil Patrick Harris with nothing but a thin weave of cotton separating what he, apparently, is quite proud of and my eyeballs,fades away. Speaking of balls, some might say that stunt not only showed balls but took balls, too. I say that not even balls could save this boring and meandering broadcast.

Yes, please.

No, thank you.

On the plus side, I enjoyed being reminded of my abiding love for Idris Elba as well as my eternal loathing of Sean Penn who was as surly, poorly groomed and hideous as ever. To my happiness, his attempt at humor – who brings up a green card in Hollywood?? -- fell gloriously flat.

At some point during the show, it was mentioned that each nominee and presenter received a gift bag valued in excess of $160,000. Yes, you read that number correctly. Next year, instead of blathering about your personal plights and beliefs and then basking in the fevered applause of a bejeweled crowd hot for social causes, refuse your bag  and, instead, send its net worth to your cause where it can do some good instead of getting you a rhino spleen facial at Canyon Ranch.

Next year I hope John Travolta hosts.

Let your freak flag fly, Jared.