The Black Residue At The Bottom Of the Cup of The Academy Awards
Adding to Skot’s AA experiences:
There is a British pub in Woodland Hills called The White Harte, and Sunday night they held an Academy Awards viewing party. I wouldn’t normally plug a local place like that but they presented me with a faux Oscar for correctly predicting the best picture award. When pressed for a speech I made a strangulated noise in the back of my throat, then added that I would post the list of people I need to thank in the trades next Tuesday.
This is the first time I’ve gone public to watch the 3 plus hour ceremony. In the past I’ve watched at home, or gone to a party sometimes held by an actress friend of mine. At that venue the guest list is usually half gay men, and believe me when I tell you that the Oscars are indeed the Gay Superbowl. The sports analogy was even more pronounced at the pub. The event was presented on a widescreen TV which was, indeed, a square picture stretched out to fit. I sucessfully corrected the aspect ratio there and was awarded a plate of chips (french fries, you yanks call them) for my troubles. The waitress who brought them to me, by the way, looked remarkably like Ally Landry, the Doritos babe who was so popular with Superbowl commercial viewers. She brought me the chips, I washed them down with a pint of Guinness, and watched the Brits walk away with all our precious awards.
Not that it matters who wins. This is the year that I realized why I watch this infomercial in the first place. The fashion doesn’t interest me, and i don’t care who walks away with the statue except for the editors and screenwriters. But the presentation allows a thousand tiny details, glimpses into the state of the industry.
This was the year of the obscure. For the first time in my memory, the special award went to an old dude who you HAVEN’T heard of. Robert Boyle, an art director for Hitchcock, and I just had to read through the liveblog on the Academy’s own site to find the name. He’s not even listed on the front page. The most obscure winners of real awards, that Irish songwriting duo from ONCE, were given the extraordinary courtesy of being allowed to come back on and complete a speech after being cut off. Best Actress went to Tilda Swinton, an actress so obscure that when I told people in another bar who won I had to repeat her name, then the name of the movie she was in, then George Clooney’s name. And Tilda’s been appearing in stuff for almost twenty years now. You’ve seen her, you just don’t know it yet.
Could this be the industry acknowleging that the days of the monolithic big studio system is finally coming to an end?
Other things - what was up with the slippery spot on the way to the stage right podium? Both Colin Farrell and John “Mr. Graceful” Travolta neary slid into the front row on their way to that mic. It was unusual, but probably doesn’t bode anything for the industry.
What was usual was the incredible lack of nomination-worthy songs. This catagory was conceived when musicals were a genre to be reckoned with. This year it appears there was only one big musical - ENCHANTED, and they mined it for three numbers. If they didn’t work perhaps its because they were all conceived ironically. AUGUST RUSH offered a pallid gospel number which only served as evidence that apparently last year, someone released AUGUST RUSH. ONCE? News to me. Those two seemed like nice kids though, huh?
As funny as it was to see Seth Rogan and Jonah Hill pretending to be Halle Berry and Dame Judi Densch, it needed a punchline. I’d have liked to have seen Dame Judi Densch and Halle Berry come out in black wigs and glasses. Maybe next year.
I’m in love with Diablo Cody and I’m thrilled that she picked up a stauette for JUNO, and If I ever meet her I’m going to slip a five into her waistband.
- daniel k
February 27th, 2008 at 4:45 am
“I sucessfully corrected the aspect ratio there and was awarded a plate of chips (french fries, you yanks call them) for my troubles.”
This is very encouraging news. You didn’t get harassed by management for pointing out the fact their monitors were set up wrong– You were rewarded for it. You’re doing God’s work. Or the FCC’s work. Same deal.
OF course, the staffers an an English-style pub are probably more receptive to reason than sports bar people. The several times I’ve tried to get the baseball game shown right have resulted in blank stares or mild anti-intellectual hostility.