The Oscars should have been weirder. After all, the broadcast was on February 29th and leap years are kind of exciting. There’s a whole extra day to do with. Plus, for girls in olden times, a leap day was the only day you were allowed to do something really backwards-propose marriage. That’s right, ye ole Sadie Hawkins got her start once every four years at the end of Feb, and it wasn’t until principals decided to spice up school dances that she was moved to autumn. The reasoning behind this empowerment is kind of sad. A leap day wasn’t considered a “legal” day, therefore women could run around doing wacky things like speaking their minds and taking initiative. Crazy.
So it seemed within reason to expect more from the Oscars. More breasts! More stupid speeches! More actual hilarity and less polite laughter! And for God’s sake, would one surprise, even one upset, have killed anyone?
Johnny Depp looked very cute in a “Cry Baby” kind of way, but he was rocking the blond-streaked, tipped-fedora look, so why change? Billy Crystal was so very embarrassing, as were Robin Williams, Blake Edwards and Jim Carrey. Not embarrassing in a look away kind of way, but embarrassing in a oh-my-God-this-is-broadcast-in-fifty-countries-what-must-the-world-think kind of way. How, over the course of a year, do I forget how much the Oscars suck?
Yes, the Oscars led to far more questions than answers. What was that crazy instrument Sting was playing while he harmonized (rather badly) with Alison Krauss? Why doesn’t Liv Tyler just leave the damn glasses on? Why is Jennifer Garner at the Oscars? Why is she even famous? How is it possible that “The Triplets of Belleville” didn’t win anything? Shouldn’t someone tell Charlize Theron that bronzer is only your friend in small quantities? Honestly, why do people think “Mystic River” was so good? If Nicole Kidman has any more Botox, will she ever be able to move her face again?
NPR had some light to shed on the “Mystic River” question at least. The Academy loves suffering. They don’t want to suffer-in fact they want to present awards so they can take home the “gift bag” worth tens of thousands of dollars-but they like to watch other people suffer. Especially women. For every “Erin Brockovich” there are ten “Blue Sky” or “Sophie’s Choice” or “Monster” films in which women go nuts, fall apart, suffer and/or die. How pleasant. Of course, for every triumphant Forrest Gump there’s a dying AIDS victim, a Holocaust survivor and a father whose daughter is murdered, so perhaps the men don’t fare any better.
Rather than providing answers, the telecast leaves most viewers bloated with observations. Here are just a few: No matter how short they try to crop the speeches, the show is just too long. “The Lord of the Rings” was really really good, but it was kind of lame that it won something every five minutes. Sean Astin should have been recognized. Liv Tyler is so annoying. She’s been annoying since “Empire Records.” As much as Shohreh Aghdashloo should have won, Renee Zellweger is still much less annoying than Liv Tyler, and they were both in “Empire Records.” No one is actually funny, least of all the people who try.
So what is the moral of this story? Is it that I should have gone to see the Gossip at the Gargoyle instead of couching for four hours, or is it that I should have done my reading for Monday’s class instead of couching for four hours? Perhaps the moral is that the Oscars are excitement-impaired, even on a leap day. Or maybe, just maybe, the bottom line is that no one cares who wins best animated short, no one, no matter what, even if you’re gay and you thank your boyfriend and your uncle is Geoffrey Rush. Get off the stage!