Those of you who've been with me since the pre-DCeiver days will probably hate me for not offering my usual full-tilt Oscar take. Last years was a surprise hit, no doubt because I was singularly unsparing with regards to the dirty thoughts I have about Kate Winslet. If Travis ever sends me my archive of back pages (still waiting!), it may ride again one day. But, look. Sorry. By the middle of last week, I was just looking forward to an evening where I could just go and enjoy myself instead of pretending to care about a bunch of movies I won't give a shit about until they show up in my DVD player. Elissa had the basement bar of Rhodeside rented out again for our enjoyment, and I just wanted to hang with friends instead of my laptop, without worrying about writing something. Sometimes, it's hard out here for a blogger.
- Clooney: best acceptance speech by several thousand miles. Smart invocation of Hattie McDaniel. That ought to shut some people up that desperately need the shutting up. Also, it's way classy that he felt that he was obligated to stay away from the Oscar party all these years until he got nominated himself.
- The way Jack Nicholson pronouced Capote leads me to believe that he thinks the name is that of a lost Indian tribe.
- Damn, is there a single Australian actor or actress that Gil Cates didn't get to present at the awards last night? He loves is down under so much that I half expected Yahoo Serious to win a Thalberg.
- Also: anyone who didn't believe that the Ben Stiller comedy mafia rules Hollywood realizes today how wrong they were. Too bad none of them were funny.
- If Nicole Kidman were to become anymore WASPish, she'd have to grow a stinger.
- Reese Witherspoon: worst acceptance speech in the history of the Oscars, by leaps and bounds. Someone should have told her to walk that line to the fucking offstage area before she got to the part where she realized that she was a "real woman" that "matters."
- ROBBED! No Jon Spencer during the Montage of Death? You have got to be kidding me!
- I can think of three reasons they have Salma Hayek present at the Academy Awards every year. First, she has a much better-than-average facility with the names of foreign artists, a task best not left to Owen or Luke Wilson. Second: her boobs.
- The Academy would like to thank Tsotsi, for stepping up to the plate when a movie was needed to forestall the inevitable moment where a Palestinian documentary beats a Holocaust picture.
- How about that pair who won for make-up? The guy talked on and on and on and on and left his female counterpart with no opportunity to speak! They'll never work together again.
- ROBBED! Morgan Freeman! Look, I saw March of the Penguins. Many of you will dismiss his performance as just another voice over. And God knows Freeman has got the trenchant movie voice over on lockdown, but hear me out! Anyone can narrate The Shawshank Redemption, but you can't tell me Freeman didn't do the best voiceover work of his life in March. Find me another actor that can go down to Antarctica and talk about what the penguins are doing, and never let on to how cold it is down there! You never heard Freeman shiver, or say "Brrrrr!", or complain. He just kept the VO magic coming.
- Rachel Weisz: maybe this is weird of me, but I never understood why the Germanic pronunciation of her last name is so important to her.
- Didn't it look like Jeff Gannon was sitting next to Clooney all night?
- The song from Crash: as horrible as the 3 6 Mafia was teh awesome. Why was that one dancer lifting his hand up that other dancer's skirt? If that something I'll only understand if I see the movie? Jesus, interpretive dance sucks yards of balls--and the Crash shit was worstever because it's not like you needed to hire dancers to do any of it.
- Phillip Seymour Hoffman's mom must be the superest mom since Dave Grohl's mom.
- I haven't read Slate today, but I'll just guess and say that Mickey Kaus has taken Brokeback's loss as a sign that his existence has some kind of merit. Once again, he'd be wrong.