I didn’t watch. Again. Okay, I caught some snippets, if that makes you feel any better. I went to bed early. Again. You see, those books on my bed stand are far more interesting than that 3 and 1/2 hour lovefest you keep staging. But if it’s any consolation, I correctly called the winner on my way upstairs. Again.
I hate to open old wounds. But with all the fawning and back-slapping, all the live-Tweeting and gossip vultures lining the red carpet, it’s hard to not recall our break-up. Don’t pretend like you don’t remember. It was 1999. One of the most important films of the decade was in the chutes for due honor. Possibly THE best war movie ever made. And then the unthinkable happened — you sold out!
Sure, Harvey Weinstein is slick. His big schmoozy events, ad campaigns, and whisper pitches, have changed the modern Oscar campaign. But, frankly, I thought you were above this, above the politics. I thought you were about art! And then, to hear it — “Best Picture goes to… Shakespeare in Love.” Wha–?
- It was worse than Ned Stark losing his head.
- It was worse than Captain Quint being filleted by Jaws.
- It was worse than Spock burning to a crisp in The Wrath of Kahn.
- It was worse than Rhett dumping Scarlett.
- It was worse than Gandalf plummeting into the abyss.
Yeah. It was THAT bad.
Frankly, you’ve only made things worse with all your political nonsense. I mean, whose lame idea was it to have the First Lady announce the winner for best picture live from the White House last year? Next year, why not just have the awards at the White House and double it as a fundraiser. In the 90’s it was Richard Gere using his speech to lecture us about Tibet, and Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins demanding that the U.S. shut down a Haitian AIDS internment camp. Then it was the Iraq war. Good Lord, that was a big celebrity cause. What were you thinking giving Michael Moore the award for best documentary and letting him get anywhere near a microphone? Of course, Ang Lee HAD to receive Best Director for Brokeback Mountain (I called that one) what with gay rights being the new Civil Rights issue. And don’t forget the perpetually self-important Sean Penn accepting the Best Actor award for Milk (I called that one, too) using his Oscar moment to sound off about gay rights. And the beat goes. Like last night when Jared Leto used his acceptance speech for Best Supporting Actor to salute the people of Ukraine and Venezuela, the 36 million who’ve died of AIDS, and anyone who’s been made to feel different for who they are and whom they love.
It’s hard enough watching millionaires give themselves gold statues to have to also wade through their social and political causes.
It doesn’t help that “[s]tarvation diets, liposuction, armpit Botox and anti-anxiety medication are all part of awards-ceremony preparation for many stars.” Somewhere along the way, you forgot this was about artistic brilliance not buttocks implants. No amount of selfies can humanize people who are able to employ a personal chef, dietician, physical trainer, cosmetologist, and plastic surgeon. I know this isn’t your fault. But it’s hard empathizing with someone whose body sculpting budget could probably be used to feed an entire Sudanese village for six months, when there are better and cheaper programs to improve your body at https://healthyusa.co/shred-fx-review-best-performance-enhancing-formula/ that tell you even what supplements to take.
Dear Oscar, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to patch things up. It’s why I keep your number. It’s why this time of year I still tune in. Call me a glutton for punishment. Then again, maybe I’m just hopeful. I’m hopeful that your choice of Shakespeare in Love was just a brain fart. I’m hopeful that real artistry will win out over slick campaigning and political correctness. I’m hopeful that Michael Moore will never take your stage again.
But, you know what they say, love is blind. And in this case, I’m probably the sucker.