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Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
Welcome to wartime Academy Awards: Cheap, tense and cobbled together from graphics rations donated by the E! Channel. Not even Chris Rock or Beyoncé -- or the travesty that is Antonio Banderas -- can save it.
Feb 28, 2005 | Here in the pit of America's deepest political malaise, We the People increasingly escape into the arts and entertainment to numb the pain of an increasingly nasty-looking future. We're in a war we never wanted, our country is trillions in debt, and the economy is still sketchy, which, I guess, is why Oscar had to whore out his ass to PricewaterhouseCooper and be embuggered by accountants.
This was the Oscars that raised the question: Does Jay-Z own the accounting firm PricewaterhouseCooper? Because that's the only explanation I could come up with for that joyless, airless, tense, inhuman ordeal of a Beyoncé concert.
The neurotic, sphincter-clenched pacing, which was perhaps some accountant's idea of how to keep things moving, made the whole thing indigestible: kind of a cross between "The Chronicles of Riddick" and microwavable White Castle burgers. The crucial human element was scuttled for the sake of some talentless vision of speediness, and even adding an extra heaping dose of earthy African-Americans to the audience didn't help.
I am 100 percent for high color contrast -- this is the only year on record I'm not complaining that there weren't enough people of color -- but it seemed like there was a strangely large and disproportional number of brown folks in the audience. This was like Oscar Goes to Inner City Public High School. There were African-Americans in the audience who had nothing to do with the film industry this year, at all. I mean, Jay-Z -- OK, he's the new Sun King -- he appears to have eaten Jack Nicholson whole and taken over his seat. Also, he had to keep a proprietary eye on his girlfranchise, Beyoncé.
But Oprah? P.Diddy? Prince? Lou Gossett Jr.?! They even snuck some Whoopi in there. I mean, it just looked forced -- an aggressive chocolate-coating on the audience.
OK, this is my personal conspiracy theory, but I always suspect the Academy of throwing the Oscars to the minorities when they just can't get it up to justify their own existence.
And America is at war. You could tell by the Empire Strikes, direly newscasty, Warrior Trumpets of Armegeddon power music they were using.
These are wartime Oscars, and they looked it: cheap, tense and cobbled together from graphics rations donated by the E! Channel. No frills, no batteries, no butter, no seat fillers and no entertainment -- just repeated overdoses of Beyoncé, who looked like a chandelier made out of Audrey Hepburns. (But she did sing in French, so now maybe France will officially condone the L'Oreal-esque creative Frenchness of her name and stop snickering at her decorative accent.)
Red Carpet Mammals Joan Rivers and offspring Melissa did their annual vocalizing, outside the grand staircase to the Kodak Theatre: Ow! Ow! OhmiGawd, Ow! Owrk!
Hilary Swank's body in her dark blue dress was so pneumatic, she looked like an erotic balloon-animal made of inner tubes. Full depth circumferential grooves and an aggressive tread for wet and dry, on- or off-road traction and less hydroplaning.
Tim Robbins looked like he just woke up and went bobbing for apple bongs.
"Comedy Superstar" Jeremy Irons looked like his face has been soaking in a turpentine-based happiness remover.
I never thought I'd see an Oscars get edgy enough for Chris Rock to host them. These weren't them, really, but he was strong.
I took exception to the material the Rock dished out before the awards, though, about how no straight man has ever sat through an entire Oscars. This may be completely true, but I had to sit down and do some math: .Angry black man hosting, good. Angry black man making flip comments about homosexuals before the Oscars ... hmmmmm ...
Is this comedy "edgy"? Or is this where King Cobra swallows his own tail, and super-slick, lefty edge-pimps and ultra-right old fat boys suddenly play footsy under the devil's coffee table? Is this the Republican/Evangelical/Wolfowitz agenda in black sheep's clothing? Are the crackers and the darkies putting down their pitchforks and tying their bandannas together to play a little game of Smear the Queer?
Tacky.
Rock did more or less make up for these antics with some healthy Bush-whacking in his monologue, but still. These are spooky times; we have to tighten up.
