Oh…man…
If it wasn’t for the fact that I was watching with my roommate and my girlfriend, I would’ve turned off the Oscars this year. And that’s saying something. Really.
Last year’s was awful but at least it was able to keep my attention with how badly put together it was. This was just dull. Nobody really wanted to be there outside of Harvey Weinstein and the team behind The Artist, officially up there with Crash and Driving Miss Daisy as one of the least deserving Best Picture winners of all-time.
Even Billy Crystal was phoning it in. He had the face of a man doing Hollywood a favor thanks to the Eddie Murphy fiasco; he had said goodbye to Oscars hosting in 2004 and here he was again. It didn’t help that his jokes were Godawful.
But in the end, it was a lame year for Hollywood. They obviously don’t have the guts to nominate the truly interesting films like Drive or We Need to Talk About Kevin, but when their own output is so lame, what did anybody expect? Just further proof that cinema is dying on its feet, and unless we have another revival like in the 70s and the 90s, it’s going to continue this way until even I can’t be bothered to watch.
Finally, I’m genuinely surprised that Meryl Streep won. Maybe she does deserve it, but every time I see a clip, I think I’m watching an unreleased Monty Python episode with Graham Chapman as Margaret Thatcher. She just gets awards for turning up, and it’s a shame, because she has been brilliant recently (i.e. Doubt, A Prairie Home Companion.)
Well, that’s my report, Sherlock.
