Having TiVo-ed through the Oscars 24 hours after it aired (the only way to do it, in my opinion), I can only say this of the results: everything is as it should be. Jon Stewart was funny enough to earn himself another hosting gig next year. The Coen Brothers have taken up their rightful place in cinematic history (and are, appropriately, off to the races on another couple of comedies). Javier Bardem and Marion Cotillard are the hottest new commodities in Hollywood. Daniel Day-Lewis will probably give us another Oscar-worthy performance in another decade or so. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova beat out Enchanted's three stupid nominations, and eventually, the Academy even let both of them speak. (Despite a lovely performance from the always wonderful Kristin Chenowith, it isn't even fair to call that category a competition. Where did all the good musicals go?) And Diablo Cody won without being generic. And without wearing the "pimp shooz." I think her billowy, tattoo-baring, slit-up-to-there, leopard-print dress was the best "f you" to Joan Rivers since Diane Keaton's suit.
I have to say, though, that my opinion of the Oscars is still decidedly Woody Allen-esque: they're too showy, mainly driven by market forces, and decidedly irrelevant. I mean, Miley Cyrus? She's cute and all, but come on. And Jessica Alba, despite being really pretty, shouldn't be allowed within 500 yards of a statuette until Good Luck Chuck has been erased from public consciousness. Oscar's taken out a restraining order, honey. You've been served.
The image of Diablo Cody saying "ghrgerggr" in her hotel room post-Oscars is lifted from her very entertaining MySpace blog.
No comments:
Post a Comment