Without a doubt, 2013 was a stellar year for movies. Having watched all seven of the nominees for Best Picture, I anxiously anticipated the Academy Awards for the first time in years. Who will take home the little man? Who will walk away disappointed? I cooked my boyfriend a delicious steak dinner, let the wine flow graciously and tuned in for what I had hoped would be the television event of the year.
Boy, was I disappointed.
First of all, you’d think having every living celebrity who’s ever had a Wikipedia page in the same room would be the least bit exciting. Nope. The show seemed to drag on forever, delivering the same dizzying pan over the packed crowd of shining botoxed faces. The music seemed like it would be more appropriate for a funeral, and in the end, it kind of was.
All of my favorite actors looked like they were on the verge of death. Han Solo looked like he had just OD’d on froyo. Travolta clearly never got out of character after Hairspray. Liza Minnelli looked like she’s been prematurely inducted into a wax museum.
I guess some of the 20th century’s most prolific actors seem immortal, but unfortunately they’re not. They’re all dying slow, drawn out. and over-publicized deaths. And for most of them, their next big headline will be their New York Times Obituary.
But I digress.
The dusty typewriter backdrop that appeared when Best Screenplay was announced is a testament to how archaic a ceremony this is. No one writes on a typewriter anymore, but it’s a symbol for the purity of artistic expression without edits. There’s no going back to alter what’s been inked in on a typewriter, and I suppose the coordinators of the Oscars feel the same way: that this ceremony is literally too sacred to be updated.
Well I’m sorry but it’s way more efficient to write on a computer. Likewise, I think incorporating technology into the performances would seriously enhance the Oscars. For example: when Idina Menzel (or as Travolta called her, Adele Dazeem) took the stage to sing the power ballad anthem from Disney’s “Frozen,” the backdrop was a crystal curtain. Really? You couldn’t have found a more interesting way to bring one of the most breathtaking animated sequences, where the protagonist builds a castle out of ice, to life? Why not put an animated backdrop and incorporate scenes from the movie, giving the audience something to look at and listen to.
But “the Academy,” aka a bunch of rich, overrated has-beens, would never see something like that happen because it would take away from the illusion that the Oscars are at all authentic. Well, I’m sorry, but the Oscars are nothing more than a yearly excuse for the most overhyped people on the planet to pat themselves on the back for how great they are. And guess what? This long, boring television event undermines that supposed greatness in every way through revealing that these demigods are little more than over-inflated hot air balloons filled with farts.
On a lighter note, Leo DiCaprio was snuffed once again for best actor, visibly holding back tears for the phallic statue he hardly deserved for the pointlessly pornographic and wildly overrated “The Wolf of Wall Street.” I think the more Leo cries, the better actor he becomes, so keep the tears a’flowin.
I also want to take the time to mention: I was really digging Matthew McConaughey before he made an egotistical fool of himself with what may have been the longest and most delusional acceptance speech of all time for his role as the AIDS-rattled rascal in “Dallas Buyers Club.” He thanked God for, I’m not sure what exactly, before going on to proclaim that his biggest hero is himself in 10 years. I can’t wait to see how that theory holds if he ever hits the triple digits. Give the guy a little bit of recognition and he thinks he’s Moses on the mound; but here’s hoping they make a sequel to “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” to knock him down a notch.
However, although I hate this boring and pompous parade of idiocy, I find solace in the fact that Hollywood’s death is on the horizon. As the most talented actors migrate toward TV, in a few years, no one will care about who had the most generic red carpet dress because we’ll all be watching stuff that actually matters.
I think it’s high time we trim the fat off the Oscars. And by a little, I mean chop off the head, bury it and never make me skip another week of “Shameless” again.
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