Laura here, reporting from my couch in Brooklyn. Like many of you, I watched the Oscars this year hoping for fun and excitement, and instead was met with a barrage of boredom. Regardless, the Academy shone its spotlight on indie talent this year in a rare departure from tradition, and you have to give them some credit for that.
Some of the night’s slightly more interesting moments included:
– Javier Bardem winning Best Supporting Actor. Except for that Wolverine haircut he was sporting, he was looking foxy as always, and inspired Liz and I to finalize our plans to destroy Penelope Cruz for having the audacity to canoodle with him, when clearly he just hasn’t met the right Brooklyn-based comedy writers yet.
– Cate Blanchett loses in a surprise upset. I guess it isn’t enough to put on a wig or a fake nose anymore. If all that critical acclaim and buzz meant nothing, then that begs the question — what happens to hype deferred? Does it wrinkle up like a raisin in the sun?
– Hooray for the Coen Brothers! They could direct an installment of Girls Gone Wild and I’d probably buy the Criterion Collection.
– Paul Thomas Anderson was shut out. What in blazes? I was peeved enough that Radiohead’s Johnny Greenwood didn’t get nominated for his brilliant soundtrack for There Will Be Blood, but PTA too? What does the academy have against PTA and his badass movies?
– Thank the sweet heavens, the Academy didn’t do a big jerkoff segment about how Green their production was like last year. Maybe they did and I missed it because I started zoning out around the Lifetime Achievement Award.
…And a few short notes:
Ratatouille was cute and I’m glad it won; I didn’t really like Once, but I’m glad those young’uns won, especially as they were the only independent entry in the category and deserved it more than anyone; Michael Moore dissed — I guess that means we have to wait four more years for universal health care; Brad Renfro was notably left out of the R.I.P. montage — for shame; I loved when Jon Stewart outed Angelina Jolie‘s pregnancy; respect to Diablo Cody for staying true to her rockabilly stripper look and ditching the million dollar shoes for ballet flats; Daniel Day-Lewis rules the school.