Even though I had not viewed any of the five Oscar nominated films, I tuned in to the Academy Awards telecast last Sunday evening. The event is glitz and glamour and, occasionally, it’s entertaining.
Even though I had not viewed any of the five Oscar-nominated films, I tuned in to the Academy Awards telecast last Sunday evening. The event is glitz and glamor and, occasionally, entertaining.
One radio guy the next day said he thought it was the worst, most boring, drawn-out ceremony ever. I didn’t think so. You go into it knowing it will be three or four hours long, with plenty of opportunity for bathroom breaks, snack breaks and laundry room breaks.
The pace could be picked up a notch, no doubt about it. The forced banter between presenters could be scrapped. A simple intro for each category, “The nominees for original screenplay are …” would shorten the production to fit within a two-hour time frame.
We are forced to suffer through contrived chitchat, and then the winners are forced to rush their speeches. It’s not fair to them. They need a moment to catch their breath and collect their thoughts before the clock starts ticking to kick them off the stage. They, the award recipients, should carry as much clout as the award presenters.
The new thing of having five past winners take the stage to give a little speech about the current nominees was kind of cool, kind of not. It gave us more star power to gaze at, and I love to gaze at Halle Berry, but more screen time with Hugh Jackman would have been nice, too.
It’s time to add Hugh to my crush list. He looks lovely in a tux and can sing and dance. Check, check, check. Don’t tell me he played something called Wolverine. If I am going to live in fantasy land, I can be selective about my fantasies. Robert Downey Jr.’s Ironman is allowed, but no other superhero types.
The Internet headlines that appeared immediately after the show did not like the Hugh with Beyonce song-and-dance number. I think Beyonce is beautiful and captivating. I could watch her for three hours.
The camera pans of the crowd are fun for me. I like to see who is with whom and who sits where. I like front-row Meryl Streep and her authenticity. Her dress didn’t thrill me, and what I love about Meryl is that she doesn’t give a rip who likes her dress. Her criteria for dress selection: “It fits.”
The red carpet question, “Who are you wearing?” amuses me. I imagine the dress designer literally being carried piggyback by each starlet. Nicole Kidman spins around and says, “Why, this is Versace.” Versace waves to the camera.
When my boys were younger, I often felt like I was wearing them, but not once have I been asked the question, “Who are you wearing?” I could reply, “Tyler Epperson. Last night, it was Andrew Eppy.”
I can’t help myself. I watch the Oscars along with millions of others worldwide. I like the gorgeous gowns. I like the magic of the movies. And always, there is an acceptance speech that grabs me.
"Slumdog Millionaire" was indeed the Cinderella story, and I’m told a worthwhile movie.
A.R. Rahman, the man behind the music of that film, made a comment when he received his award that is my nugget to take away from the Hollywood hype. He said, “All my life I have had a choice between hate and love. I choose love.”
Love. Movies. Keep ’em coming.
Kelly plans to rent all five top movies soon. Write email@example.com, P.O. Box 2324, Loves Park, IL 61131, or go to www. whenlifestinks.com.