Monday, February 26, 2007

Bologna Has a First Name. It's O-S-C-A-R-S

The Academy Awards were about as interesting as the bowl of Cream of Wheat I had for breakfast. I should have hired a streaker to jog across the stage or at least dared someone to cough, "Nobody Cares" before the Lifetime Achievement Award. No mutton chops, no backwards tuxedos, and no one to pull on the giant bows that kept crowding my television screen. I guess the 79th of something isn't important. It's 80th time that matters. Just ask my OCD.

High points:
-Phillip Seamore Hoffman looking like Nick Nolte's mug shot and beating out Jack Nicholson for the award for Most Plastered off stage.
-The near-wardrobe malfunction that almost made Dreamgirls a Nightmare. The bright red, the undulations…did anyone else get nostalgic for Jell-O Jigglers?
-Will Ferrel and Jack Black's song about comedians never getting nominated. WORD! But more importantly, Will Ferrell taking his non-black, non-Jewish 'fro to new diameters. It's like a giant, horizontal donut. I hope he's doing a biopic on Bob Ross.
-The gargantuan Amazon woman who escorted people off stage and towered over film giants Spielberg, Lucas and Coppola. I wanted her to pick Martin Scorcese up and carry him off in a Snuggly.
-Forest Whitaker winning the night Peter O'Toole experiences his last moments of consciousness. I think the Academy was placing bets on whether Whitaker would do acrobatics like Cuba Gooding, Jr. or pull a Ving Rhames and offer his award to an older, white man. He accepted his Oscar and made a speech that was neither memorable nor embarrassing to the African-American community. Attention fashionistas: bland is the new black.
-Speaking of Forest, look what happens when you spend too many months studying accents. You sound like an alien practicing English. He'll have to consult Gwenyth Paltrow and Madonna for a good speech therapist. Even then he'll still probably say "car park".
-Will Smith's son Jaden skipping ahead with the teleprompter and bypassing the announcement of the winner. Great for two reasons: it upstaged Abigail Breslin reminding her that she's over the hill, and it snapped us into reality, reminding us all of how stupid it is to listen to people who read teleprompters.

I want entirely improvised Oscars next year! And I want them hosted by the dog from The Number 23.

4 comments:

Luke said...

And back to his cryogenic chamber for another decade goes Peter O'Toole. Look for his 9th nomination in the year 2020 for his role as Hugh Downs.

John Stossel said...

Give me a break!

matt said...

If that dog hosts, I'm gonna try to get tickets.

Abbi said...

I figure he could crap on stage, and the audience wouldn't know the difference.