LIFSOS doesn't usually get too excited about the Academy Awards. But this year, I realized that I'd actually seen four of the five "Best Picture" nominees--all of them except Michael Clayton-- so my interest was mildly piqued.
I even went to the Academy website and downloaded and printed out a couple of copies of the ballot sheet. F. and I filled out our picks before the broadcast.
F. basically went with her gut in making her predictions for the winners. I based my selections on what I thought the Academy voters would be thinking, e.g., "Hmm, the Coen brothers have already won a lot of Oscars, so even if No Country For Old Men is hyped for 'Best Picture,' the 'Directing' Oscar will probably go to someone else, and the Academy is historically disposed toward older actors who are pretty much at the end of the careers and who haven't been recognized previously, so I'll pick Hal Holbrooke for 'Best Supporting Actor', etc." . . . And of course, handicapping the minor categories ("Animated Short Film" and so on) was largely a matter of guesswork for both of us.
So what was the finally tally?
F. picked correctly in 13 out of the 24 categories.
LIFSOS's score was 6 out of 24.
Draw your own conclusions.
But she definitely drank my milkshake. She sucked it up.
The actual show was pretty "meh," wasn't it?
Jon Stewart got off a couple of good quips . . . but just a couple over, what, four hours?
As F. observed, you'd think that even during the strike, his writers might have made some notes.
Overall the event seemed even more bloated and self-congratulatory than usual and it had more filler than a cheap sausage. Those montages were snoozers. Did they really have to show bits of every "Best Picture" winner of the last 80 years?
And I was miffed that in the traditional "Dead Spread"--in which the Academy salutes those who have passed in the previous year--Ingmar Bergman (greatest director EVAR) got less time in the montage than Heath Ledger.
For me, the highlight was Diablo Cody accepting for "Best Original Screenplay." She richly deserved the award, but, girlfiends, what was up with her outfit? I was all like, "Wilma Flintstone called, and she wants her dress back."
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