By Michael Glennon
The 77nd Academy Awards at the Kodak Theater could have been a beautiful and exciting celebration of the art of the motion picture. They could have served as a poignant reminder of the magic of the moving image. The Academy Awards could have showcased all the best that Hollywood has to offer: unpredictable plotlines, charismatic personalities, and glamorous fashions. Instead, the 77nd Academy Awards at the Kodak Theater did nothing more than finally convince your TiVo what it has been thinking for a long time: “My master is definitely gay.”
I sat down to the E! Red Carpet show with two of my best friends in the world: Amy and Tanquerary. Together the three of us sat down for a showcase of fashion disasters and Umpa Loompa tans. But there were no fashion disasters. Every actress looked nice. Predictable and nice. They wore, in legion, solid, form fitting gowns with clean silhouettes, modest trains, natural makeup and up-dos that allowed for a few errant pieces to drop in calculated ways. This look has been called “Old Hollywood Glamour,” but I think it looked more like “The Reason I Watched These Stupid Awards Shows is Gone Forever.” I would have missed my Grandma’s funeral for the chance to see even one Swan Dress or one Revenge Tutu or even one Lil’ Kim Glitter Pastie. When did these award shows get to be so boring? How am I supposed to say nasty things about what celebrities are wearing? They all look beautiful. Do I try and reach for nasty things to say about some of the most beautiful women in the world in some of the most beautiful dresses in the world?
Well, yes… I do.
Hilary Swank, the most gifted Hollywood horse since Mr. Ed, strutted her stuff in a high-necked blue gown with a “dangerous” plunging back. If she really wanted to be dangerous, she might have turned the damn dress around. Thanks to Hilary Swank, we all have a better idea what it would be like to be married to a human barrette, because calling her back “crab like” would be soft peddling it. Chad Lowe is so lucky.
Jamie Foxx looked like a human crayon. Renee Zellweger looked either asleep (are her eyes ever open?) or in desperate need of a sandwich. Drew Barrymore’s dress wasn’t so much a dress as a cry for help. Natalie Portman wore her “I’m A Little Boy in Greece” Halloween costume. Gwenth Paltrow’s breasts were planning an escape route. And Johnny Depp, God bless his little heart, looked like he ran through a thrift store coked out of his mind and grabbed the four nastiest things he could find. It worked.
The best dress of the evening belonged to Salma Hayek. Though I would have preferred she wore Wookie pelts adorned with flipper babies and giant clown shoes covered in Star Jones’ blood, but instead she looked amazing in her blue Prada gown. Doesn’t Salma Hayek have the greatest breasts in Hollywood? Discuss.
I was excited to see The Most Dangerous Man in Comedy finally take the ’70s retro stage (nice work stage people). Chris Rock did some really edgy stuff that got the crowd going: he said ass, he prowled across the stage and made fun of Jude Law, made fun of Jude Law again, did a hilarious bit about the Gap waging war against toxic tank tops and concluded with a misplaced Support Our Troops rallying cry. It was really funny stuff, but nowhere near the kind of edgy material people hoped he wouldn’t say.
And then to shake everything up, the first Oscar was presented for Best Art Direction. For the first time, they lined the Art Directors up on stage like they were in front of a firing squad and announced the award from there. This saved maybe 30 seconds, and managed to make everyone uncomfortable as we watched the losers pop a Zantex and proceed to the Losers Ball hosted by US Weekly.
They continued to marginalize the technical awards, awarding them all over the Theater, but never on the stage: first in the middle of the crowd, then from a balcony, and finally in the men’s bathroom of a Denny’s on Sunset. Way to go producers! You’ve managed to cut shave 10 minutes off the show and 10 years off the poor loser’s lives.
The rest of the awards show was a blur, or maybe the gin was taking hold, but either way, it lacked in luster. Jamie Foxx nearly broke down with a plea to award his grandmother the Oscar for “whuppin’ his ass.” With pleasure, Jamie. At least now we don’t have to listen to that scary call-and-response thing he’s been doing all awards season. Beyonce performed three of the five best songs. And Beyonce is okay, but seriously, did the producers get some kind of Beyonce bulk rate? Hilary Swank said the funniest thing of the evening when she said, “I’m just a girl from a trailer park that had a dream,” while accepting her Best Actress award.
Million Dollar Baby won Best Picture.
And I put Amy on the Blue Beetle and I sobbed lightly into my pillow, whispering, “I will never watch these again. I will never watch these again.”
Bring on The Blockbuster Awards.