Jon Stewart is God.
Whoever has Lauren Bacall in the death pool is going to cash in soon.
It is just plain cruel to schedule a nominee as a presenter if his nominated category comes before his presentation category.
Especially when there is no alcohol served at the event.
It is just plain stupid to shill for the film industry's output by saying "you just can't watch something like this on TV" and then proceed to do just that.
As much as I hated the big, vomity production numbers, I miss them even more.
Oh, wait, "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp" just came on.
M. Night Shamalamadingdong's AmEx commercial was more compelling than any of his last three movies. And it still had a shitty ending.
Whoever has Dolly Parton in the death pool might cash in pretty soon, too.
All the ladies look very chic and subdued.
Even, amazingly, Meryl Streep, who usually looks like she was styled by a gaggle of five-year-old girls playing dressup out of an old trunk in the attic.
Meryl Streep's birth name was Mary Louise.**
If I had any doubts that Philip Seymour Hoffman should win the Best Actor award, hearing that he shot the role in 36 days while producing has forever dispelled them.
If the Oscars moved to a points system whereby the most passionate and interesting nominees got to speak the longest, that director of Tsotsti would have been speaking for an hour and a half.
Having just heard (yawn) Reese Witherspoon give her acceptance speech, I don't think we're in danger of that happening anytime soon.
xxx c
*blusings = blog musings
**UPDATE: this is not technically a blusing, I know. My actual blusing after thinking about exciting, trashy days of Oscars past was 'I miss Cher', however I was so bowled over about Meryl Streep's birth name it knocked all real Oscar blusings out of my head. Also, I have had three scotches. At least.
Photo of setting up the 2006 Oscars by Donna Grayson via Flickr