Sunday, February 22, 2015

Does the Red Carpet Match the Drapes?*

Every February we’re made to fulfill some sort of unspoken social agreement by taking a few moments out of our lives to pretend to care about something that we instantly forget about by the end of the news cycle. But enough about National Weatherman’s Day.** I’m going to talk about the Oscars instead.

Boy oh boy. So the Oscars are tonight. What is this, the 99,923rd Academy Awards show? I’ve lost both count and interest. And who can blame me?

Typically, if history is any guide, I’d use this opportunity to talk about the movies that are up for awards, and possibly give quick synopses of their plots. But my customary Sunday afternoon ennui is preventing me from rolling out of bed, let alone being bothered to see what movies have been nominated this year. Probably something foreign. Maybe something with Judy Dench in it. Perhaps something historical, or even a biopic? The latest Adam Sandler rom-com? All of those are valid options.

I know one thing for sure when it comes to movies that are up for “Best Picture”: they’re never fun movies that people like. The flicks nominated for that category are usually movies made by one part of Hollywood, for another part of Hollywood. Complete industry insider bullshit. We call that CINEMA. Meanwhile, the popular movies are tossed away as offal for the masses.

Don’t get me wrong. I know the difference between good and popular. Back in the early “naughts” I had an argument with a guy who kept telling me The Strokes were the BEST, because they had the highest-selling album of the year. I laughed at him. For a long time. A decade later and time has borne my truth. Half of you are asking who The Strokes even are!

I also know that there are plenty of award shows and competitions out there where nominees are voted on by the cretinous whims of the Great Unwashed. Hell, that’s how we elect our leaders. But to me, it seems odd that the Oscars are so mainstream for such an insider event.  Why are we supposed to care what filmmakers think about other filmmakers? It certainly doesn’t shame the bad filmmakers into quitting (isn’t that right Brett Ratner?). Are we being guilted into liking movies that don’t really appeal to us? Why do I have to like Whiplash? The concept of jazz drummers has never been interesting to me in the least. And I don’t want to feel bad because my commoner brain was entertained by Lucy.

There are people who do their best to go out and watch each “Best Picture” nominee picture each year. You probably know people like that too. Investing far too much effort, time and energy into watching movies that you wouldn’t normally watch on your own, (and you don’t get paid for it, no less) seems like the height of masochism. Actually, I take that back. Veganism is the height of masochism. And then, when they finish their viewings, these people can sit back and cultivate opinions on things that they never had input in. Sounds productive!

I think movie awards should be given out like Guinness gives records: the award stands until a better movie can beat it. If that means I, Frankenstein is the best movie for three or four years, then so be it. We could go some years with no Oscars being given out at all!

I’m not going to watch tonight. I never watch. Even with the gaffs, the flubs, the snubs, the grubs and the droogs, it’s not worth it. I’ll just have to find out tomorrow morning whose speech was cut short, who was wearing what Italian designer, (whose spring line us normies will run out to buy ASAP) who won for best Key Grip and the reasons behind why Kanye was even at the show in the first place, let alone whose speech he drunkenly interrupted.

And then next year, when February rolls around once more, we’ll poke our heads out of our burrows, like the majestic groundhog, cast our gaze across the barren winter landscape, sniff the fetid air, pretend like last year never happened, and proceed to do it all again.

Let’s just hope that next time, the Academy will stop ignoring Bruce Campbell’s many achievements.

*Could have gone with a period joke. Almost did. But didn’t. You’re welcome.

**A real thing. Never let it be said that you don’t learn shit reading my ridiculousness

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