Monday, February 28, 2005

The 77th Annual Academy Awards

Tinseltown’s “Night of Nights” is over. The 77th Annual Academy Awards have closed up shop. The winners are still basking in their golden glory, and the losers are hopefully sleeping off a good drunk and roll. We were thrilled with last night’s golden boy gift giving.
Huzzah to the winners!!!

Martin Scorsese finally nabbed his Best Director Oscar for “The Aviator” . . .
Javier Bardem walked away with the Best Actor prize for “The Sea Inside” . . .
Julie Delpy received her first Best Actress Oscar for “Before Sunset” . . .

And Bernardo Bertolucci’s “The Dreamers” copped the Best Picture award!
Oh, alright. We’ll stop now. We can dream, can’t we? So, okay, none of the above mentioned won anything last night. Hell, Javier, Julie and “The Dreamers” weren’t even nominated. But they sure as hell should have been. Unlike many other naysayers, we are not one to bash all of the Academy’s choices over the past 77 years. We still think “Gone With the Wind”, “Casablanca”, “All About Eve”, “The Apartment”, “The Godfather”, “Annie Hall” – all Best Picture winners hold up just fine thank you very much. On the other hand, we think the world would be a better place if Tom Hanks, Marisa Tomei, Kevin Costner, and Halle Berry were sans statuettes.
Alas, such is not the case. So, yup, Scorsese, the best living American Film Director is still without the top accolade from his peers. Watcha gonna do? Bitch about the fashions, of course!!

We were forced to begin the evening with the 17 hour pre-show-red-carpet-watch-for-any-celeb-no-matter-how-small-we’ll-talk-to-John-Stamos-at-this-point-buswreck.

Having to choose between these two . .
or these two . . .
We almost chose this . . .
Star Jones Reynolds Fat Cow Namedropper is attempting to either show off her cloven hoof, or the latest in trailer park fashion footwear from Payless®. She works for them, don’t you know. You didn’t know? You must have had the volume turned down. If we had an Oscar for every time that flabby fleshbag uttered “Bling, bling”, “Payless®”, “Mrs. Reynolds”, or “The View” – we’d have given Edith Head a run for her money. We do actually enjoy Kathy Griffin’s mock-interviews, but clearly Star Jones Beard Reynolds does not. She successfully banished her to the bird’s eye view boxed in cage, a locale that Patty Hearst would have found cramped. Shame. Jealous, Mrs. Reynolds? Tsk. We would accuse you of brownnosing every celeb that crawled past your feeding trough, but we don’t want to encourage you any more.

As to the former doyennes of the red carpet, the Rivers slags. Well, Joan has certainly looked worse – we can almost forgive her. Melissa on the other hand should be sent back to Bedrock. Shame on her for trying to work the over-the-shoulder-white-drapery. That's Wilma's look!
Our fave telehostess, Giuliana De Pandi should pounce on all of them – this gal has the class, knows how to talk with and not down to celebs, and is far easier on the eyes and ears than the previously mentioned heifers.
But who cares about them, we want the STARS!!!

Well, yes, if we had our druthers – of those nominated - we would have voted for Imelda Staunton and Virginia Madsen – the critic’s faves this year.

But we do not begrudge Miss Hilary Swank her second Best Actress nod – she’s the Sally Field of her time! And lord knows we adore the lovely and luminous Cate Blanchett. Who should have nabbed Best Actress years ago for her stunning turn in “Elizabeth”. Also, Hilary “Trailer Park Trash Done Good” Swank was looking ever so delish in her Guy Laroche. Clap, clap, clappity. Cate, however was simply too washed out for our tastes in her Valentino Couture. Catey. Honey. You’ve done better. This was your night? What happened?
Well, dump us in porridge! Imelda Staunton managed to find a frock that didn’t completely embarrass. And when you’re built like fallen pudding, that’s compliment enough! Perhaps a dress avec train isn’t the best choice when you’re so Lilliputian in stature, but your Brobdingnagian talent simply bowls us over, darling. Have a cuppa on us.
And for God’s sake, pour some Gin into it!!! Speaking of tiny talents. Mr. Chris Rock treaded the dangerous waters of Oscar host, tossing caution to the wind, and falling flat on his face. Learn a lesson from the two lamest hosts in Oscar history – David Letterman and Chevy Chase. “Trendy” comedians don’t work as Oscar hosts. His now infamous comments pre-telecast - “What straight black man sits there and watches the Oscars? Show me one!” didn’t really bother us. We understand. After all, it must be awfully hard to channel surf when you’re locked up in PRISON.
Thass right. We said it. Bring it on, cumquat. You wanna go there? We’ll slap that smirk offa your face, beeyatch.
Speaking of straight black men, they might get a better rap if they didn’t escort 12 year olds to awards shows. No wonder that Michael Jackson person is having so much trouble lately. Ooooooh, that’s Jamie Foxx’s daughter! Whatever. Congrats on your Best Actor Oscar. You didn’t deserve it. You were better in “Collateral”. Although you were in the wrong category. Supporting. Puh-lease.
Now, waitaminute! Who the fuck won for portraying Ray Charles???
We kid. We love our black men. We really can tell them apart!!! Morgan Freeman was long overdue.

And we love us some Beyoncé, when she’s decked out in vintage Atelier Versace. We were so thrilled to see this simple and stunning gown, and then the bitch had to go ruin our night by performing THREE God-awful songs, in three God-awful gowns. Don’t believe us? See for yourself. But we warned you. First we were forced to put up with Beyoncé’s fractured Frenchified warbling of the mind numbingly boring song from “Les Choristes”, decked out in a tea dress from a roadshow company of West Side Story, backed by oodles of pre-pubescent boys – if you looked closely you could see Paul Reubens and Jeffrey Jones lurking underneath the stage with gum drops to lure the lads to their doom. Then barely giving us time to recover, the tramp sashayed out in this monstrosity to scrape our eardrums with some tripe from “Phantom of the Opera”. The chandelier reference – we got. Completely ignoring the age old fashion advice to “remove one item” before venturing out in public – Beyoncé opts to blind us with QVC-like rhinestones and deafen us with Puccini riff rip offs. As if twice wasn’t enough – oh no, this bitch ain’t done yet. She had the temerity to bring out Josh Groban, who quite frankly repulses us, to pummel and trample our hearts and minds with a song from – “The Polar Express”. We don’t want to reflect too much on how miserable we were, suffice to say, we are positive that when the Apocalypse finally comes, these two will be there to torture us with a reprise – replete with fog machine. We would have been happier if 1940’s starlet – Anne Jeffreys had been selected to warble for us. At least at her Redwood matching age, she managed to pull herself together.
Think Pink! Anne, you’re killing us. And yes, we see the Burberry clad matron - what exactly do you want us to say? Some jokes simply write themselves. As if you needed further proof that it ain’t easy growing old . . . . Mickey Rooney, folks.
He’s still vertical.
Oh, why not drop in a pic of Faye Dunaway here, and let’s wrap up the Forest Lawn section of our program. In all actuality, Miss Dunaway – and we use the term Miss, loosely – should be applauded for finding such a talented nip and tucker. There’s still some flexibility in those facial muscles. Job well done. It ain’t until you get a gander at her hands that her real age becomes apparent. Oh, come on. Even Dorian Gray couldn’t pull that pact with the devil off without some clues being dropped.
Melanie Griffith. (sorry, no warning)It was bad enough we had to sit thru Antonio Banderas singing. Not even a broken foot could keep this harridan at home. Mel, your Oscar days are loooong over. There are drinking age cinemagoers that can’t even recall your Best Actress nom for “Working Girl”, and quite frankly, we count them as lucky. Fade away, you husk. Now, Miss Annette Bening draped in Armani Privé we’ll gladly put up with. Her hubby has seen better days, but still manages to appear lifelike. Annette, you were fabu in “Being Julia”. Better luck the next time you wrangle with Hilary. We have hope. And then we lost it quickly when we spied the other Best Actress nominees.

Miss Kate Winslet in Badgly Mischka. Kate, this was not your night. As delightful as you were in “Eternal Sunshine . . . “ and “Finding Neverland”. Well, you’re just plain boring in this saggy blue thingy. What went wrong? You looked positively gorgeous at the Globes? Catalina Sandino Moreno in Roberto Cavalli. The junk-in-her-trunk explains how she could shove so many pellets of heroin up there. The Supporting Actress nominees didn’t fare much better. Laura Linney, who blatantly refuses to take tips on hair and make-up. The J. Mendel gown is frankly, repulsive. It can’t quite decide what to be. The tattered diagonal hemline neither balances, reflects, nor flatters. The shade of . . . of what? Pumice stone? Come on, L.L., this is just insulting. And trawling an afro pick slathered with Crisco® thru your mop is not helping to counter the Raccoon eyes you are so fond of. Hideous. Fellow nominee, Virginia Madsen is one of our faves. Has been for years. We’ll pull our punches a skooch. We like the color! Really. Honestly. You believe us, don’t you? Of fuck it all. We’re feeling too kind. Where’s somebody we can pull apart? Hmmm? AHA!! Renée Zellweger in, of course, Carolina Herrara. We give Ms. Zed credit for her loyalty. And a punch in the gut for her lack of talent, poise, or looks. Ole Mooselips looks hideous as a blonde, brunette, skinny, or fatty. None of it helps. All of it bores us. Bob Mackie would find this ensemble clichéd. But wait, isn’t it very debutante chic? Blech.
So’s the date rape drug.

Oh, look. More former Oscar Winners, draped in crap. Gwyneth Paltrow in Stella McCartney. Stella, here’s a question. At what point do you admit that the hemline may be a tad too long and has gotten completely snagged up Miss Paltrow’s twat? Hmmm? Looking marginally better, was last years’ Best Actress recipient, Charlize Theron high near gauzed to death in a John Galliano for Dior. At least she’s dropped the Strip Mall Tan from last season, and bless her Afrikaans heart - she’s still straddling that heartthrob deluxe, Stuart Townsend. We love you, Char. We’d love it even more, if next year you force Stuart to wear nothing but ankle bracelets. Just a thought. Speaking of ankle restraints. Our future husband, Jake Gyllenhaal in Valentino. Oh, Jake, the things we’d like to do to you. We won’t list them all, suffice to say they involve plenty of liquids, and the words “donkey” “dog” “bathtub” and “resuscitator”. Jake’s former mattress (voodoo dolls really do work kids, they split these two up for us and Brad and Jenn), Kirsten Dunst in Chanel. While we get the spider web lace allusion, we question such a pretty little bint sporting black lace? Leave that to the old british bags, doll. Oh look, here’s one now. Helen Mirren in Badgley Mischka, natch. (another faithful one, that Hel!) Clinging to her hubby, director Taylor Hackford – beaming for his flick, “Ray”’s Oscar representation. Helen’s an okay slag in our book. Let’s move on. Another jailbait type, who’s apparently clamoring to escape her age bracket.
Emmy Rossum in Ralph Lauren.
For those of you spared the pain, she was the lead in that dreckfest, “Phantom of the Opera”. She’s also about 12 years old, and needs to relax. Once you can fill out the top portion of the dress, sweetheart, then we’ll talk. Then again, Best Supporting Actress nominee, Sophie Okonedo can barely fill out her own cups in this pale Rochas creation. Who cares, she’s a wonderful actress, stunning in “Hotel Rwanda” & simply terrif in “Dirty Pretty Things” a couple of years back. Go rent them now!!!!! Ah, the Hollywood Royalty factor. The lovely Drew Barrymore looked ravishing last night . . . from the neck up. You can’t quite tell, but this little Atelier Versace number had side vents you coulda driven a mule thru. Maybe that’s her feedbag, but it ain’t ours. Next!! Speaking of mules. Miss Julia Roberts, who still hasn’t learned to walk in heels, although she did successfully cover her post twins partem bloat in this black wrap number. And no leaky placenta trail!!! Kudos. Halle Berry, ladies and gents. Oscar winning Halle Berry. Every time we read that, we throw up in our mouths a little. Also, in Atelier Versace. What the fuck, that Gianni is busier now that he’s a corpse!!! All designers should be so lucky as to get gunned down by a pissed off gay hooker in front of their Greco-Roman inspired Miami villa dressed in gold brocade pajama pants. We think. Speaking of hookers. Johnny Depp, in a “custom made” tuxedo. (cough, cough) Dragging Vanessa Paradis along swathed in Chanel. JD, there’s a fine line between retro and retardo. Learn it. We were very thankful that the Academy didn’t pull a “Marisa Tomei” with us and honor little Miss Natalie Portman, who unwisely chose this Cecil B. DeMille inspired Lanvin creation. It’s better than the Victorian dressing gown she drowned in come Golden Globe time. But still, a dreary little number. The stomach churning shade of brown didn’t help, either. Answering the age old query, “Is there really a beautiful thin woman trapped underneath all those layers of fat?” A resounding, deadening, NO. Oprah. Honey. We applaud the weight loss. The taste loss, notsomuch. Who we kiddin’? When did she ever have taste? Money, yes. Taste? No. We would, however, enjoy a little niblet off of Orlando Bloom. We swear, drinking his bathwater is high up on our wish list. Any other snackables laying about?
Let’s see, who else? Oh, yes. That ole hunka Shortbread, Pierce Brosnan, would do quite nicely. Oh, Lordy. Get the mop!! We just spotted Clive Owen. We can barely keep our legs together. STOP IT, YOU’RE KILLING US!!!!! Leonardo DiCaprio isn’t usually high up on our fucklist, but lately he has been making us feel all schoolgirlish. Drop our panties in the freezer, and break out the Bonnie Bell Lipsmacker®!! We’d do him. Okay, we draw the line in the sand. Alejandro Amenábar, the Chilean born / Iberian peninsula raised mighty midget of talent, copped a little gold bald boy last night for “The Sea Inside”. And just to show him how much we think of his talent, we’d let him finger us. But that’s it. No going above the waist.
As if he could reach our waistline. Back to the fish. We’re not judging. We’ll just show you a pic of Hillary Swank and Annette Bening going all Cynthia Nixon on us. Girls! Girls! It’s just an Oscar! What would Chad and Warren think? Oh, please. They’re straight men. We’re willing to bet they would enjoy this scenario more than any of us could say. We could use a cold shower right about now.
And here it is. Barbra Streisand and Dustin Hoffman. If one look at these two geriatric hebes won’t cool us off, nothing will. Amazing, ain’t it? At some point, somebody convinced the former fashion plate Babs, that she looked good in caftans, and she’s never looked back. Well, we’re here to tell you, LOOK BACK, BABS, LOOK BACK!!!! KER-RIST on a cracker!!! You win one Oscar for playing a tranny, another one for acting the butch athlete part – and suddenly you can’t keep your lips off the other Best Actress nominees???? Somebody stop Hilary, will ya? We’re sorry. We had to do it. We knew this picture of Louis Gossett, Jr. and his wife would permanently put the damper on the sexiness part of our recap. Lou. We like you. But an aging black man in a white dinner jacket just screams “Porter, get my bags!”. We should not be the ones to tell you that sometimes, black is the way to go. There’s the ticket. No, not the railway ticket! Best Actor nominee, and mega-talented, Don Cheadle escorting his wife Brigid. She’s kinda sexy, in a “makes her own biscuits” way. We’re grooving on the whole early ‘70’s big bold pattern. Veeerrrryyy Flip Wilson as Gerladine. Maybe that is Flip Wilson as Geraldine? Who knows? Well, whatever, we’re cool with that. We don’t judge. Certainly, Spike and Tonya Lewis Lee could have used a little sparkle in their get-ups. Spike, sporting a Tarboosh on top your little square head isn’t distracting enough to cover up for your wife’s lack of taste. While this “three-in-one” kinda frock may be popular at weddings/funerals/proms in the hinterlands of Crooklyn, it ain’t doing shit for us. Are we clear now? Good. Clearly, the border patrol were lax in their duties last night. How else to explain Salma Hayek’s appearance in this overripe Prada gunny sack? At least her fellow “latina”, Señorita Penelope Cruz opted for the golden glam circa 1965 look, replete with bouffant hairdo. This Oscar de la Renta creation complete with Christo inspired butt bow, had some panache.
(It’s late, forgive us.) And look what popped out from under Penelope’s skirt!!! That little teeny squeak toy himself, Prince. Or Artist. Or Formerly. Does anybody really give two flying farts anymore? No. Didn’t think so. So many people were robbed last night, and not the least of whom were the distaff members of the cast of “Ray”. We still maintain that Sharon Warren and the very talented Regina King, seen here sporting Badgley Mischka, shoulda been nominated. (Jeez, Louise, those BM faggots were almost as popular as the dead Gianni last night! Better watch your backs, boys. And your little matching Lhasa Apsos.) And the next time you offer to drape Miss King, throw in a girdle, will ya! Whilst we’re ruminating over Oscar snubs, let’s throw in the two cast members of “Sideways” who were overlooked.
Missy Sandra Oh in Michael Kors. And, of course. Paul Giamatti, who God bless him, followed up his Oscar snubbed tour de force in “American Splendor” with an equally impressive turn in the aforementioned “Sideways”. Could be because your face resembles a slapped asshole, that might explain the Academy’s reticence. If it helps, we understand that Scarlett Johansson, seen here in Roland Mouret, has a predilection for talented older men. Just go ask Benecio del Toro, whom she apparently snogged in the elevator at the Chateau Marmont. Quite a feat considering that the building is only four stories high. Slut. Scarlet, can’t you act as demure and humble as those Asian girls? Take Ziyi Zhang decked out in Monique Lhuillier for example. She can kick your ass to here and back in such films as “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” and “House of Flying Daggers”. But her upcoming lead role in the film version of “Memoirs of a Geisha” will undoubtedly demonstrate her sweet, genteel, submissive nature. Until she pops your eyeball thru the back of your head for making fun of her Marcel wave and feather duster train. You’re still a pretty young thingy. And you!!!! Amy Brenneman. How the fuck did you get invited??? Goes to show you what a handjob to Gil Cates can get a gal. It certainly can’t buy you dinner or Calvin Klein’s cell phone number – well, maybe it can from the looks of things. As we slowly draw the curtain down on the evening’s festivities, we still marvel at this bizarre new acceptance of the Gays? Didn’t they throw them out of the country last November? And who knew that Al Pacino and veteran director Sidney Lumet were an item? Well, at least ole Sid finally received an Oscar. You listening Marty? It’ll be awhile. And so we bid adieu and goodnight to the Oscars. The hubris-fest that makes us cry, scream in outrage, and point at laugh, repeatedly. We take no issue with last night’s winners, from the pick of the nominees, they certainly weren’t at the bottom of the celluloid dungheap. No, sadly that happened with “Forrest Gump” in 1994. Ah, well.
Till next year! Chin up! Both of them!