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It's Oscars time, isn't it? It's the time when citizens of LA are meant to drop everything in honor of that little naked gold man on his engraved dias. When perhaps some of us come to terms with the fact that we will never wear Charlize's diamonds or Annette's gown. We've seen some of the movies nominated this year, and are, quite frankly, underwhelmed. We miss Billy Crystal. Hell, we miss Whoopi. We miss what Hollywood used to be, when watching the Oscars meant a night devoted to movie magic and all the awe it once inspired. This year, we're doing Oscars like a grouch.
By way of silent protest (and in light of the fact that some of us have massive projects involving a Middle English theological poem) we'll be watching the telecast on mute, far from the edge of our seats. After all, how much fun is it rooting for a shoe-in? Instead, should we opt to wax at all, we will wax nostalgic for an alternate Academy universe, where the old rules rule and some underdogs get their day. Less hype, more...substance, please.
It would be exhaustive to march out titles from our own personal vault of favorites. Some were winners, some were losers, and some weren't even in the running. Movies are subjective, and the movie industry, while it pays the rent for many an LA resident, happens to thrive on subverting its own ideals. Are all those Armani and Gucci clad movers and shakers in it because they believe in making great films that touch and influence their audiences? We don't really know. Maybe we've grown out of the wide-eyed wonder that made us willing captives in the crowds, staring up at the screen, somewhat blinded by the shimmer and sheen. We'd like to see a little more magic back in the movies. Meanwhile, we're ordering takeout and giving thanks to Netflix.
Image shamelessly stolen from the Oscars Official Website.
