Oscar stinks
I had this little yellow black and white TV in my bedroom when I was a kid. I 
have no idea where it came from, I don’t know whose it was before it was mine. It was this small sorry little thing with bent antennas and about two channels that would barely come through (after some negotiating). I remember that when my family moved for a fifth or sixth time and it was clearly the moment to chuck the thing, it was actually pretty difficult to let it go.
“Why was it difficult to let that crappy little thing go?” Because it was a TV that lived in my bedroom. Did you have a TV in your room when you were a kid? I did.
“When did I watch things on this TV?” When it was suddenly time for bed but I still had some TV watching to do.
“What did I watch?” The only thing I actually have specific memories of watching on that thing, for some reason, was the three-hour-plus epic that is the Oscars.
My brother and I shared bunk beds at the time and we’d consider it a triumph if we made it all the way to the end, to the big final award. It was exciting and it was funny and glamorous, it seemed very adult, the most important thing happening in the world at that moment. Those were essential nights for me. They had a significant part in shaping who I am, in teaching me that there may be a difference between quality versus…explosions, I guess (though explosions certainly have their merit).
Years later, in High School, I experienced what was probably the peak of my love affair with the Oscars. Josh and I went to the same “all boys” Catholic school on the Southside of Chicago. We were both in the drama club - you can imagine how popular a drama club is at an “all boys” school. We met, we enjoyed each other’s acting – but it was probably our mutual enthusiasm for Braveheart that bumped us up to “good friends”. The Oscar night Braveheart was up for TEN AWARDS, we kept calling each other during the “ceremony” with giddy excitement – this might’ve been the first time we had actually “called each other up” as “good friends”, actually.
Now, the loudest noise I think I’ve ever heard was when Devin Hester had that AMAZING 92-yard runback of the opening kickoff of the Bears’ recent disastrous Super Bowl game. I was in a bar that night – everyone in Chicago was in a bar or at a party that night. When Hester made that AMAZING play in the opening seconds of the game, the crowd of hundreds in that bar erupted into a clamorous, a CACOPHONOUS roar which I cannot ever dream of describing with due justice. It was a thrill. But - if there had been a bar filled with hundreds of Robs and Joshes the moment Braveheart won Best Picture, surely it would have sounded something like it.
Come to think of it, a past girlfriend of mine once tried to explain to her skeptical dad why in the world I had such gusto for the Oscars. She told him that for me the Oscars were something like the Super Bowl for him. I got a kick out of that. It was true – I followed all the players (actors) and coaches (directors), studied the teams (movies); I put my full passion into one Team each year, rooting for it to the big Championship. I knew the statistics, I knew the odds, I had a great track record with predictions – I was an expert. I still am. Or still would be if I watched them anymore.
There are endless grievances expressed against them each year, but just I say fuck the Oscars:
1) The fact that I could so easily fit the elements of the Oscars into the Super Bowl, the epitome of competition, kind of goes against the idea of…I don’t know – creativity. I realize that Hollywood is also the epitome of competition, but it’s kind of sad, don’t you think, to picture artists making art in order to win a prize? Plus, it lopsides the year, which is just silly and depressing. The Game degrades the Product.
2) They always get it wrong. That’s everyone’s argument: Why hasn’t Bill Murray won yet? Why did it take so long for Scorsese to win? Have you heard what the eligibility rules are for Best Foreign Film? Braveheart instead of Babe or Toy Story? Seriously? But, really, who’s to say they were wrong? Think of all the lists made each year, of all the different awards handed out over and over again? Are they all wrong, too? They can’t all be right. The truth is that there is no right answer, there is no best movie and far too much importance is placed on the shoulders of the Oscars – which is really just another award ceremony but with a bigger dick.
3) Awards of any kind are well-intentioned, they play an important role in recognizing the better aspects of humanity…but they can often play to one of our lesser aspects – cynicism. Awards can be good, sure, they can be a great celebration of Good, but they shouldn’t be the reason for Good. The Pulitzer, the Nobel, the Medal of Honor don’t seem to really seem to encourage such behavior, but the Oscars, on the other hand, clearly relishes the attention.
dirty competition
But, hey, it’s a great show for the most part, it’s a great party. It’s long and bloated, but it’s an okay way to pass the time. The speeches are generally boring and vapid (that’s why they really have time limits), but there have been some truly cool things said on that stage. I saw bits of Jon Stewart’s fun stuff but Hollywood’s not his scene, Steve Martin might be the best stage performer alive, Whoopi Goldberg I did not enjoy – Billy Crystal was the host when I was young, so he’ll always be my favorite. I think Hugh Jackman is good people and very tall - I hear he did a fine job.
The truth is, I haven’t seen the Oscars in years because I’m in theatre and I’ve been in shows every year around this time. I would probably have watched them last night, actually, if I didn’t have a show. But I’m glad once again I missed them for something I love. And I love theatre…but I do love movies more. I have seen so many movies and they all mean a little bit of something to me, they all give me something. The Oscars used to mean something to me, but that’s changed. The Oscars mean something to millions of people and that’s fine, but I imagine that will change, too, if the Oscars don’t smarten up and change first.
Michael Shannon
I was watching the making of The Fall, which is a pretty cool movie by Tarsem Singh (of The Cell and Losing My Religion fame). I learned something cool even in the Making-Of featurette: the Greek root of the word nostalgia is nostos, which means return home…and algos, which means pain. I was oddly moved by that. But still – fuck the Oscars.
