Here we go. Oscars 2010.
Oh god, red. Red dresses on a red carpet? I bet $20 they send carpet samples to the designers. Another $20 says I am sick to death of Mo-nique by the end of tonight.
Um, is Clooney’s hot girlfriend wearing a belly chain under her dress or is that the boning from her corset? I vote belly chain. The girl got an island with a castle as a gift this month. Let me dream.
First commercial break.
Class points to Helen Mirrin. Kick ass body, beautiful dress.
Nice ass, Jenny from the block. Same hairdresser as SJP. (I wrote “heirdresser, FWIW.)
Second commercial break.
Show starts. Line of nominated lead actors. Awkward for everyone. Neil Patrick Harris and showgirls tune. Snarky, subversive lyrics pass over heads of audience, causing those tendrils to move. (Who wrote these jokes? These are terrible. My co-partiers are actually having a conversation about fish instead of watching. We’re only 4 minutes into this.)
First award. Best supporting male actor. Incredibly long highlight reel before names are announced. How many hours will this go on, at this rate? I am delighted that Christoph Waltz won. His was the most creepy villany I’ve ever seen. But his character is so much more interesting than he is.
Doesn’t Ryan Renolds always sound like he’s joking, even when he’s serious? Something about that lilt in his voice.
First commercial break, from within the actual ceremony, and with ample concern about how many more there are to come.
I vote that Best Animated Feature Film awards are shown at noon, when its primary constituency is still awake. I will say it is amazing that Up won, considering how early in the season the film was released. That’s a dedicated constituency.
When did the Best Song category turn into a mix of children’s songs penned by Randy Neuwman and cabaret songs? I’m voting for Colin Farrell simply because it is MOR music. Thank god for T Bone Burnett. Even if he is a weird dude. He always reminds me a little of Phil Specter.
I know District 9 is supposed to be fantastic, but abstracted from context, it looks really foolish. Especially the aliens.
Oh, good. Commercial break.
So, seriously? Bruce Vilanch wrote the jokes this year? What is his problem? Usually, I like his jokes more. Alert! First funny thing. Surprised? Tina Fey and Robert Downey Jr. Heart them both.
John Hughes memorial. Both underwhelmed and transfixed. Kind of like his characters.
Commercial break. Will. Be. Here. Forever.
Hello ugly dresses. Is this a suicide pact? Vignette on animate short has a simple moral lesson: Short films are a gateway drug. Lolz. “It is a French film, but it doesn’t look like it. Sorry.”
You know, sitting here through all these short films, short animated, short documentary, short, short, short, it occurs to me that this works against the purpose of getting the masses to watch the show, and shifting the show toward a voting system in which popular appeal has some influence.
Oh, wow. I was spacing out. Another commercial break. I’m just so bored, that’s all.
Precious screenwriter would fit in Jackson family.
Finally, a big award. Supporting actress. Those of us here, at Lijun’s, agree this is a tight category–lots of good stuff. But Mo’nique isn’t a big shocker.
I don’t want to be a jerk here, but I’m tired. We’ve ALL had cancer, dude. ALL OF US. Let’s just say thank you and leave the intimacy for a non-televised moment. I know. I’m heartless. Does it help that I’m a cancer survivor? Now do you like me more?
Wow. It must be the bitchy hour. How much do you think the competitors for the best costume awards wanted to grab that THIRD Oscar out of her hands?
I think it’s time for a break.
Why are we seeing a short, instead of giving out awards? I am not inclined to find Martin or Baldwin charming at this point. Now a short on horror movies?
Interesting that they use The Dark Knight to introduce the Foley Arts. [insert 4 minutes of silence.] Blah. I told you this would be boring. I wish we had seen John Travola closer up–plugs?
Here I am, waiting for something to happen. Great. Dead people. James Taylor is pitchy. Hella pitchy.
I just missed that whole part between the commercials. Time for another commercial.
How come no one told me there was a documentary on Burma? Go ahead. Text Dolphin. See if they have any good jokes.
Best foreign film. “Did Volver win last year?” Laura asks. Very Olympic voice over “That makes SIX for ARGENTINA!” Promise of Best Picture after the break. I am prepared to be disappointed.
Okay, actor in a leading role. I wish we had did all that earlier. The folks here say Jeff Bridges earned this, although I really like that Jeremy Renner and his awesome stuff.
Back from a commercial. Ready to go.
Actress in a leading role. Same deal. Testimonials. I keep waiting for them to whip out the “She’s the most likely to sell a t-shirt on ebay!” superlatives.
Wait! Helen Mirrin has a tattoo of a spiderweb on her hand? Why wasn’t I told this? By the way, I totally love Stanley Tucci. I feel like he’d be the perfect dinner party host.
Now Sandy Bullock’s whole life changes. Just like that.
Why is Barbara Streisand dressed as herself, in 1986? Is it possible that she’s managed to find the gym, and the healthy cookbook, but not the closet? She looks so pretty and fit, and homeless.
First woman to win an Oscar for her direction, Katherine Bigelow.
So, I think Tom Hanks is now going to deliver the best motion picture. The Hurt Locker.
I’m thinking that tomorrow the papers will be full of compliments for the picture selection system, but a pure, unbridled furor over the length of these awards, and the rotten, rotten jokes given to the seemingly unconscious hosts. I am thinking, despite Lijun’s superb cooking, that I will not be doing this again, next year.