Thanks, Lynda and Virginia, for this weirdest of all Oscar discussions in this weirdest of all years. A reader, Jeff Grygny, writes to say that I wouldn’t have been so sour if I’d smoked a bowl during the opening monologue. I’ll have to remember that next year. It was great to see The Pianist and Eminem take home prizes (I wish that “Marshall” had shown up—the other songs were awful). And even if I found the The Hours fraudulent and Adaptation self-congratulatory, Nicole Kidman and Chris Cooper had their own integrity. (Too bad Kidman’s portrait had so little to do with Virginia Woolf, physically or artistically.) Hey, that big gay teddy bear Pedro Almodóvar won an Oscar. Spirited Away, with nothing behind it, vanquished Disney’s Lilo & Stitch. And in the end, all that Harvey Weinstein succeeded in doing for Martin Scorsese was embarrass the poor man. Maybe next year people won’t be as quick to let him spend money on their behalf.
OK, enough Harvey-bashing. He’s a big and easy target—so much so that I often forget that he has done more good for movies than bad. But the Academy Awards would be a lot more fun if he had some counterweights. James Schamus of Focus Features might step into the breach—but it’s too early to tell if Schamus, a legendary egghead, is also a brawler. Obviously he and his team did enough for The Pianist; just as obviously they dropped the ball on Far From Heaven.
On the subject of Michael Moore’s “boilerplate” rant about fiction versus nonfiction: It would have carried more weight if Moore hadn’t been caught spinning so many fictions in his documentaries. Next stop for Michael: the French Medal of Honor.
I gather some folks out there thought it was overall an exciting show and even liked Steve Martin. Maybe we’ll miss the restive atmosphere next year. But probably everyone is relieved that the 75th Academy Awards are history. Time to get back to what matters.
Peace,
David
