February 28, 2005
TELL 'EM WHY YOU MAD
Silly me—I thought the blogosphere was choking on its own cynicism. Hah! We have nothing on The New York Times, where Alessandra Stanley is currently serving super-sized cups of haterade to the red carpet crew, drop the bomb, drop the bomb. Her perspectival fun meter seems cracked, but she is right about the dire lack of Cherity. Fuck all these "meet the Queen" gowns. They're movies. Movies have feathers in them. And mirrors. Ask Laura Mulvey, whut.
From our house, the Oscars looked like a bicycle chain going around; the show could go faster or slower but it was not going to, Grammy-style, transform into a rocketship or a fork. The few things I really liked: The Incredibles getting some dap, Chis Rock's Bush-as-Gap employe riff, the Carson clips—How cool and calm was his gangsta lean? The line about President Carter working for your safe release after 145 days of the Oscars? And his "new faces on the old faces" line did all the snarkwork Robin Williams' dried ham sandwich never will—and Jorge Drexler's acceptance "speech," which was the sweetest, coolest and most dignified thing I've ever seen anyone do at an industry wankfest. How did he manage to sing? Wouldn't you be, like, having reflux and seeing spots?
NEW! Breaking bilingual beef! I coulda done with one less Beyoncing, and one more Caetano. Or Drexler.
Posted by Sasha at February 28, 2005 10:35 AM | TrackBack