Friday, February 6, 2009


I just can't get into the Oscars this year. I know... the oscarnazi herself, the one who berates all she knows into participating in the annual pool, isn't excited about the ceremony? Yep. I can't quite put my finger on why, but I have a few theories:

I haven't seen any of the best picture nominees. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Goose egg. This is the first year that has ever happened. And here's the weird part: I don't care that much. "Frost/Nixon?" Meh. "The Reader?" Zzzzzzzzz. "Benjamin Button?" Strikes me as one of the classic 'too-long, too-beautiful, not-much-to-say after the quirkiness of the premise wears off' films. "Slumdog Millionaire" and "Milk" seem like I would like them, but neither seems to really have me desperately awaiting their wide-release.

Honestly, the past few years of "Crash," "Million Dollar Baby," and "There Will be Blood" have tempered my love for the awards. There's always going to be movies which get nominated that I didn't care for. I get that. But there seems to be this new genre of Oscar movie now - the brooding, self-important, message movie done on a small scale. It's an off-shoot of the classic big, splashy Oscar message-movies of old, but more obnoxious because they are wrapping themselves up in Harvey Weinstein's independent coat tails. This seems to increase their geek-out factor as well as my eye-rolling.

The current economic climate and incessant news reporting on such has so significantly depressed me that I can not take pleasure in even the most trivial things. Thanks a lot corporate America.

I'm probably the only one in America, but I just can't get worked up about the resurgance of Mickey Rourke.

Let him sink.

It's the Brangelina Oscars. Nuff Said.

Still... I suppose it could all turn around for me if Hugh Jackman starts the show off singing a duet with Snow White.

Here's Hoping.

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