My favorites of the Our Gang short films of 75 and 80 years ago (back when “gang” was an innocent term), were the ones where Spanky McFarland became a 9 year-old Ziegfeld, and staged big shows full of all-kid casts on make-shift stages. Well although the Kodak Theater in Hollywood is hardly a make-shift stage, this year’s Oscar producers, Adam Shankman and Bil Mechanic, were so dedicated to the Quixotic task of luring in young viewers, that we were given a show full of presenters that appeared to have gone through puberty during the rehearsals, and I felt like I was seeing The Oscars as produced by Spanky McFarland. Also, bear in mind as we go along that Shankman and Mechanic promised to speed up the ceremony from last year’s, which was just winding up as this year’s attendees were arriving. They opened with the Best Actor and Best Actress nominees all lined up together on the stage. Why? They didn’t even do anything. Were Shenkman and Mechanic just bragging that they’d gotten them all to show up, even though everyone knew who was going to take Best Actor weeks ago? Neal Patrick Harris, in the world’s gayest tuxedo (really, Liberace’s ghost was calling it over the top.), did a fairly pointless opening number, the gist of which seemed to be trying to justify having two hosts, when Steve Martin has shown before that he is perfectly capable of hosting alone. Throughout the evening, Martin was consistently funny, even if his two-facelifts-too-many countenance now looks like an old Chinese man. Baldwin was amusing, but not as funny as Martin, and this was a comedy team that had no need to exist. Penelope Cruz had the honor of being the first person to completely blow a scripted gag. Don’t hire her for comedies. Christopher Plummer was nominated for Best Supporting Actor for playing Leo Tolstoy, one of those truly magnificent writers no one ever actually reads. The first non-surprise of the evening was Best Supporting Actor going to Chrostopher Waltz. The show’s script actually said: “Penelope Cruz gives Best Supporting Actor to Christopher Waltz.” The other nominees had to have presenting gigs to even get them to show up. Waltz showed during his acceptance speech that only someone who could brilliantly play a Nazi could convincingly praise Quentin Tarantino, the most overpraised man in Hollywood. (And that is a hotly-contested title.) Ryan Reynolds introduced the first of the 87 movies nominated for Best Picture, the wretched, two-dimensional, aren’t-white-conservative-gun-nuts-wonderful-people, feel-good movie for Red States, The Blind Side. In the animated bit for Up , Edward Asner got to say “Stop it, Doug,” which is practically my catchphrase around the house. It was interesting to hear people clap for The Secret of Kells , as though they’d seen it, or even heard of it. Now if it had been The Secret of the Krell , I’d know it was that they’d wiped themselves out 20 million years ago by unwittingly unleashing their Id monsters. The category Best Song has changed over the years from actually the Best Song to Least-Forgettable “Song” Stuck Into the Closing Credits in Hope of a Nomination. Frankly, no one has taken this category seriously since it was won by It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp , which didn’t even have a melody. We saw the winning song, The Weary Kind from Crazy Heart , sung for a few seconds by that famous recording artist Colin Ferrall. I have all his album. Winner T-Bone Burnett (Does it say that on his birth certificate?) did the too-cool-for-school affectation of wearing sunglasses indoors at night. He made the mistake of letting his co-winner, Ryan Bingham, say a few words first. Oops. No two-winners-speaking here. What are we, the BAFTAs? T-Bone was whisked off the stage without getting a word in. In the Original Screenplay nominee excerpt from A Serious Man , we read “She hands him a glass and sits on the couch next to him,” while on the screen we saw the actress playing the role sit an the couch and then hand him the glass. The actress’s refusal to do the scene as written ruined the shot, and clearly cost this film its Oscar. As written, performers, do it as written! (And bless comedy goddess Tina Fey for being genuinely funny, as usual.) When did Molly Ringwald become a middle-aged woman? Since the great Mary Travers died last year, Molly has appropriated her look. She and Matthew Broderick presented a special tribute to the late John Hughes. How does Hughes outrank the other great talents that died last year? He was okay I guess (his films did little for me. I liked Planes, Trains & Automoblies , but only because I’ve had sex in all three, once on the same day. Well, more than once.), but Hughes was no Jean Simmons or Larry Gelbart or David Brown or Karl Malden. And then, after the Hughes montage, they brought out every person who had ever appeared in one of his films, and had them go on about him at greater length. This was reaching the point of being an insult to the other greats who died this year who only got 5 seconds each in the montage later in the show. I’m sorry, for me Hughes peaked back when he was writing for The National Lampoon . And is this what they call speeding up the ceremony? During the Short Animated Films (you know, cartoons) montage, the usually-brilliant John Lassiter said: “You know one of the things I like best about short films? They’re short.” I half-expected him to add, “and they’re films.” Later he added: “Tools never make great films.” Don’t let James Cameron or Quentin Tarantino hear you, because those tools both think they’ve made great films. And actually, some films are made by no one but tools. The Oscar for Best animated short went to Logorama , a film with more product placement in 16 minutes that 10 entire seasons of Survivor. So Roger Ross Williams was starting to accept his Oscar for Best Documentary Short for a film titled Music By Prudence , when what I assume was his co-winner, Elinor Burkett, rushed up on stage, shoved him aside, interrupted him by talking over him until he gave up and shut up, and then blathered on, under the delusion that anyone was paying attention to anything but her incredible rudeness. My condolences to Williams if he has to work with this insufferable woman. They not only played over her, but had to shut off her mike to finally get her silenced. Ironically, the presentation for short films was particularly long, as not only are there three awards to give out, but the winners are seated at The Los Angeles Music Center, 10 miles away, and we had to wait until they were bussed to the stage. Ben Stiller came out made up as a smurf, and made random noises, saying that this had seemed a better idea at rehearsal. They must have been doing some heavy drugs at rehearsal. But then, when isn’t Ben Stiller doing a bit that “seemed like a good idea at rehearsal”? Star Trek won Best Make Up for pointlessly concealing Eric Bana’s great beauty, although I think that should have been punished, not rewarded. The look-at-the-script-while-we-watch-the-scene-it-became bit was repeated for Best Adapted Screenplay, but it would have made more sense to show us pages of the original, and then the adaptation, so we’re seeing the essence of adaptation. Someone needed to think this through better. The award went to Jeffrey Fletcher for adapting the movie Precious, based on the novel Push by Sapphire from the novel Push by Sapphire. And I’d thought it was an original screenplay. He cried, so now I know where Mo’Nique gets it. He wrote her Golden Globes tears for her. Queen Latifah came out and told us about the Oscars which were handed out in stealth way the hell back on November 14th to Gordon Willis, John Calley, Lauren Becall, and the great, underrated-because-he-won’t-allow-you-to-overrate-him Roger Corman. I was disgusted when these awards were handed out so surreptitiously at the time, and wrote a column about them, especially Roger Corman, called The Stealth Oscars , which you can read by clicking on it. Shameful. Only two of the stealth winners, Lauren and Roger, even got to go to the real Oscar ceremony, and they weren’t allowed to come up onstage or speak. They’re old. I’d rather listen to Roger and Lauren, both genuine movie legends, than to Zoe Saldana, Amanda Seyfried, Miley Cyrus, or Taylor Lautner, all of of whom did get to speak, and none of whom had the slightest idea who Lauren Becall or Roger Corman even are. As Robin Williams came out to hand out Best Supporting Actress, towels were being handed out, sandbags were being piled up, and dykes were being asked to lie in front of the stage. It was almost as though all were resigned to Mo’Nique taking the award. During the nominees montage we got to see Maggie Gyllenhall being moved by her own performance. Who knew Crazy Heart wasn’t a one-man show? Sure enough, Mo’Nique Based on the novel Push by Sapphire won. She’s learned from the reactions she received to her sodden Golden Globes acceptance speech and her stern angry SAG Awards acceptance speech. This time she took a solemn approach, appropriate to the seriousness in which she holds herself. (This woman is actually a stand-ip comedienne? I’ve watched her accept three awards now - thank Heaven she didn’t attend the BAFTAs - and I’ve yet to hear her make even one joke, or go near getting a laugh, or even a smile.) No, this time she was in full-of-herself mode, with how significant and important she sees this meaningless publicity moment as. And she’d also learned not to improvise her speech. Clearly every word of this one was written, memorized, and rehearsed, in the sure and certain knowledge that she had it in the bag. First she closed her eyes and stood solemn and serious, like a preacherette waiting to deliver God’s Word, basking in the standing ovation that her section of the audience had started, and the rest of the sheep in the room reluctantly joined in. (This was not one of those the-whole-audience-leaps-to-its feet-cheering-spontaneously moments. It was serious, dutiful, and rehearsed.) Once everyone was aware that she was Mother Theresa reborn, she began speaking quietly, forcefully, and seriously. It was a more calculated performance than the one in her bleak, depressing movie. “First I would like to thank the Academy for showing that it can be about the performance and not the politics.” I loved the “it can be,” not “it is” but “it can be.” Secondly, what politics? Were the Republicans pushing for Maggie Gyllenhall? Frankly, I was beginning to think maybe it was just the opposite. But this speech was clearly going to be about the performance: the one she was giving as she spoke. “I’d like to thank Miss Hattie McDaniel for enduring all that she had to, so that I would not have to.” Hattie never heard of you, Mo darling. But yes, let’s thank Hattie for having a nice life as a movie star, as Hattie herself pointed out, making a fortune playing maids instead of a pittance being a maid. One thing Hattie never was was full-of-herself. The next lines were more mysterious, and more unintentionally funny. (Nothing like an un intentionally funny stand-up comedienne.) “Tyler Perry and Orpah Winfrey, because you touched it, the whole world saw it.” Dare I ask what “it” is? Whatever “it” is, I don’t want to watch Tyler Perry touch it. However, if she meant the movie, the “whole world” hasn’t seen it. I certainly haven’t and won’t. This week Entertainment Weekly described Precious Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire thusly: “A harrowing nightmare of domestic abuse so bleak that it’s a miracle director Lee Daniels finds a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.” I spend money on movie admissions for a good time, not for bleak, harrowing nightmares of domestic abuse, fun as that sounds. And even if it were something I’d want to subject myself to, Mo’Nique’s I’m-Elinor-Roosevelt-and-Mother-Theresa-combined full-of-herself acceptance appearances would put me off forever. She then thanked her lawyer (That was a True Hollywood Moment), her BET family, her Precious Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire family, and finally her husband, to whom she delivered this gem: “Thank you for showing me that sometimes you have to forgo doing what’s popular to do what’s right, and baby [looking at the Oscar in her hand] you were so right.” So her winning an Oscar was what it was all about? In any event, Mo, you made a movie, a successful movie. You weren’t feeding the hungry in Haiti, or getting medical supplies to the survivors in Chili, or even marching for civil rights, facing bigoted cops and angry lynch mobs. You were making a movie. You had a trailer, crafts services, and a personal assistant, if not several. And now you have an Oscar. I’m told you gave a very good performance. You certainly proved yourself an actress as you accepted. But it’s an Oscar, not a Nobel Prize, or sainthood. Over yourself, get you must. At least she bestowed God’s blessing on everyone this time, rather than thanking God for her award. Apparently God didn’t arrange for this one. And, of course, she said not a word about the other nominees in her category. After all, they were all whores who were doing what was popular, and depending on politics to win, while she was an artiste doing what was right, and receiving her just-if-barely-adequate reward. Thank Heaven she can’t get an Emmy for it too. At least this is her last award show coronation, I mean acceptance speech, that I’ll have to endure. Best Production Design went to The Smurf Movie. Oh well, when you have to design a whole planet from scratch, it is a large job. Two winners got to speak. The first designer began kissing James Cameron’s butt, but before he could nauseate the whole room, he was shoved aside so a co-winner could make it about his own overcoming of a death-sentence-illness to survive to this triumph. Though I don’t know who he was, nor what his illness was, it’s more enjoyable to listen to than people praising Cameron’s genius. James can handle that himself better than anyone. Best Costumes went to The Young Victoria , for digging through the trunks in the attics at Windsor Castle, to unearth out the musty outfits Queen Victoria Principal made the British People pay for a century ago. Three time Oscar Winner Sandy Powell graciously acknowledged the designers who do less-showy work on cheaper, contemporary films, who usually go unrewarded. (Let’s face it, the Costume Oscar almost always goes to Costume Movies), though she honestly said she was keeping the award. You see Mo’Nique, that’s how you accept an award graciously, modestly, and with humor. There was an unintended irony to Sarah Jessica Parker Broderick presenting Best Costumes while she was being strangled by her own gown. At least I assume it was strangling her, as otherwise her reaching up to adjust the sash cutting into her throat while her co-presenter Tom Ford spoke was just deliberate upstaging. Surely such a seasoned pro wasn’t so small as to deliberately try to draw attention away from her co-presenter? Yes, it must have been her gown attacking her. Adorable infant Taylor Lautner took time away from doing a late term paper which will be 50% of his grade to introduce a time-wasting-but-enjoyable montage tribute to horror movies with the odd statement: “Although the most popular genre of movie is horror…” Oh really? That will be news to makers of comedies, women’s melodramas, gangster movies, even westerns. I love them (Well, I love classical ones. The torture-porn trash of film makers like Eli Roth just revolt me. I loved the new The Wolfman .), but they’re hardly “the most popular genre of movie.” Lautner and his co-presenter, Kristin Stewart star in those atrocious Twilight movies, and which are full of vampires and werewolves, they are not horror movies. They are horr ible movies, but their genre is fantasy tween Mormon romance porn. Lautner went on: “…somehow [horror] doesn’t seem to command the respect it deserves.” Of course, many feel it does command “the respect it deserves,” though I am not one of them I still feel Boris Karloff was robbed when he wasn’t nominated for Bride of Frankenstein . Some Academy historian should have vetted Kristin’s speech, and prevented her blatant error: “It’s been thirty-seven long years since horror had it’s place on this show, when The Exorcist
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Tallulah Morehead: The Our Gang Oscars.