SO, the Oscars have come and gone for another 12 months. Every year I swear I am going to give Hollywood’s annual orgy of back-slapping and self congratulation a miss.
I’ve managed to get to the cinema quite frequently in recent months, but nothing I’ve seen would clean up at any film award ceremony. However, like last year, I sat up until the wee small hours of Monday, watching all the triumphant speeches from the winners and the frozen smiles on the faces of the losers. I found myself rehearsing that 30-year-old acceptance speech I’ve kept in my pocket for the day the thespian gods might reward me with my own little golden trinket. Alas, I will have to wait another year.
If the Oscar hopefuls in attendance thought they could hang up their boots for the night, they would have been mistaken. From the moment they set foot on the famous red carpet, they were required to give a performance. So we saw plenty of toothy grins, shameless hawking of designer labels and serious consideration given to the most banal form of questioning from a raft of overly-excited TV presenters.
The young lady working for Sky TV obviously thought she was at a Milan fashion show. Her three fixed questions revolved around the celebrity frocks. Just what insight on the subject she was hoping to gain from Avatar director James Cameron was anyone’s guess. As for the dresses on show, most of them looked as though they’d been assembled in a playschool, while others were so weighty, the actresses who wore them looked like they were towing a steamship up a mountain.
After this pre-amble, the show could begin. MC, or, on this occasion MCs, were Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin.
Neither actor has featured prominently on my personal list of movie greats. I felt Martin couldn’t have been any worse than he was in those appalling Pink Panther remakes that painfully demonstrated he was ill-equipped to lace the boots of the late, great Peter Sellers. And if Alec Baldwin had any comedy credentials, they were unknown to me.
But, to give the gentlemen their due, they settled into their roles nicely after a shaky start, and even managed to wring a few decent chuckles out of the assembled glitterati. They worked well off each other. I liked the good-natured fun they poked at Meryl Streep. Martin poured fulsome praise on the great actress before adding “anyone that’s ever worked with Meryl Streep always says the same thing: can that woman act! And what’s with all the Hitler memorabilia!”
Some of the other gags didn’t have quite the desired effect. A lot was made beforehand of a sketch involving actor Ben Stiller and Borat star Sacha Baron Cohen. They had planned to parody James Cameron’s blockbuster Avatar by appearing as two of the blue Navi people from the aforementioned film. The main thrust of the gag was that Sacha Baron Cohen would be pregnant with the child of the film’s director.
Perhaps Mr. Cameron is lacking in the humour department, or the producers of the show feared accusations of laissez majeste, but whatever the reason, the central joke was scrapped and Mr Cohen was notable by his absence. Stiller was left to present the award for best movie make-up and while he looked impressive in the full Navi make-up, the whole routine seemed a bit of a waste of time and effort, especially since the award went to the make-up crew behind Star Trek.
As for the winners, there were few surprises, but no complaints. I had never heard of Austrian actor Christoph Waltz, who took home the best supporting actor award for his role as the ‘Jew Hunter’ in Quentin Tarantino’s irreverent World War II film Inglourious Basterds. His acceptance speech was heartfelt and humble, and at 54 years of age, he is experienced enough not to let this sudden flurry of success go to his head.
Jeff Bridges won best actor, as predicted, for his portrayal of a washed-up, alcoholic blues musician in the film Crazy Heart. I personally felt he deserved it for his performance as the caring alien who fell to earth in the wonderful Starman 25 years ago.
Crazy Heart was one of the few nominated films that I managed to see. It was an earnest enough piece, but felt like a two-hour advert for Alcoholics Anonymous and didn’t require a great deal of acting on Mr Bridges’ part. But he seems a lovely chap and I was delighted that his talents were finally recognised by the Academy of voters. I was equally thrilled when the splendid Sandra Bullock scooped best actress prize. Again, I would have rewarded her for her brilliant turn as an embittered housewife in the film Crash five years ago, but at least she didn’t have as long to wait for her moment of glory as Mr. Bridges.
Incidentally, Dame Helen Mirren was a 50/1 outsider in the best actress category. The bookies were spot-on again.
The major winner on the night was the movie Hurt Locker, which focused on a bomb disposal team stationed in Iraq. Kathryn Bigelow, the film’s director, beat her ex-husband, James Cameron, to the best director gong, and in the process, became the first woman in the history of the Oscars to be honoured in that category. I’ve seen the film and while I wouldn’t put it in the same class as Oliver Stone’s Platoon or Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter, its subject is at least relevant to the times we are living in at the moment.
It highlights the ridiculously treacherous situations that young soldiers have been placed in thanks to the departed president George W. Bush’s war on terror.
By contrast, Avatar, the nearest rival to Hurt Locker’s crown, was total hokum. It consisted largely of – albeit impressive – CGI effects, a rotten script and no characterisation. The fact that reality, not fantasy, won out in all the major categories was reflected in the results. . I would guess if you are a 16-year-old boy or girl, you will think Avatar is the greatest film ever made. Fortunately, there aren’t too many 16-year-olds who have a vote on the matter.