Observations on the Oscars & Then Some

If you watched the Oscars earlier this week, then you already know.

That I wasn’t invited to present an award or to perform one of the nominated original songs.

Furthermore, unlike years past, none of the winners refused to accept the award on account of the plight of polar bears in the Antarctic, pirates in the Red Sea, or because they don’t believe that what happens in Vegas should stay in Vegas.

"Argo" wins for best picture.

“Argo” wins for best picture (and isn’t even nominated for Best Costume Drama). Sigh.

Not a soul gave a shout out to the Pope for being the first Pope to resign, not just in decades, but in centuries. And no one speculated on whether Kate and William are expecting a boy or a girl.

No one said boo about the impending sequestration this Friday, though First Lady Michele Obama, who presented the best picture award, came close when she winked into the camera. I know it was her way of saying, “Run for the hills! The sequestration is upon us!”

Yet, if anyone had done any of the above, it probably would have been Kristen Stewart, in an effort to distract us from her messed up hair, bruised arm, and an angry look that said, “I was just making out with Quentin Tarantino, but if you tell Robert Pattinson, I’ll come after you.”

And, by the way, blame me for Kristen’s hairdo. Or lack of it. Earlier that evening she’d lost her hairbrush and asked me to run to Target to buy her a new one. I was in such shock that she’d actually spoken to me at all, I plumb forgot. (Actually, it’s safe to say we never met.)

Anyway, on to my other observations of the evening:

The Oscars are predictable. Pretty much because anyone who’s won in other award shows, ends up winning an Oscar, too, and yes. If you ask me, Argo deserved Best Picture, Best Director (which it didn’t get, thanks to the incomprehensible wisdom of the Academy—sorry, Ben!); and Best Costume Drama (also did not get, don’t ask my why). I mean, did you ever see so many cool, retro fashions from the 70s since, well, the 70s? It’s like they raided The Rockford Files set and crashed head on into the cast of Barney Miller.  And, I swear one of those women was wearing the exact same pair of glasses I had back then. The kind that are so big, you look like you have the face of a fly. It’s no wonder they called me Bug Eyes back then. Sheesh.

The Academy makes mistakes. Ergo, leaving Argo’s Affleck out of the Outstanding Director category (and not inviting me to be a presenter).

Either ya got it or ya don’t.  Taste, that is. Those who wear stunning gowns always look, well, stunning, and those who wear “What was she thinking?” outfits, clearly never do.

Unlikely duos #1:  And, will somebody tell me why First Lady Michele Obama presented with Jack Nicholson, of all people? What was that all about? When he introduced her, I thought it was a joke, and I kept waiting for the punchline. In fact, I’m still waiting.

Unlikely duos #2:  There is such a thing as monologues that overstay their welcome. McFarlane’s seemed like it would go on forever. In fact, I’d appreciate if someone explained to me the William Shatner and Seth McFarlane bit. A little strange, a little off. But, it did provide McFarlane an opportunity to showcase his singing and dancing talents. Loved the soft-shoe he did with Daniel Radcliffe and that other guy whom I’ve seen before but can’t remember his name.

Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in "The Way We Were."

Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in “The Way We Were.”

Sexism is for the birds. Maybe it’s me, but the “We Saw Your Boobs” number was dumb and pointless. Haven’t we moved beyond such rudimentary “entertainment” by now? Last I checked, the sixties are over, so it’s okay not to be sexist. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.

I loved when the cast of Le Miserables came out and sang, in my estimation, one of the best songs of the musical. So riveting, emotional and empowering. Made me want to get up and fight the French Revolution with the rebels. Come on-a my house, Hugh Jackman, and I’ll give you one day more!

Finally, Barbra Streisand’s tribute to Marvin Hamlisch. Beautiful. Tugged at my nostalgic-ridden heartstrings, harkening me back to the streets of New York City, saying goodbye all over again to Hubbell—that gorgeous hunk, aka, Robert Redford–and stroking his hair. Enough said.

Oh and by the way, why wasn’t I invited to present–or sing, for that matter–at the Oscars?? Oh, well. Their loss.

Dear Colin Firth, I love you!

It’s awards season! And what better time than this, to tell you that I love you. No, let me rephrase that.

I LOVE you, Colin Firth!

To be sure, I haven’t always loved you. But I imagine that’s because there was a time I didn’t even know you existed. Yet, once I saw you—as Mr.Darcy of “Pride and Prejudice” fame—I fell head over heels for you, succumbing to your romantic allure and steely stare. Indeed, sir, you had me at, “Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.” Do you recall?

Of course you don’t. I was probably one of millions of women who swooned and fancied you from afar. Totally infatuated with your onscreen persona then–and now. If you don’t believe me, all you need do is Google your name and you’ll find countless fan sites devoted to pouring their adoration upon you.

And I know Helen Fielding would agree with me! Helen, author of the bestselling novels, Bridget Jones’s Diary and its sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, was inspired by your Mr. Darcy portrayal to write these juicy tales, which I thoroughly enjoyed, if I say so myself. Not so much because Bridget was funny, but really because these books were, at heart, a tribute to you! Who can forget how deliciously appealing you were in “Pride and Prejudice.” You gave your all—and took off your shirt, to boot!—as the dark and brooding Mr. Darcy in the six-hour drama. Imagine! Six glorious hours! I was so envious of Jennifer Ehle, the actress playing the role of a lifetime—Elizabeth Bennet to your Mr. Darcy. You were so rude to her at first that I had to wonder, why couldn’t that be me? Why couldn’t you feel nothing but scorn for me? Were there no wise Latinas in early 19th century England? ¡Que tristeza!

Know that I’ve made it a point to see all your films, even the ones in which your part was rather small, as in “Shakespeare in Love.” That film could have been so much better if they’d expanded upon your character. I’ve also seen one or two that were not up to par, such as “Hope Springs,” which, I believe, went straight to video, at least in this country. No matter. I’ll see any of your movies, if it means getting a glimpse of you.

You were very clever in “The Importance of Being Earnest,” which happened to be the first time I heard you sing. Not bad, Mr. Firth. Not bad. And you delighted me to no end and made me feel all giggly inside when you sang again in, “Mamma Mia.”

I even shed a tear last year, when you didn’t win a Golden Globe or an Oscar for your performance in “A Single Man.” You were robbed! Heaven knows, you so deserved it! Thank heavens you’ve already won the Golden Globe for your stellar performance in “The King’s Speech.”  But I swear I will boycott the Oscars if the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences fails to bestow its award on you come February 27th.  As far as I’m concerned, the Oscar is yours for the taking.

Let it be known, Colin Firth, that I humbly adore you. But this doesn’t mean you should trifle with my affections. Indeed, if on your next press junket, you find yourself in San Diego, please DO NOT look me up. No can do, my friend! Truth is, I’m afraid I’d fall to pieces in your presence.

So let’s just keep this going from afar. I’ll always have your next film to look forward to, and you’ll always have the pleasure of knowing that I’m one of millions, paying my $12 in order to sit in a theater for two hours so I can be enthralled by you. No need to thank me. Your brooding silence is enough. Indeed, sir, it is I, who should be thanking you, for allowing me 16 years of my utterly shameless devotion to you.

Oh and one more thing:  Congratulations, my dear Colin, on your Golden Globe win! Well played and well deserved! All that’s left now is a knighthood from the Queen. Let me know if you need any help in making that happen, as I’m happy to give you a reference. I don’t offer that to just anyone, you know.

Next Up: This is Chávez Country: The Little Bully That Could (Conclusion)