I watched most of the Academy Awards tonight, a useless bit of trivia unless you're tallying up all the hours I've wasted in my life.
Making it all the more pathetic is the fact that I've only seen one of the contenders for Best Picture, the over-rated Ray, which made the experience about as thrilling as watching election results from Bolivia.
Still, there were some items of note:
I thought Chris Rock was a funny host, even if his misplaced Bush rant embittered me almost as much as the "Vote for John Kerry!" sermon at a Barenaked Ladies concert this summer.
(I say almost, because Rock is an American citizen and entitled to his opinion; it was awkward enough paying to see a Canadian band, much less one that didn't know how to mind their own business)
But it's hard to hold a grudge against someone that starred in Friday. I got over it.
Anyone else think Renee Zwellger looked older than Clint Eastwood? Yikes.
I'm in love with Kate Winslet (okay, lust) so I was hoping she'd win, but to be honest I don't think her role in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was worth a nomination.
I am, however, quite happy that Sunshine's writer, Charlie Kaufmann, won an Oscar.
Having Penelope Cruz and Selma Hayek partner up to present an award must have been someone's idea of a joke. I haven't had to wade through that an accent that strong since my cable box was stuck on the Yakov Smirnoff festival.
Joke ruined by a mere week's timing: Is it just me, or have you noticed that Alan Alda and the BTK killer resurfaced at the same time?
My wife took offence to Scarlett Johnannsen's answer to "What actresses did you idolize as a child?" saying it sounded rehearsed and unrealistic when she said "Judy Garland."
Maybe. But she's still mighty hot.
Al Pacino: if that hair gets any higher he could trade places with the singer from Counting Crows.
Robin Williams should thank heavens for the gag order imposed on him. At least now he has an excuse for not being funny.
'Bout time Morgan Freeman won an Oscar.
Antonio Banderas, Carlos Santana, and a movie about a Communist murderer. There should be a joke in there somewhere, but I can't think of one.
Most overblown blog response to the Oscars: to paraphrase a right-leaning site that shall go nameless, an author blasted the left-wing Hollywood establishment. He then went on to praise the hard-working farmers and construction workers of America whose "only golden statuette is the silhouette of the morning sun upon their brow."
I was amazed to see that Virginia Madsen was nominated for best supporting actress. I don't mean that as a knock. After all, in my teenage years I spent many a fond moment watching her fine performances in late night cable movies.
Or as I like to call them "porn, but don't call it a porn because it's R rated and they only take their clothes off and fake having sex"
Guarantee: despite their lack of nominations, twenty years from now the only movies people will remember from 2004 are Passion of the Christ and Fahrenheit 9/11.
And finally, 'tho I never thought I'd see the day, a moment where I felt a certain fondness for Ms. Streisand, as she seemed genuinely happy for Clint Eastwood.
So did his 96- year- old mother in the audience. Thank God for her genes indeed - maybe it means we'll have another twenty years to see Clint work his magic.