Oscar Blight, Redux

I have about as much to say about this year’s Oscars as I had to say about last year’s.
Still, a few disjointed notions (and I promise, nothing about Renée Zelwegger’s inability to open her eyes beyond slits):

  • Amazing, how actors can’t think of anything to say if they don’t have words assembled on a piece of paper for them.

  • Astounding, how Sofia Coppola could remain in a coma-la what with all the hoopla surrounding her.
  • Remarkable, the contrast between the class and humility exhibited by Blake Edwards and the obnoxious buffoonery displayed by Jim Carrey, who introduced him.
  • Adrien Brody looks like a deformed David Schwimmer.
  • Billy Crystal does not realize that vaudeville is dead. Or that he needs a brassiere.

I resent the Oscars, because they were so heart-stoppingly bland that I was forced to consume a couple of handsful of Yukon Gold Salt & Pepper potato chips while watching, just so I could experience a little spice and bite. But at least that gold was somewhat satisfying.