Saturday, March 6, 2010

Jerry Shows Some Oscar Love

Originally posted by Jerry on Facebook

(Note: this was originally typed on Microsoft Works, and I wrote alot of footnotes, and those footnotes won't copy and paste with the rest of the document, so I retyped all the footnotes at the end of post for those that care to read them. Much love.)

To me, the Oscars are Hollywood’s equivalent to a bunch of rich white bald men with monocles walking naked into a room full of rank caviar cultivated by a million sweat shop workers, who all congratulate themselves for their fashionably tweaked mustaches, and then proceed to fellate each other, which ascends to a crescendo of the most obnoxious slurping noises on the planet while the fucking “Ode to Joy” blares.

And really, that just describes those annoying fucking clip shows they spend millions to cut and air. Seriously, I know eight-year-olds who could cut one of those reels on a fucking Mac Book.

I watch the Oscars every year. I’m not a sadist, I don’t get off on torturing myself, and I don’t condone other people doing it, but I don’t have many traditions and I thought maybe I’d add some balance to my life by attempting to conform to some ritual at least once a year. And I like movies. I really do. I love comics a lot too, but the Eisner Awards aren’t broadcast on TV and I can never muster the enthusiasm to haul my ass out to San Diego to sweat my ass off in long ass lines filled with morons trying to get a shot of Olivia Munn’s camel toe (1) in Lara Croft shorts just to watch a comic book award show. That aside, the Oscars are one of the few awards shows of any significant importance remotely connected to anything I give a shit about , so I convince myself that each year won’t be as bad as the last and plop my ass in front of the TV and subject myself to worst kind of wank-off Hollywood has to offer the world. Again, I’m not a sadist. I think a more apt comparison is to a dumbass kid who, even though he is aware of the repercussions, sticks his finger in front of a snapping turtle week after week because he thinks snapping turtles are really neat.

Every year, Hollywood’s best and brightest (and a lot of the time, whitest) come out to celebrate the previous year’s films with an overly elaborate, unnecessarily showy party where they hand out gold statues (probably mined in some poor country where a US film’s budget would fund a decent agriculture program) to films that the Academy, (REPEAT: THE ACADEMY) deems noteworthy. Oh, and people bring up some social issues and celebrate a dead grip from the set of Bridge on the River Kwai and people wear really fancy clothes, which in a sense I’ve decided are important because the flamboyant tanning-bed vampire that rants to the vapid morning anchor the next day needs a job too. It’s not really as much about films as it is about taking a giant air tubes and shoving them up the asses of the Hollywood elite until their egos inflate to the point that their heads explode and magic HAPPY rains down on America.

If the sanctimonious nature of this ego orgy was surprising to anyone, you’re the audience the Academy has in mind and you can just stop reading. And this would be a really lame, really redundant piece (2) if all I was doing to was ranting and raving. No, my faithful readers (3), I just thought of a way they can broadcast the Oscars and I can actually enjoy it for once. It’s quite simple. If Hollywood just merely embraced all the contradicting hypocritical bullshit they peddle year and year and present the show for what it really is, America might just be saved (4). Because that’s what the Oscar’s are all about. The Academy will tell you so.

1: Give commentators Sodium Pentothal (5) and make the preshow four minutes long.

Nothing really sums up the Oscars more than the red carpet pre-game suckfest that precedes the Award show by what seems like four fucking hours. The various networks and tabloid shows ship out “reporters” from whatever weird retard farm they grow these people at (6), and one by one the parade that is SPECTACLE begins. But the thing is, we don’t need an hour of this shit. The stars are there to look at each other and fuck Benicio del Toro in the elevator. We don’t need to see them. So jack the dumbass commentators full of “truth serum” (7) and condense everything down to four minutes and distill what is really the essence of the Oscars. “Oh, hey Nicole Kidman, that sure is stunning dress.” “Oh I know! I have to swallow magnesium bromide and have a CAT scan for nine hours for it to shine like it does!” “Oh that’s just swell, and look who it is walking down the red carpet, it’s Token Ethnic Actor in Each Category guy! What an inspiring, inspiring story this person has had. But wait, we don’t have to time to interview him, because there’s Jack Nicholson! He hasn’t been in anything this year, but boy is it fun watching his senile ass having a Quaalude nap in the middle of the red carpet! This, folks, is what the magic of Hollywood is all about. We got 12 seconds to Oscar time, let’s go to commercial! I’m going to go wash the shame off myself! I blew a producer to get this job!”

2: Let the host get it out of his system.

Every year, the Academy picks from a narrow pool of used-to-be-marginally-funny white men (occasionally Whoopi Goldberg and Chris Rock are “allowed” to perform) to tell jokes in between awards. It’s really just an opportunity to for a former box office draw to stand on stage and act like he’s great again. So, in light of that, I say we allow the host to walk out, masturbate on stage for 5 minutes, get everything out of his system, and the audience then has to clap for 20 minutes. That way, he feels important and he wastes the same amount of time he would’ve wasted telling jokes about Republicans all night.

3: Nominees are decided with a lottery system.

A lot of the times movies I and the rest of America (8) don’t really give a shit about are nominated, and I end up watching awards handed for shit I didn’t even know existed. I’m waiting one year for Ben Stiller to stand on stage and announce that the winner for Best Sound Editing is a wooly mammoth, and while I’m sitting there gaping at what I think is another “please-put-a-round-in-this-jack-off’s-head” joke from Ben Stiller, a fucking wooly mammoth in a tux will walk on stage and say thanks. Seriously. Lately, nominations have gotten a bit better, but this year’s decision to add five more movies to the Best Picture category is an impotent gesture designed to show that the Academy isn’t out of touch. Bullshit, I say. Too little, too late, and if Hollywood really wanted to impress me, they’d just throw a bunch of names in a big lottery machine and pull the nominees at random and vote from the pool of what’s pulled. If the Academy doesn’t like what’s nominated, they can bring in a big bullshit buzzer to hit every time someone who isn’t fit to win actually wins and a big bullshit sign will come down and everyone will clap.

4: The clip shows. The fucking clip shows.

You can bank on at least twelve clip shows at the Oscars. Usually one is a visual obituary, where people snooze through obscure grips and composers and then clap whenever actor an Olson twin has killed shows up, and then we get various clip shows about, well, whatever the hell the Academy feels like cropping together. So, instead of the same shit, which is really just Hollywood going “Look at this cool shit we’ve done in the past that isn’t near as good as the shit we make now”, I say there is one video. One video of Morgan Freeman, a “safe” minority who’s choosing shows that the Hollywood that employs a negatively-disproportionate amount of people of color isn’t racist, reading a list of names of everyone sitting in the audience, and then saying “Great job.” Then, confetti can rain from the ceiling and everyone can high five each other.

And, that in a sense, is how I would fix the Oscars. It’s either that, or filming the old white dude monocle scenario I just described. Which, now that I think about it, might be more entertaining.

Everybody Mambo!

1. Apparently none of these future sex offender registry members know what Maxim magazine is. They’d save themselves a lot of time and money.
2. Like it fucking isn’t already.
3. All four of you.
4. Because Dick Cheney having 5 heart attacks and still living it certainly not doing the trick. Thanks, Mother Nature. You’re doing a hell of a job ridding the world of this scum-sucking cum Kleenex.
5. A trademark of Abbott Laboratories. Thanks Wikipedia!
6. College Glee Club?
7. Which really isn’t truth serum, but a compound that just make’s people less resistant to persuasion or coercion. It’s like date rape for investigators and American military interrogators.
8. I just want to make the distinction that I’m in no way comparing what I think to the rest of America, except in terms of our mutual bafflement at some insanely UFO-like obscure shit in film. I want to note that America was also the same place that let Transformers 1 and 2 gross over 700 gajillion dollars.