Archive for March, 2010|Monthly archive page


In Uncategorized on March 7, 2010 at 11:07 pm

Meryl Streep, wearing her new favorite designer Chris March (formerly of PROJECT RUNWAY), was the best-dressed star of a disappointingly blah sartorial night, only rivalled by

Jennifer Lopez in Armani Privee (and that flounce actually de-emphasized her trunk junk!)


OK, HERE WE GO: once again those highly anticipated – yet somehow even more dreaded – little naked gold men are being given out and we, the world, are expected to drop everything, hold our collective breaths and thrill like the losers we are with our noses desperately pressed up against the velvet-roped window separating us from all this overweaning self-aggrandizement and sheer commercialism.

Just consider me your own personal officious Asian celebrity wrangler – there are scores of us you will see – in my perfect knife-blade cut Prada tux and essential headphones and Vuitton clipboard, all too ready to throw shade at intrusive nobodies with some media agenda and shove my cosmetically Westernized nose as far as it will go up, say, Kristin Bell’s even perkier butt…

As if.

Not too cool for school first arrival Sam Worthington from AVATAR gets things off to the usual nonentity low-key start with E! Red Carpet host – the universe’s #2 Oscar cheerleader, Ryan Seacrest (#1 is TCM’s Robert Osborne). Worthington with refreshing newbie honesty that you know won’t last confesses he has no followup job to AVATAR

Zac Ephron has finally combed up his obnoxious, banged Peggy Moffit Vidal Sassoon hair helmet into an even more obnoxious Foghorn Leghorn rooster cockscomb. He wears the skinny dark suit with skinny tie, just like Seacrest’s Burberry (rushed to him at the last minute, he said; hmm…wonder what THAT company’s paying him tonight (as if anyone will remember whose label this perfectly anonymous-looking get-up is). Do these looks presage a total MAD MEN thing with the guys tonight?

“AVATAR was such a masterpiece,” enthuses Ephron, the James Agee of the Millennium

Giuliana Rancic, much more subdued than usual (is she partied out?) changed from a gorgeous Pamela Roland gold and white sari gown, which she wore during the perfectly unnecessaire COUNTDOWN TO THE RED CARPET, into a boring black strapless by Gustavo Cadillot (Argentinian designer), while Mr. Jay is wearing a Tom Ford Rat Pack patterned blazer which he carries off, though it would probably look way tacky on anyone else

Anna Kendrick, pale as a ghost in an unflattering Elie Saab flesh colored peignoir, confesses that she dumped a blue gown by another designer she won’t mention for this blah number

Mo’Nique is working Billie Holliday gardenias in the hair, and it will be remembered that, before her, Joan Crawford never appeared without her favorite flower, the gardeniam in 1932-34. The heavy ruching of her preferred designers Tom & Linda Platt not-quite-ready-for-the-red-carpet office manager blue gown on her full figure is not flattering. The color also does nothing for her; she looked much more regal in her simple Platt bronze ensemble at the Golden Globes

Zoe Saldana is dragging a pinata on the red carpet — oops it’s her train!

It’s pouring rain, which suddenly just started: Nature’s revenge on this most un-natural of nights?

Oh, it just stopped: Mammon’s revenge on Mother Nature?

HOLD THE PHONE: MARIAH CAREY HAS PUT HER BIG FAT GIRLS AWAY in the for-once tasteful decolletage of her “please accept me as a serious actress at the Oscars (i wore a moustache in PRECIOUS and everything” gown/ But, of course, it is slit up to her popo. The inky blue color of this otherwise simply draped dress is lovely on her and she’s got the good movie star mane of hair, but those tire-shaped blingy hoop earrings could have been smaller. Of course, she had to have one slight moment of disarray on the red carpet with some kind of diamond malfunction but it looks like we won’t be able to rely on her for the crazy factor tonight

I swear Mariah’s get-up did NOT look this trashy on TV – seems like her Banjy Realness gene just HAD to kick in

BUT, ALWAYS SERVING UP CRAZY, THERE’S MICKEY ROONEY – a certifiable Tinseltown nutter from way back – just making his appearance. Oops! cut to commercial, which means that we will doubtlessly be spared Rooney’s predictably egomaniacal ravings. You know, when you were officially crowned King of Hollywood at 18, and given a special juvenile Oscar, it’s hard to get over these things, although Rooney at 89, has definitely had the benefit of time.

The Mayor of Los Angeles, Antonio Villaraigosa, gives his stamp of approva. He’s with his nameless girfriend, and pure plastic Ken doll Ryan Seacrest (L.A.’s true mayor) cries, “A big night for our city!” as he waves these nobodies away to talk to Zoe Saldana in her Barbie Goes to the Oscars – designed by a ten year-old gown (make that Givenchy’s taste-challenged Riccardo Tischi)

Nicole Ritchie in an industrial, scratchy-looking very covered up (but backless) sheath arrives. Her husband Joel Madden is DJ-ing at the awards show tonight. See how HIP those Oscars are becoming? Not really: he says he is playing old school Motown, Sam Cooke, the Platters, Lionel Ritchie – so the geezers won’t be going “Oy!” and covering their ears. It’s pure bar mitzvah muzak!

Vera Farmiga comments on how unrecognized she is even after her UP IN THE AIR supporting actress nomination. She says she is all for THE HURT LOCKER winning tonight, more evidence of a certain James Cameron backlash here. Come on people, you can’t make the highest grossing film in history AND win the Oscar: Tinseltown schadenfreude won’t allow for that.

Farmiga wears a red Marchesa frock that is frankly another dumb looking Barbie confection of tortured pleated ruffles like bloodied candy wrappers. Adrian used this effect back in 1934 for Joan Crawford and Constance Bennett, but did it with wit and elan, as well as a piquant element of surprise, which these heavy-handed updates always seem to so direly lack.

Farmiga in Marchesa

Crawford in Adrian

Ryan Reynolds looks every inch the matinee idol in traditional tux and bowtie. He says he will introduce one of the ten overkill/fucking unnecessarily nominated films, THE BLIND SIDE, a slice of cheese I know without even having seen it. He goes on to talk about his intensive body training for THE GREEN LANTERN, yet another cartoon made into a film we can all live without, and another film Reynolds will never be nominated for (although he was robbed for WAITING).

UP IN THE AIR’s Jason Reitman being interviewed (with Asian wife who remains unidentified, according to Seacrest’s irritating, impolite habit of not asking for the names of “nobody-ladies” attached to powerful men; actually she’s an actress, Michele Lee, but obviously not THAT one). Reitman says he ‘s sharing his nomination with his father Ivan tonight – awww! (that’s a retch, not a coo)

Peter Saarsgard has either lost his hair or is doing THE YUL BRYNNER STORY.

James Cameron standing right behind his rival BEST DIRECTOR/BEST PICTURE nominee/ex-wife Kathryn Bigelow, in an uncomfortable looking juxtaposition, with a corny pocket square in Navi (not navy) blue to match his wife’s gown which needs to cover more of her. She is actress Suzy Amis, looking every year of her 48, and then some, the only woman over 35 in the room – hell this entire city – to look her real age.

Cameron crows about VAT OF TAR oops, I mean AVATAR: “We thought we were going to make some money…” but how surprised he was etc, etc. Yeah, creepy, that’s why “we” make films TO MAKE MONEY, say the truth, however noxiously. He adds Bigelow saw VAT OF TAR five times. THEY MUST BE AMICABLE or else she’s a masochist of the kinkiest stripe.

Dries van Noten designed the ever-hip Maggie Gyllenhaal’s none too appealing motel curtain print dress. Her mate Peter Sarsgaard announces that it’s his birthday today, interrupting Maggie before she can answer Seacrest’s query about her possibly winning BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS (yeah, right, for this undeservingly synthetic performance?). Petey-boy better take a clue from the ex-Mr. Hilary Swank- – the lowest of the Lowes, Chad, known to pull focus with fountains of tears – and just clam up beside his more prominent wife or he will be a future no-show at these things.

are the Sarsgaards remaking this?

Elizabeth Bank’s lovely gray chiffon flounced Versace gown – Donatella is one designer who really seems to always get it red carpet right – elicits this response from meister-schmoozer Tom Ford: “Donatella’s great and you look gorgeous,” uttered with all the sincerity of Bernie Madoff

OK, what Ford do to himself – why does he look 14?? His beard is a true masterpiece of manscaping, but doesn’t he ever get tired – I’m sure not, BUT WE DO – of panderers like Oprah and Seacrest constantly commenting and asking him about his ever “flawless” appearance (“Um, did you ever show up to direct on your set in just jeans and a t-shirt?”), eliciting an unctuously fake aw-shucks Jimmy Stewart reaction from this ultimate Narcissus. What I wanna know is HOW LONG it takes him to achieve such “perfection?” Maybe I’ll just ask Mme. Tussaud.

Lennie Kravitz is with daughter Zoe, begat by the gorgeous Lisa Bonet, and, although Zoe’s comely enough and very young, she’s not a patch on Mom as far as unearthly beauty goes. Wonder if she ever feels like Maria Riva (daughter to Marlene Dietrich)?

Tina Fey is wearing a diseased-looking, inspiration-impoverished black Michael Kors one-shoulder gown with a scabby texture.

The grey shade – shaping up to be the color of the night- of Amanda Seyfried’s Armani Prive dress makes this washed-out looking actress look even more so.

Sandra Bullock, in Marchesa (Mrs. Harvey Weinstein’s label), looks very expensive mother of the bride, as Mr. Jay and Giuliana rave on about how she’s their favorite and how shes going to win – such original thinkers!

Diane Kruger, in a very unfortunate and strange, ornithological black and white confection with a 1914 hobble skirt effect. Boy, sometimes Karl Lagerfeld can really screw up Chanel…Mademoiselle must be spinning at Pere Lachaise.

Bullock’s publicist barely got out of her own pushy way for her client to be interviewed by Ryan, eliciting Bullock’s comment about everyone being so “excited,” said with the beneficent graciousness of the Lady Greer Garson.

Tyler Perry, in Prada’s largest size no doubt, gets congratulated as producer of PRECIOUS, and at least admits that he came on board late and then got that all-important Oprah approval, as well. What would Miss Biggest Thing ever do without her court of whisperers???

Faith Hill, working lace cutouts which is also shaping up to be a rather unfortunate sartorial theme of tonight.

Amanda Seyfried now talking about RED RIDING HOOD and she doesn’t know what the shiny bits of her Armani dress are made of. I guess, she just ran to the bank to cash Giorgio’s check without bothering to hear about the details of her gown … as Mickey Rooney still lingers desperately around to be interviewed on air – TOLDJA HE WAS CRAZY!! What happened to the men with butterfly nets?

THE BLIND SIDE people were being interviewed, but, frankly, I didn’t pay attention – all very earnest and sportds-related, which equals BO-RING dans ma vie.

Jake Gyllenhaal – when I think PRINCE OF PERSIA (title of his upcoming project), he doesn’t exactly spring to my non-white mind -looking nicely traditional in bowtied tux and borrowed Tom Ford
5 o’clock shadow. I guess he and Reese Witherspoon really did split up -where is she? Somehow, I never quite bought that relationship, like I never bought James Dean and Terry Moore…

“At 45, Sandy [Bullock] is better than ever and we love her for it!” enthuse Giulana and Mr. Jay, the new Hedda Hopper and Louella O. Parsons of our time.

Miley Cyrus, looking like she’s wearing the underpinnings for a 1950s prom gown she forgot to put on over them and old lady bouffant hair, introduces her mother, who with her tattoos, shrieks “MY MOM DRESSES TOO YOUNG LIKE A HO – WHAT CAN I DO?”

Well, it’s an underwear step up from being naked for Annie “Whew that was a close one!” Leibowitz

Sarah Jessica Parker, looking very Barbra Streisand early album cover, in a frankly bizarre look and tortured hair helmet – Chanel couture again (okay Karl, you SAY you’ve never done drugs…). “I still do love any excuse for getting dressed up” she says, in another flipflop statement. I remember when she dismissively told me that fashion really had very little to do with who she was, and signed off on our interview, the day before the announcement of the launch of her low priced dress line.

“You’re not aging!” Seacrest lies to Parker. The same can’t be said for hubby Matthew Broderick who now looks like her father, and again has to stand by while his starrier wifey gets all the attention. It can’t be easy, they are all ACTORS after all, with those behemoth egos, and small wonder these marriages do the crumbola.

Sarah Jessica Parker and her “father,” Matthew Broderick, who wouldn’t look like such a crypt keeper had wifey shelled out for a tanning session for him, as well. You just want to say to her, “ORANGE YOU ASHAMED OF YOURSELF?”
Some say her Chanel made her look like a Grecian goddess; I say voodoo doll.

for some, it ALWAYS goes back to Barbra

Although Seacrest gets complimented by Parker on his “beautiful” eyes (she loves her queens), but he shoves her off so he can get to Kathryn Bigelow, looking tasteful and elegant – all seven feet of her – and making Seacrest look like even more of a figurine than usual.

Seacrest asks the “hard question” of Stanley Tucci: “How do you get there with this tough role [in the exasperating LOVELY BONES]?” And Tucci says he never wanted to play it which explains the creepily removed way in which he did it, a textbook example of an actor keeping his distance from the character he’s playing, committing that cardinal actor’s sin of commenting on his character. When Peter Lorre played the pedophiliac child murderer in M, or Jeremy Renner played Jeffrey Dahmer, the empathic, committed talent of both men made you somehow understand the vile persons they were enacting, while Tucci – making himself up to be unrecognizable – seemed to be panderingly joining the audience in expressing a big “EW!!” over the creepiness of his role.

Charlize Theron wearing two large rose tits over her tits in a real fashion victim mistake which proves that even the great John Galliano can get all verklempt and lose it for the Oscars as he did before with Theron in 2006. Remember this?

Theron is such a live Barbie doll that maybe she has the effect of turning Galliano instantly into a particularly taste-challenged six-year-old girl. She loves to flop big at these events, whether it’s via an over-the-top dress or too much self-tanning, as when she won her Oscar in 2005.

Hey, I look Like Oscar! Gimme one!

Matt Damon being very sincere about INVICTUS and “What a privilege it is to work with Clint Eastwood [hack of hacks].” YAWNORAMA! I hope his LIBERACE movie with Michael Douglas in which he plays extortionist lover Scott Thorson is more interesting, in yet another case of straight actors stealing great gay roles from the out crowd. (The thought of Douglas as “Lee” is already giving me nightmares, however. Yes- “Lee” was how his intimates referred to thgat candelabra’ed pianist, just like the late Alexander McQueen.)

Tom Ford, naturally, designed A SINGLE MAN’S Colin Firth’s tux

Gawd, blogging is such a necessary evil these days – I am frankly boring myself: what am I supposed to say about Queen Latifah’s look — tasteful? appropriate? ZZZ!

George Clooney should either cut or slick that hair back — the ‘youthful’ fluffy gray-haired look is actually just aging.

Meryl Streep wickedly admonishes a slightly abashed Seacrest: “You were cheerleading her [Sandra Bullock]!” He then tackily asks her – as so many tacksters have done before him – how many times she’s been nominated. And what did she say? 17? or was it 117, before she quickly flounces away..

Jennifer Lopez is winning the gown award so far in a spectacular Jacques Fath-looking Armani Prive asymmetrical ballgown. She talks about her film BACKUP PLAN and her 2-year-old baby, but all I notice it that her husband Mark Anthony is the same height as Seacrest, all 3 feet of him

Keanu Reeve, again solo (COME OUT ALREADY DUDE-SKI! IT’S OK!), is presenting an award tonight.


Gabourey Sidibe enthuses “This is like a Hollywood Prom!” [with general mentality to match] as Woody Harrelson gallantly decides not to jump into her interview. She works the poses in her opulently conceived draped and bespangled gown, saying “If fashion is porn, this is the money shot!”

A scissors might help, I think. We know she needs a lot of yardage, but the whole bolt??

“Own it!” Gaby’s new girlfriend, Ryan, encourages her.

“Why can’t he [George Clooney] be alone?” wonders Giuliana and yes, yes, honey, we know you want him, but it’s becoming a tad pathetic.

Grayish tones – for better or worse — are indeed dominating, color-wise, in terms of the gowns

A teal bowtie on Robert Downey Jr.?? Very 1980s wedding in a bad way — he’s usually better and more hiply turned out. Actually, his ubiquitously referred-to poor wife is really the one who could use more attention, sartorially.

Streep never looked better in her classically draped Chris March white gown…she and Lopez are the evening’s style winners so far

Gerard Butler describes his new co-star Jennifer Anitson: “She’s like one of your buds! She’s great!” Guess all that hot canoodling at the Golden Globes WAS for publicity, after all…or maybe Jen’s his f***bud!

Jason Bateman – I will say it – is too thin, and looks way better with a few pounds on, but who am I to fascistic tackle Left Coast beauty standards?

Kate Winslet also appears too pale and washed out looking in yes -once more – gray , Yves St. Laurent … these fucking Hollywood stylists are ever more turning the Oscars into one style clone yawnfest.

“Big Man on Campus!” is how Seacrest introduces surefire Best Actor winner (and aren’t the acting nominees this year the most stultifyingly predictable ever?) Jeff Bridges… and, yes, this whole affair is and always has been basically an overblown high school popularity contest.
‘everyone is a winner on oscar night,” giuliana actually comes out and says what hasnt been heard since George Jessel croaked

Cameron Diaz, wanting to “avoid people” (honey, don’t worry – you’re not Kristen Stewart anymore!), rushes in last in, wearing a lovely encrusted if rather basic GRAY Oscar De La Renta gown. I guess the blondes ALL got the gray style memo this year. Her long hair is very movie star, but, again, not liking the Mall-ish hoop earrings.


Did the announcer just say “Oscar began in 1929?” Hello? werent the first ones in 1928?

OUCH! my eyes hurt from those garish colors of the Supporting Actress nominees’ gowns all clustered onstage at the same time

Cruz looks lovely in a rather tired red gown and is gracious and enthusiastic, although Kate Hudson – not she – deserved to be recognized for her sizzling, fun star-making turn NINE, where she evoked the young Ginger Rogers at her irresistible best and most fun. The Academy, in its rabid desire to attempt to be all things young and hip to attract mall rats into giving a rat’s ass about cinema, idiotically did not invite Hudson to recreate her smashing number, “Italiano,” on the broadcast. It would have – in one fell swoop – delivered major excitement, glam, fashion and star dazzle, in an all-too-rare EXCITING Oscar telecast tradition harking back to Mae West crooning “Baby It’s Cold Outisde” with Rock Hudson, Ann-Margret becoming a star overnight when she sizzlingly performed “Bachelor in Paradise,” Angela Lansbury – fresh from her Broadway MAME triumph – doing “Thoroughly Modern Millie” and Isaac Fuckin’ Hays, shaking up the senior voters with “Theme From Shaft,” decked in gold slave chains.

“A great videogame adaptation” is how Jake Gyllenhaal describes his upcoming PRINCE OF PERSIA: once more the End of Civilization, culturally speaking, has been breached.

We learn that George Clooney’s girlfriend doesn’t understand English, according to him – must come in handy – how much Italian does he speak??

Sandra Bullock is definitely wearing a gown by Marchesa [the wife of Harvey Weinstein, who, I guess, now purports to rule fashion as well as film, God help us]

What hair product and how many tons of it is Zac Ephron sporting? well, he WAS in HAIRSPRAY.

That winning competition gown to be worn by the Oscar presentress can be described in one word: HIDEOUS.

Try as it might, Hollywood cannot do fashion. Period.

Helen Mirren looks gorgeous in a lilac beaded sheath which is subtle, fairylike and ethereal. Jewels by Chopard and gown by Badgley Mishka who always seemed the perfect mature lady designers, from the day they started. She joins JLo and Streep as best dressed.

JLo’s Armani Privee gown is delightfully the palest pink, not gray, and she’s saying how much she liked PRECIOUS, thankfully not bothering to use its l obnoxious official full title with that annoying addendum PRECIOUS, BASED ON THE NOVEL BY SAPPHIRE. I mean, what the fuck is that about???

Sarah Jessica Parker’s hair, like Jlos’, is frizzing out from the rain – OMG they’re not gonna look WASP anymore.

Jeff Bridges is having the time of his life and announces his tux is by “Goooochie’ and his lovely wife is dressed in an appropriate, understated and elegant way by Monique Lullhier.

Taylor Lautner from TWILIGHT says ‘amazing’ and I have decided that that adjective needs to be banned for our lifetime and beyond.

Streep says her beautiful gown is by Chris March – remember the heavyset drag queen designing contestant from PROJECT RUNWAY? – and more highly deserved power to him, and her for remaining faithful to him after his equally tasteful look for her for the Golden Globes


with all the Best Actor and Actress nominees onstage, individually announced, signalling that this show will run FOREVER

Oh, to be an official escort for these nominees as, God forbid, they should find their seats all by their widdles selves

Neal Patrick Harris – in an awful ill-fiting sequinned jacket – begins the proceedings with a two ton ‘satirical’ song that promises to rival Rob Lowe’s legendarily putrid Snow White moment as an abysmal misfire

What note is Harris singing now? Is it even a note??

Ew! Antonio Banderas has a horrible gray grandpa beard while Melanie Griffith continues to look 30 – or is it 130?

Highlights of Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin’s opening duologue:

Martin hilariously says that Meryl holds the record for most losses – and it really must piss her off on some level that she gets all gussied up etc for these nights only to go home empty-handed ever since SOPHIE’S goddamned CHOICE, DECADES ago

“There’s that damn Helen Mirren!” “Steve, that’s DAME Helen Mirren.”

Martin re Streep again “What everyone says after they work with her: can that woman act, and what’s up with all the Hitler memorabilia?”

Martin is rocking this, as he did the last underappreciated time he hosted these awards…HE really was the best host since Bob Hope. I always found those Billy Crystal satirical songs kind of a chore, letterman was just too damn Letterman and Whoopi was all about wacky cosume changes.

another great line that had Gabourey looking puzzled in the audience: “PRECIOUS, the one film that really lived up to its videogame!”

They say about Woody Harrelson, “He’s so high !” as Harrelson looks adorably nonplussed in his hemp tuxedo.

I Just loved Martin spraying those sprites – or were they bugs? from VAT OF TAR and hope this is a precursor of much more fun to be had at that overblown flick’s expense

George Clooney acting looking not amused during their monologue

and the best of all: “In INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS, Christopher Walz played a Nazi obsessed with finding Jews. Well, Chris, tonight you’ve found the mother lode!”

Baldwin and Martin address Zac Ephron and Taylor Lautner – who suddenly both have that oh-so-pretty but oh-so-identical. in-the-closet, startled deer in the headlights look – as they are told that ‘You will be us in five years.’

Baldwin and Martin should do this every year, having achieved the perfect balance of wit, affectionate ribbing and filmgeek pedantry

That’s Siggy Weaver to Cruz’s right, trying to get the hell outta the way as any smart older diva does when confronted by the possibility of a paparazzi comparison to a younger diva, especially when wearing similar drag…in the old days, Joan Crawford woulda just killed her.

Penelope Cruz, lovely, but as I said, kind of boring in that red sheath and serene highness hair, gives the best supporting actor award, and the clips are so long that, again, this does not bode well for the show’s length – and, probably, the wrongly dubbed so-called lesser awards, which I am sure will be excised or severely truncated.

Why is Christopher Plummer in the Best Supporting category? He freakin’ played Tolstoy in a movie about Tolstoy, while Helen Mirren who was his wife gets a Best Actress nominee nod? Again, the ever senseless Oscars make less sense than ever

And, of course with her Spanglish, Penelope had to slightly stumble as she announced the winner, “Christoph…


and I am sure poor old Christopher Plummer’s heart didn’t need THAT aggravation. In 1933, Will Rogers giving best director, mischievously yelled out ‘Come and get it Frank!’ and poor Frank Capra – nominated for LADY FOR A DAY- was halfway down the aisle when he realized that Rogers meant Frank Lloyd, who won for CAVALCADE, instead of him.

I keep waiting for the usually amusingly snarky Ryan Reynolds to send up his too sincere intro to the clip of THE BLIND SIDE, which appropriately describes every Academy voter who gave this a Best Picture nomination

I am snoring through the animated bit about the cartoon nominations and will take a well-deserved Oscar disco nap during the presentation of these awards. I’ve fucking said it before: I like movies about REAL, LIVE PEOPLE, you see

PREDICTION: Cameron Diaz’s goony middle school laugh will be as unchangeable through the years as Drew Barrymore’s ubiquitous Valley Girl intonations

Alec Baldwin graciously recognizes Tina Fey as “the woman who saved my career.”

She puckishly presents the best writing awards with Robert Downey Jr whose turquoise tinted shades match his clown tie, and, again, what would Michael Kors REALLY say if he saw his own oh-so-tired dress coming down the catwalk on Project Runway??

Oh God, this reading of the nominated screenplays, complete with stage directions, is pretentious and unnecessary and again will draw this evening out til Tuesday

Jeremy Renner’s adorable face defines “cherubic”

John Hughes touching tribute by Molly Ringwald -a ginger Cleopatra – and Matthew Broderick who says not a day goes by without someone coming up to him, tapping him on the shoulder and saying ‘Hey Ferris, this your day off?” I guess he’s finally gotten over the horror of appearing on James Lipton’s INSIDE THE ACTORS’ STUDIO when, during the q&a session he was endlessly besieged with idiotic Ferris questions from the students, these future hope(lessnesses) of the American theater.

Why did the producers include in this Hughes tribute only those actors who are still working in the business? Surely, we wanted to see “Jake” from SIXTEEN CANDLES, Michael Schoeffling, who somehow decided to do something else with his life?

SPEAKING OF TOO MUCH TIME IN THE TANNING PARLOR: ORANGE YOU GLAD YOU’RE CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER?? I mean you’re 100 years old! why bother with the telegenic nonsense?

The song ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls’ plays as Zoe Saldana wearing her everything AND the kitchen sink look and Carey Mulligan (in a tragic bi-length gown and worse shoulder duster earrings) enter. Once upon a time – in a strong

er feminist age – this might have been construed as insulting.
As for Mulligan’s blonde pixie coiff, all I can think of is what Ava Gardner told Rex Reed about her ex Frank Sinatra’s marrying Mia Farrow (whose signature was this do): “I always knew Frank would end up with z boy!”

Whoever this pushy bitch is – who interrupted the acceptance speech of the black filmmaker who won short subject – she takes the cake for all-time horrendous Oscar gall, and that is really saying something. One of the most embarassing moments in Academy history, along with that – probably planned- naked guy who streaked past David Niven, and fake Indian Sacheen Littlefeather (actually an exotic dancer) who accepted Marlon Brando’s GODFATHER award.

Presenting Best Makeup, Ben Stiller finds the perfect outlet for his usual grating obnoxiousness, hilariously sending up the more insufferable aspects of James Cameron and VAT OF TAR, even sneaking Cameron’s TITANIC mistake “King of the World” reference into his nonsensical Navispeak

Jeffrey Fletcher, genuinely moved – wins screenplay award for PRECIOUS — admits to drawing a blank during his acceptance speech…like the genuinely surprised Rita Moreno, who merely said, “THANK YOU!” when she won for WEST SIDE STORY

All the Special Oscars –for lifetime achievement, etc – which would have comprised the most interesting part of the evening (save for Lauren Bacall’s highly undeserved award – for what? a lucky lifetime of being well-connected, giving stiff performances and being a total bitch to nearly everyone she’s encountered, except for the most rich and connected) are gotten rid of in a cursory montage, reflective once more of Hollywood’s – and America’s, for that matter – continuing ignorant disdain of relevant history of any kind.

How I wish Juliette Binoche

was around to snatch this Oscar from her, as she did in 1996 when everyone thought Bacall would get it for THE MIRROR HAS TWO FECES I mean FACES, and Binoche won for THE ENGLISH PATIENT. Who could forget her acceptance speech (“Where is LAUREN?”)?

Mo’Nique wins supporting actress and gets a standing ovation, as she says, “Thank you for proving that it can be about the performance and not the politics,” referencing her controversial decision not to campaign for the award. Hell, she needn’t have bothered as it was in the bag for her from PRECIOUS’ first public screening, and anyway, there was no way she was going to repeat the error of Margaret Avery’s notorious “Letter to God” in VARIETY the year she was up for THE COLOR PURPLE

Mo’Nique wonderfully mentions Hattie McDaniels in a speeech marked by its singular brevity and power. She later explained that “The reason I have on this royal blue dress is because it’s the color Hattie wore when she won the Oscar in 1940 [and was barred from sitting with her fellow, white nominees] and my gardenias are because Hattie wore them that year as well. I want us all to be covered with the spirit of Hattie McDaniels.”

At this post-ceremony press conference, Mo’Nique fabulously overrode the typically officious, power-crazed publicity woman running the show, calling upon the reporters SHE wanted to answer in the order SHE wanted to answer them in. You go, girl – pull the rugout from under these wannabe gatekeepers!

STATING THE OBVIOUS: Her draped red dress makes the usually statuesque Sigourney Weaver – presenting Best art direction – look fat.

VAT OF TAR wins this award and one of the designers movingly talks about his brush with mortality, but I am still living in dread of that pushy woman again running onstage and interrupting him.

The weirdly way-too-self-possessed Tom Ford ruins his usual impeccable physical presentation by HORRORS! squinting, as he tries to read the Best Costume Design nominees. Guess he was too vain to wear the undoubtedly perfect, exquisite TOM FORD glasses in his TOM FORD blazer pocket, or maybe he just didn’t want to get too good a look at co-presenter Sarah Jessica Parker’s nightmare Chanel get-up.

The idiotic, tackily selected, typically ADD horror film montage pretty much says everything about the Oscars, the movie industry and this country’s basic, exasperatingly juvenile present-day mind-set.

Taylor Lautner + Kristen Stewart = Zac Ephron + Anna Kendrick

Elizabeth Banks mentions some award previously given to some 40+ techno geeks responsible for scientific innovations in film today. If they are at all responsible for the eye-glazing CGI proliferation on movie screens today, all I can say is “Kill them all!”

Not really, but how I long for the days when onscreen creativity had a more immediate, authentic, hand-crafted look, like that simple, brilliantly employed, nylon stocking which made such a magnificent tornado in THE WIZARD OF OZ. Willis Hornbeck, you still rule!

Besides wearing the worst outfit in Academy Awards history — remember those freaking bike shorts??– what the hell has Demi Moore EVER done to warrant presenting the prestigious, always awaited tribute to (the mostly memorable) filmmakers who have gone to that big Oscar ceremony in the sky?

The footage showing a radiant Jean Simmons and a ravishing Jennifer Jones merely remind us of a time when Hollywood feminity consisted of elegance and charm, rather than lipo and leopardskin.

Jean Simmons

Jennifer Jones

The utterly pointless dance routine set to the Best Muzakal score nominees had me imagining all the geezers producing this show –and geezers they are, irregardless of age – saying “Wow, the kids are gonna LOVE this!”


The numbers are so rife with tackiness I almost suspect that that Mistress of Chroregraphic Vulgarity, Debbie Allen, must have somehow snuck back in here. Remember her horrific Dancing Oscars?

George Clooney’s cutesy-pie mugging every time the camera catches him – rarely unawares – is beginning to cloy. It’s as if he’s somehow assumed the arch, everybody’s favorite crazy uncle, self-congratulatory mantle of industry bonhomie which once belonged to Jack Nicholson, who’s been missing in action lately and at least seemed to have earned it more.

That shot of Martin and Baldwin, “backstage,” half-dozing on a couch, sharing an oversized Snuggy between them, was funny, and representative of the absolute ideal way to watch this ever-harder-to-bear annual showbiz ritual.

By this time, I can’t possibly be the only one who’s sick of hearing about “the visionary visions of that visionary vision-maker, ” James Cameron

Tyler Perry appears to bestow Best Film Editing and at least has the good sense to acknowledge the unlikeliness of his even appearing at the Academy Awards. But, really, is there all that much of a stretch between the crap that he emanates and some of tonight’s nominees?

It’s fortunate that Pedro Almodovar stopped dying his big bush of hair because, to present Best Foreign Film, he’s sharing the stage with Quentin Tarantino who looks like he’s cornered the Los Angeles market on every bottle of Grecian formula available

Note to Keanu: get a shave and EAT SOMETHING!!

Presenting Best Actor, one of the needless five presenters onstage, Michelle Pfeiffer, works the dullest movie star look imaginable – long blonde hair, one shoulder sheath. She just acted in Colette’s CHERI – couldn;t she have gottten Galliano to whip up something fabulously Belle Epoque and maybe just a tad eccentric for her?

Tom Ford may know about a lot of things but, as evidenced from tonight and the Golden Globes, he does not know how to dress Julianne Moore, especially in this shiny mermaid look.

Tim Robbins tells a blessedly amusing Morgan Freeman anecdote, and doesn’t seem too broken up over his breakup with Susan Sarandon

GOOD NEWS: Colin Farrell seems to have showered and shaved and is now handsome again – talk about cleaning up good!

In all that metallic grey of dress and maquillage, Tin Woodwoman Kate Winslet should break into a chorus of “If I Only Had a Heart…”

As is his wont, Best Actor Jeff Bridges beautifully honors his late parents in his speech, which certain people were dreading for its assumed length, again indicative of inappropriate industry cluelessness. If after all he’s done – a total screen vet – he doesn’t deserve to mouth off as much as he wants, no one does…but the music did play him off just in time.

Another motley crew – including ubiquitous Oprah – show up onstage to individually pay tribute to the Best Actress nominees. This new tradition was started last year and I find it excessive. It’s as if to suggest they are all winners, but dammit these are the Oscars after all, the most unrelentingly cruel competition of all in which there is, in each category – Hepburn and Streisand’s tie aside, and Fredric March’s and Wallace Beery’s back in 1932, as well – JUST ONE WINNER.

Incidentally, TCM is showing THE OSCAR, one of the most deliriously entertaining bad movies ever, capped by its final scene of Stephen Boyd, utterly shell-shocked with horror by his Best Actor loss, doing the best, hapless single clap in film history. Were it not for the Academy tradition of ruthless unhealthy competition, such a masterpiece would not exist,


Oprah, in her fetching Jennifer Jones coiffure, lauds Sidibe, and all I can remember was how funny Sidibe was on Conan O’Brien describing her over-the-top meeting with the always over-the-top Oprah (“It was like a slow motion horror movie”). The tears coursing down the actress’ face, as she listens to Oprah’s paens, comprise the evening’s most truly touching moment.

Appearing to present best actress, Sean Penn: didn’t he have ANYONE to tighten his tie for him? He DOES look broken up over his breakup with Rpbin Wright.

“Did I really earn this or did I just wear you all down?” was Sandra Bullock’s brilliantly real first choice of words in her acceptance speech, which was perfect, and her deeply humane tribute to her mother was even lovelier.

The seas part and Barbra Streisand shows up to award Best Picture in a very covered-up Victorian granny look (although with requisite Hollywood ‘I ain’t giving the sexy ghost up yet y’all’ skirt slit) coupled with that greyblonde bob that now harks back to her 1960s Nefertiti look. (I wonder if she got her early album shock of recognition moment when she espied Sarah Jessica Parker tonight.)

‘Well, the time has come,’ Streisand announces and Kathryn Bigelow wins for THE HURT LOCKER, who calls this the ‘moment of a lifetime.’

A moment doubled, when, moments later, THE HURT LOCKER wins Best Picture.

First Female Oscar Winning Director in History, Barbra Streisand, with Kathryn Bigelow, oops – got that reversed – Barbra still gets us all verklempt, even in a borrowed Diane Keaton outfit

Well, Hillary lost the presidency but, one year later, Bigelow cops an Oscar, proving that real progressiveness has somehow not completely eluded Hollywood. (I, for one, always believed, we’d get a female president BEFORE we’d get a female Best Director Oscar winner: the chauvinistic Tinseltown odds always seemed so much greater.) It would, however, have been nice if Bigelow had in her speech dropped certain names like DOROTHY ARZNER




not to mention STREISAND, herself, to name but a few female directors who have worthily gone – unawarded – before her.

IT JUST STRUCK ME, THE REASON WHY OF COURSE ‘HURT LOCKER’ WON OVER ‘VAT OF TAR’: No one wanted to hear another insufferable James Cameron victory speech – double duh!

And, good Lord, was that really “I am Woman Hear Me Roar” that was played right after Bigelow’s speech? Try, try and try as it might, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences will never be truly “hip,” so long as pure examples of the rankest Tinseltown cheese choices like this continue to produce those inevitable viewer groans of derision that are traditionally as much a part of this ceremony as penguin suits and stepped-on satin trains.

COPYRIGHT: davidnoh2010