I used to be the guy who spent almost as much on movie tickets as I did on monthly rent just to see every Oscar-nominated film pre-Academy Awards. Of course, that was when movies were slightly less expensive and I was living in Chicago where my studio apartment cost 500 bucks a month. Man, that still hurts…
My fervor for filmgoing based on nominations began to wane when sweet and talented Reese Witherspoon, playing sweet and talented June Carter Cash, beat out fellow Best Actress nominee Felicity Huffman who was playing a pre-op transsexual. Now I rely on my own taste, research, and instinct when it comes to choosing a movie rather than relying on those served up to me by people who will probably never invite me to their house for dinner.
Sure, I still eagerly watch the nominations, map out some movies I need to see and gather with a group of friends as we watch the awards but the naivete of thinking the best man or woman will win, has been replaced with the stark reality that the Academy tends to make some pretty dismaying blasphemous choices amongst their delightfully spot-on good ones. This morning was no exception.
I’ve decided my delight and dismay at the nominations can be best expressed by imagining how writers, actors, directors and other glitterati reacted to their names being announced by sort-of-sweaty Tom Sherak and hot-as-glowing-embers Jennifer Lawrence earlier today.
And the select nominees are:
Melissa McCarthy (Actress in a Supporting Role, Bridesmaids) and
Annie Mumolo & Kristen Wiig (Best Original Screenplay, Bridesmaids):
After a chardonnay and cupcake-infused slumber party with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler at Maya Rudolph’s beach house, the ladies are all calmly encircling a coffee table, heads bowed, fingers crossed and looking like they’re either about to have a séance or try Stiff as a Board, Light as a Feather. Then…squeals, high-five-ing, genuine gasps of disbelief, hugging, more squealing, nostril-flaring, Whitney Houston impersonations, and comments in Wiig’s signature nervous sing-songy voice like “Whaaat’s happening!?” and “It’s Oscar time and I’m readaaay ta parrrrrtaaaay!”
Brad Pitt (Actor in a Leading Role, Moneyball)
In the slightly macho, slightly I’m-covering-up-a-lishp-by-shaying-my-s’s-like-thishhh way of speaking over which millions of women and misguided gay men still inexplicably swoon, says “I shtill think my besht work wush in True Romance. Shtill, I’ll take it. What do you think, Angie? Not talking to me right now? Come on, don’t be like that. You have to actually be in shomething besides a dress or constant state of well-managed anorexia in order be nominated, honey.”
Bérénice Bejo (Actress in a Leading Role, The Artist)
In keeping with her character, she says nothing. Now THIS is dedication. Or cultured European nonchalance. I can’t tell.
Martin Scorcese (Best Picture, Best Director, Hugo)
“Honey, you’re gonna need to get another dress! And no, you can’t sit this one out. You ask that every year.” Examining his prolific eyebrows in magnifying mirror, “Looks like we’re gonna have to go in for a trim, boys.”
War Horse (Best Picture—Steven Spielberg and Kathleen Kennedy, Producers)
STEVEN: I still don’t get why E.T. didn’t win.
KATE CAPSHAW: Get over it honey.
STEVEN: Right, just as soon as you get over whatever treatments have made you somehow morph into a 38 year-old plastic fem-bot version of Julie Christie.
Gary Oldman (Actor in a Leading Role, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy)
“Hmmm. I didn’t think anyone recognized me in that one. I mean, I’m such a genius chameleon and make even crappy movies like Batman Begins good. And trust me, it’s not an easy feat to make a movie with Katie Holmes’s fat cheeks and Christian Bale’s ridiculous gravelly voice decent.”
Jonah Hill (Actor in a Supporting Role, Moneyball):
INSERT: Weight reference / joke
Christopher Plummer (Actor in a Supporting Role, Beginners):
To his wife as they lounge on the yacht of a foreign dignitary in the South of France: “Well, now. That’s nice.” With a sly raising of the eyebrow, “I just hope I’m more remembered for this than not wanting to have my picture taken with that little terrier from The Artist. More champagne?”
Meryl Streep (Actress in a Leading Role, The Iron Lady):
On the terrace of an Italian villa, soaking in the unseasonably warm sun as she sips some pinot greege and straightens the many layers of bohemian blouses and scarves in which she is ensconced: “Awww, that’s so sweet. Well, I guess this old gal from New Jersey’s still got it.” She takes a generous sip of the wine and continues reading the script for WORKING TITLE: OSCAR VEHICLE FOR MERYL WHEREIN SHE’LL PLAY THE CARICATURE OF A YET TO BE IDENTIFIED ICONIC WOMAN FROM THE 70s OR 80s.
Nick Nolte (Actor in a Supporting Role, Warrior):
As he finishes his early morning yoga session and contemplates combining protein powder with Miller High Life: “What? Man. Shit. Maybe they’ll finally lose that fucking mugshot picture now. I’m just glad people didn’t say, ‘Aw fuck I thought that was Gary Busey in Warrior.’ Shit. Ohhh…oh!” Remembering what he was doing earlier, bows head and says, “Namaste.”
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