It’s been nearly two months since the Academy Awards aired, but I’ve been mentally reliving the event a bit recently, not only because I’ve finally gotten around to watching several of the Best Picture nominees, but also because I read a brief “news” article yesterday in which Jared Leto said that his Oscar statue is all sticky and gross because his apparently grubby friends have been playing with it. And these are the people we admire and aspire to be like. Anyway, in place of a traditional recap, which would be pointless by now, here is a stream-of-consciousness presentation of some of my thoughts during and after the ceremony.
As I look into Jared Leto’s beautiful yet strangely vacant eyes, I wonder if he’s shown up to the Academy Awards as stoned as the character he won his Oscar for portraying (a person called Rayon, frequently stoned, and appearing for much of Dallas Buyer’s Club in a covetably comfy-looking pink cable-knit bathrobe). But no, surely not, since he’s accompanied by his mom. And his acceptance speech is lucid–not brilliant, but lucid, a high compliment indeed on this night. I mean, the literal kind of “high.”
Thinking about Best Supporting Actor nominees accompanied by their moms turns my thoughts toward Jonah Hill, and I think to myself that someday he is going to be a real contender for this category and not just a person that the presenters make gratuitous comments toward because they feel charitable toward him because he is less sexy than they are. And he is going to win, and he is going to throw his Oscar in their stupid condescending faces.
Then I wonder why I am throwing so much imaginative energy into my Jonah Hill revenge fantasy, and I realize that it’s because I’m bored, because essentially none of my favorite actors are here. This has a lot to do with the fact that most of my favorite actors are British and obviously couldn’t make the long trip to Los Angeles. Or, more likely, they weren’t invited. If you are an actor from the UK and you want to be made much of at the Oscars, you have to either 1) be Colin Firth, although even that doesn’t work every year, 2) be old enough to be an institution, or just not dye your hair, so that people think you’re old (that’s you, Helen Mirren), 3) always play Americans, like Christian Bale or last year’s Best Actor Daniel Day-Lewis, or 4) find your way into a small role in pretty much all of the Best Picture nominees, like Benedict Cumberbatch did this year (okay, I think he was in two of them).
*Long mental digression while I calculate the odds of Martin Freeman ever being an Oscar nominee*
My guests are gasping, and I gradually realize it’s because they think Ellen Degeneres is being “mean.” And I’m thinking, did you ever see Ricky Gervais host the Golden Globes? This is like Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood in comparison.
Which brings me to the pizza interlude. There is a lot of debate about how spontaneous, hence “authentic,” this actually was, but that’s not the question that captivates me. My question is: Do these people actually eat pizza? On paper plates, no less? The possibility boggles the mind. One of the actors we saw ostensibly preparing to eat pizza was Brad Pitt. It’s true that Brad Pitt is seen constantly eating food in many of his movies (e.g., Meet Joe Black, in which he develops an obsession with peanut butter), but I guess I just assumed he spit it out after the take. Did Angelina make him spit his pizza out during the commercial break?
These, thank goodness, are not questions that keep me up at night. However, this is: What in the world was Matthew McConaughey talking about?