Oscar the Grouch

The ratings for this year's Academy Awards dropped ten percent and is the second lowest in history. It's a shame. From what I saw of the program, in between Iron Chef and American Chopper reruns (I was clicking, get it?), there was a healthy dollop of tasteful, watchable moments: George Clooney's humorous, yet poignant acceptance speech, Philip Seymour Hoffman thanking his mother, Crash's big upset. Yet there remains something about this ceremony in general that makes me believe that the Oscars turnout will only continue to get worse.

"You used to love watching the Oscars," my mom said as I clicked away after Jon Stewart's introduction. I did. But not anymore. What happened?

Well, the first thing that happened was my realization that the Oscars are about nearly everything but the movies themselves. I used to watch the Oscars because I had a sincere interest in seeing my favorite films rewarded. I wanted to see my favorite films go down in history. But eventually I learned that that little statuette has little to do with a film's legacy, nor its quality. We don't remember awards. We remember films. We remember performances. And Oscar doesn't have anything to do with that past the watercooler talk on Monday morning.
Sure I loved seeing Reese Witherspoon win last night -- who wouldn't? Look how cute she is. But even if she hadn't won, that radiant performance changed her career. No longer will we remember her for Elle Woods or Tracy Flick (Ok, I'll remember her for Tracy, too), but for her nuanced, pitch perfect June Carter. As she said in her acceptance speech, all she wanted to do was to make movies that matter. Well, she can scratch that to-do off her list.

And really, she has the right idea. As much as Crash's upset makes for great watercooler talk this morning, I don't think anyone can argue that Brokeback Mountain is going to be the film that changes the landscape. Much like Shakespeare in Love's upset over Saving Private Ryan, Brokeback will establish its own legacy much like Ryan did. The award has little to do with it.

So, take out the victory factor to the award show, and you're left with the pageantry. And for something that nobody seems to enjoy -- save the Rivers freak show -- there sure seems to be a lot of interest in it. Who's wearing what? Who's with who? Who gives a fck (did I mention my "U" key is broken?)?

I don't. I know there are people who do, but the whole award show circus gives me anxiety. And I'm not even in the room. Nobody in the Kodak Theatre was comfortable last night (ok, maybe Jack Nicholson, but hell, if I could shrug and make people laugh I'd be a very secure cat). Whether it was the impossible grace of the losers (or non-Oscar receivers, whatever the PC/PR word is for losers) or the starlets with their breasts pushed up past their collar bones, there are more fake smiles in that room than fake breasts. And it's painful to watch.

And then there's Jon Stewart. He was on fire last night, but you wouldn't know it by the live audience. His liberal skewering of Hollywood artifice was a delight for me in my living room, but it just helped illustrate how the majority of Hollywood takes itself way too seriously. As George Clooney proved, you can make poignant films and still wink at the fact that in order to make those films he had to play Batman (the one with nipples, not the cool one). Still, it seems an impossible dichotomy for most of Hollywood to master, and Jon Stewart suffered because of it. He's gotten mixed reviews for his hosting gig, probably because of the crickets he received from the Hollywood elite. But for the people at home, he was a breath of fresh air. I could stomach a good deal of the show only because he refused to let the pretension of Oscar night spoil the fun. And for that I'm grateful, for no other reason than there just wasn't a lot on television last night.