Are You Ready?

It’s that time of the year again. No, not tax time. Academy Award time! Who’s ready for some down-to-earth, level-headed discourse on literary relevance? Well then, how about an award show instead?

Now don’t get me wrong, I love movies. I’m a bit of a movie freak, if you must know the truth ( and you must, you must). But I just don’t get this whole award ceremony thing. People get wound up for weeks; it becomes the talk of the water cooler. I remember just a few days ago one of my co-workers asking me who I though would win for best Third World Cinematography in a Foreign or Unknown Country with a Super-8 Camera. I think the answer to that is obvious!

But really this whole Lhasa Apso and pony show boils down to the incestuous relationship Hollywood has with its own kind. That little community, full of self-important windbags who actually believe that making a movie is more important than making, say a computer circuit board or jet engine turbine, are quite out of touch with the real world. In actuality, making a movie is about as important to the functioning of the world as making a nice pickle relish, but less filling.

I haven’t even seen any of the movies nominated for Best Picture – unless Wallace and Grommet: Attack of the Were-Rabbit is nominated. Now there is a picture! Giant rabbits, Rube Goldberg-like machinery, and cheese. It has it all. I nominate it for Best Picture, and Best Supporting Clay Canine.

All I know is that whichever movie wins, it will most likely be the one that has the best-dressed actress in it, and will involve a plot and characters that few relate to and fewer understand. But it will be “an important piece of allegorical, neo-political, pseudo-pretendable” cinema flummery that will change the course of human history – if your history involves sequins or gay cowboys (or preferably both!).

But you know, when Oscar night rolls around, you’ll definitely find me glued to my TV. I’ll be watching My Three Sons re-runs on RTN and enjoying that pickle relish. If the world suddenly becomes a better place because Charlize Theron gets another bald-headed gold man – or an Oscar – give me a call. I might be busy, however, because while Hollywood’s elite is packing up their $10,000 embossed dental floss holders, I’ll be clipping string cheese coupons. I love string cheese.