Oscars So What?

When I think about the debacle known as the 92nd Annual Academy Awards ceremony AKA Oscars 2020 AKA Shitshow Unextraordinaire, I can't shake the image of a deflated party balloon. Having watched this show my entire life,  there have been some wretched productions, many outright disasters and several that have been boring beyond belief. Yet in this vast graveyard there existed a sense of celebration, a false front to be sure because that is what Hollywood does best, but at least it was a chance to revel in the end in the undeniable gaudy wonderfulness of it all. There's no business like show business after all and isn't it grand to be able to acknowledge that to the world? As a viewer I wanted to be a part of it (like New York, New York) and, if I couldn't be there, I could covet it without guilt due to the lifelong love I've always felt. And let the nay-sayers be damned because I am the Great Academy Award Show Apologist! Boring? Hah! Self-congratulatory? You bet! It's all about the movies, baby and I am soaking in it!

Alas, that's all over I'm afraid. Welcome to the Woke Culture Oscars once again and it may very well be the end of the line. Sunday night's show certainly ring the death knell louder than ever as it defiantly promotes sanctimony in its own inimitable and hypocritical ways. What made it so miserable is the community itself chasing its own tale attempt to right the wrongs of the world that is increasingly abandoning it like a redheaded stepchild. A sense of dread has fallen over the entire proceedings because it won't be long before anyone will be preaching to the choir. They'll testify their insufferable opinions to the great unwashed and those who have attended will cheer in agreement being of one unsound hive mindset. Disagree and you'll be banished (or dare I say blacklisted?)  As inclusive as Hollywood claims to be, the more exclusive intolerant they've become, gladly supplying their harshest critics with ammunition in hopes of taking them down from their lofty perches while the rest of the audience tunes out. But that only encourages them to blather on and on as presenters at recipients rail on about the lack of diversity,  representation and acknowledgement of those worthier than those who are actually made it to the final ballot, the rotten bastards. These nominees, if you want to call them that, sat in uncomfortable reverence as their so-called "accomplishments" are denounced and lambasted by a barrage of continuous liberal guilt. "Gosh, I feel bad that Greta Gerwig or Awkwafina weren't nominated. I wish there was something I could do. What? I won? Suck on that, you talentless fucks!"

The show, the grand finale of the awards season could not have been more lackluster as if that was the goal. The no host gambit, which paid off okay last year, didn't work at all this time around. Too many non-entities giving introductions to minor celebs. It wasn't so much of a "who's who" as it was a "who's that?" The opening number could not have been more generic and pandering to us to illustrate the lack of diversity message right out of the gate. Janelle Monae, an extremely dynamic performer, worked her butt off with the most generic material possible. Steve Martin and Chris Rock, an oil and water duo if there ever was one, gave us middling fond memories of an opening monologue (or dialogue as a case may be) with little payoff. Most of what passed for comedy lay on the ground like so much litter,wasting semi-precious time (see Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig or Will Ferrell and Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Or don't. You'll be better off.) The only honest laughter I got were from two performers I normally despise. James Corden and Rebel Wilson's send up of CATS actually gave me a stupid laugh with their silly bit. Hey, I was entertainment deprived by that point Nominated songs were just throwaways. And what the hell was Eminem doing there? He couldn't bother to show up when he wasn't actually nominated, so let's bring him back over 15 years later for...what? Anthony Hopkins wasn't there this year, so he should come back in 2021 and sing "It's Hard Out here for a Pimp".

I have no quibble for awards themselves. Should PARASITE have won over everything else or was this another form of that W word again? After viewing it, I choose the former. I thought 1917 was going to be this year's GREEN BOOK and wanted to proven wrong. 1917 was excellent, but it paled in comparison to PARASITE, ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD and THE IRISHMAN, so the fact they didn't go safe with their choice is fine with me. And Bong Joon-Ho, his cast and crew  had at least a sense that they were actually glad to be there and for the right reasons-the Oscars, for crying out loud. Pleased to see Brad Pitt win as well as Joaquin Phoenix....however...Brad said he only had 45 seconds for his acceptance...what the hell happened with Joaquin and Renee Zellweger? Already at the three hour mark and change, they rambled on (especially the Joaqer) for what seemed to be hours on ends. As Ricky Gervais said at the Golden Globes, "Get your award, say thank and fuck off." Nope. Had to hear Phoenix's sad cow story and down the drain we went...

The time has come to stop broadcasting the Oscars live on national TV. Go to cable or a streaming service or the highlights on YouTube. Awards shows have hit their event horizon. Ride off in the sunset. Roll credits.

Am I basing all this gloom and doom on one rotten show? Hardly. It's been coming for a long time. You can't have a party balloon if they're going to prick it with a pin before it's inflated. What do they expect the end result is gong to be?

But the big question remains:  Will I watch again next year? It depends. What else is on?

I Know What I Did This Summer

The change of the seasons is almost like the changing of the guard as we transition, with a vengeance

here in the Pacific Northwest, from summer to fall. I have a fondness for autumn, especially since my life has lined up with it, giving a last of gasp of mortality before turning into the dead of winter. (That's a cheery goddamn thought, isn't it?)  Fall equinox is a death knell! Huzzah!

The summer of '19 had its ups and downs, the former making in the the final throes of August which suited me just fine. It gave me something to look forward to as opposed to peaking too early. (Insert your joke here) Going out with a bang (watch it) leaves more a lasting impression especially since my memory has begun to buffer on a regular basis. Lately I find myself lost in the wilderness searching for the right word only to realize I'm headed in the wrong direction, a scary experience for someone who considers himself a writer.  I become obsessed over it to the point of pure stagnation.The other day, I found I couldn't recall the word "accountability", though, it wasn't really my fault.

I managed to treat myself to a trip to an honest to goodness cinema to catch the only movie I gave two craps about this summer, ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD. I've told others that there are films I feel were made especially for me and this certainly fits the bill.  Because I am becoming more and more jaded over time thanks to the deluge of, well, everything, i almost took a pass on this, actually believing I would end up disappointed and more pissed off the world than I already am. Had the great Tarantino lost his touch? His previous messterpiece, THE HATEFUL EIGHT, seemed to lean in that direction, so in love with his own voice that he couldn't hear anything else like an objective criticism. I almost didn't make it through that one and was actually sorry I did. So when this film was announced, it seemed that QT might be in an endless meta-loop of nostalgia and no substance except a bauble here and a bauble there.

I was wrong. Sorry. Let me emphasize that point.

I WAS FUCKING WRONG!

Tarantino's wacky, revisionist Valentine to Hollywood and the Stars is undoubtedly his most heartfelt work, a film pulled right out of his bone marrow. Over indulgent, almost blissfully so, ONCE UPON A TIME is all over the place and laser focused at the same time. As someone who gets probably 98% of the references contained within, I didn't mind the construct of this movie and in fact, reveled in it because this is my wheelhouse as well as Quentin's. His vision of 1969 Hollywood is fact and fiction, not fighting each other, but teamed up like Leonardo DiCaprio's Rick Dalton and Brad Pitt's Cliff Booth, in the best buddy movie tradition. When it all culminates in a uber-violent slapstick melee, transitioning into a fairy tale happy ending no one has thought possible, Tarantino made me a believer again, making ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD something I will revisit and relish again and definitely again.

Because watching a film in an actual cinema is normally the biggest event of my pathetic life, I am pleased as punch to tell you that it didn't make the top spot this year. For a change, we took a much needed and appreciated trip to the Oregon coast for a few days, thanks to the overly generous and loving efforts of our family to celebrate my wife's landmark birthday. Nestled in the warming embrace of this family reunion, these few days in the sweet little coastal town of Lincoln City felt like two weeks and gave us a renewed lease on life without raising the rent. When the foundation of such an event is built on pure love, one only had to submit and soak in the joy.

There were a few defining moments. For myself, as I gazed longingly at the surf while standing on the beach that lay right across the street, a realization hit me in the noggin like a misdirected seagull. Where the hell have I been? I love the goddamn beach, ocean, sand, the whole megillah. Why have I denied this pleasure to myself when it is only a little over an hour away from where I love? Because I'm a dope. When I first arrived in Oregon twenty years, we took a trip to Seaside and I remarked in the snottiest of all snotty tones, "Well, it's not like California. The waves don't crash and the surf is constant. It's just white noise." Guess what, idiot? You don't live in California. You live here.  So what if it's different? Who are you-Sheldon Cooper? This ridiculous stipulation has kept me from enjoying life as I should. I've visited quite a few times since that first trip, but not often enough and certainly not in the last five years. What a jerk. It was quite refreshing to pull my head out of my ass at that moment. The view's better.

The main takeaway was the cluster of grandchildren, basking in their youth and exuberance as only youth can> The one year old, Athena, our fiercely adorable warrior child, sitting in her high child, lording over us all. At one point I fed her a small piece of naan bread and she returned the gesture, feeding me as well. That was an eye-soaker, that's for sure. The two older cousins, Sebastian the Eldest and Aefa the Brave, were inseparable from the moment they saw each other again. On our last evening, we lit a fire on the beach. The two of them walked toward the surf at sunset, hand in hand, an image forever chronicled by Aefa's paparazzi papa. These darn kids made me understand that maybe we're not headed into the abyss after all. We may strive, but we're going to thrive. The future looks bright in their hands, held tightly to one another as they headed down the beach.

Saying goodbye the next day was difficult, but inevitable. Lots of hugs and kisses and platitudes of gratitude until we all went our separate ways, the end of an incredible time with the best people I know or ever will know.

After they pulled away, I hopped into our VW Beetle and started the engine...or did I? Nope. The check engine light came on and here we were, the last to leave and now stuck.

Of course. The universe giveth, the universe taketh...

No. Not this time. I tried the ignition again and it turned over. Yes, the CE light stared me in the face, but I took a chance and took us home. It turned out to be minor, however nerve-wracking. It's called life, pal. For a change, I rolled with this punch that, fortunately, turned out to be merely a glancing blow.

If I get out of my way, maybe I can grab life by the hand and walk into the sunset. And that's what I intend to do.

What a "Burn"

So sue me.

I enjoyed the new Joel and Ethan Coen film BURN AFTER READING more than NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN.

I don't think it's a better film. Not by a long shot. In fact, in the Coen brothers film canon, it sits probably between O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU? and THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE. But the truth of the matter is I laughed my fool head off at this goofy, wonderfully convoluted comedy, their funniest since the now legendary THE BIG LEBOWSKI. While it took a little while to ramp up, this tale of supposed espionage in a self-important world gave me the horselaugh more than a few times. The story fell together like the Dance of the Seven Veils and underneath is a beautifully convoluted mess. The caricatured characters, from Frances McDormand's lovelorn sad sack to John Malkovich's pompous mid-management intelligence officer hit every right note, though the film is outright stolen by Brad Pitt as one of the Coen Bros.' best American idiots (see also: O BROTHER and RAISING ARIZONA), a dim bulb satisfied with his own low wattage.

I had a lot of problems with NO COUNTRY, particularly with the final third of the film. I, like many others, felt cheated by the outcome of one of the main characters. It made me very so ambivalent after the first viewing that I reserved my opinion until the second time through. I have to stand by my initial assessment: I felt that the Coens have given me a wild ride, then dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, causing me to find my own way back.

In BURN, there is an entire series of events that is talked about and not shown. I didn't feel gypped by this at all. The telling of that tale by fine actors like David Rasche and J.K. Simmons, one of the best character actors around, was sublime. And I found out WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED.

P.S. I caught BURN AFTER READING at the newly remodeled Roseway Theater, a classic old cinema in Northeast Portland and found hope in the world of single-screen venues. Here's another addition to the list of why I love it up here.