1. First off, I would like to thank my ol' friend Barb for calling before the show to tell me she was sending up a can of whup-ass weather from Oklahoma. The thunderstorm arrived just in time to knock out our satellite dish twenty minutes into the show. Good job, Barb.
2. I've been a James Franco fan ever since he did a TV movie about James Dean back in 2001, but as a co-host in tuxedo/strait jacket he looked soooo uncomfortable and was struggling to read the cue cards out of the sides of his eyes. When he wasn't in his tux, he was fine and funny. If there's a next time around, trade in the tux for a T-shirt and sweatpants, James.
3. As is usually the case, few of my favorites were winners. The only exception was Christian Bale, but not because of his supporting actor performance in The Fighter. Back in 2000 he starred in a cuckoo-fest called American Psycho that I don't think anyone saw but Library Lady and me, and he was the BEST controlled perverted maniac ever. When he started running through his yuppy apartment building naked with chainsaw, I knew he had a future...in something.
4. There is a tendency for Best Actor Oscars to go to those who play real people afflicted with one disorder or another. Alcoholism, autism, mental retardation, compulsive disorder, quadraplegia, schizophrenia--Oscar has seen it all, so I wasn't surprised when Colin Firth won last night for portraying a royal stutterer in the biopic The King's Speech. Now, I like Colin Firth okay, but Big Bore and I agreed that a movie about a stutterer doesn't sound all that dynamic, but we haven't seen it, so what do we know. I'm afraid, however, that this trend may lead to even more bio movies that sound ho-hum, like The Czar's Bunions or The Queen's Hangnail.
5. Back in the days of yore, Library Lady and I used to have our own Oscar Night party and come dressed as a movie character of the year. She was always creative--one year she was a glowing Karen Silkwood from the nuclear thriller Silkwood. Another time she was Gandhi, complete with mustache and bedsheet sari. I always dressed the same, since every year there seemed to be a movie that featured a hooker with a heart of gold. What a great excuse to drag out my pink and purple paisley, thigh-length ho dress from my college days. It was always high drama to see if I could squeeze into it for another year. Sounds like a title for a great movie, doesn't it? The Ho's Hips. Playing at a theatre near you.
See you at the movies.