I’m an awards show junkie. Have you ever wondered who the lunatic is who’s actually watching all that red carpet coverage on E! and actually reading the crawl at the bottom of the screen and actually knows the names of all those deeply freakish-looking fashion “experts” prattling into the camera? Yeah, that would be me. I make no claims of sartorial splendor for myself, but I’m fascinated by the weird wonder of the fashion universe the way some people are fascinated by Honey Boo Boo or the stock market – it’s a train wreck; I can’t look away. My best friend and I used to plan our Golden Globes viewing for weeks in advance – others could join us if they wanted, but we were watching from the red carpet through the bitter end and work the next morning be damned. (Watching the Golden Globes is always more fun than watching the Oscars. Everybody says it’s the liquor they serve the audience, but I think it’s the lack of elaborate production pieces meant to entertain us and distract us from how hopelessly snotty and out of touch the nominations are.) Since Petey moved to another state and I got married, we can’t watch together any more (which, lemme tell ya, I hate with the passion of a thousand burning suns). But this year, Max felt secure enough in his masculinity (and happily sated enough by the dinner I’d cooked) to at least sit in the room with me while I watched. Still, he couldn’t really appreciate the full depth of my bitchiness, so I thought I’d share a little of it with my darling kittens instead.
Item: Jessica Chastain can’t just fire her stylist between now and the Oscars. She needs to have them crucified next to Sunset Boulevard, preferably within sight of the Chateau Marmont, as a warning to others lest this shit get out of hand. She is one of the most gorgeous women on the planet with an amazing body. Yet somehow they managed to make her look like a frump with a bald spot wearing a shower curtain. What the hell, y’all? She’s the frontrunner as Best Actress for freakin’ everything this year. Yes, she played a cupcake last year in The Help (though I would submit she was one damned smart and feisty cupcake), but we totally get that she’s a serious artist playing a serious woman doing serious work in Zero Dark Thirty. For pity’s sake, let the woman be pretty! And if she did it to herself, somebody take a long, hard look at her meds.
Item: Who would have thought Daniel Day Lewis would deliver the funniest line of the night? Nice to know there’s a real sense of humor in there somewhere.
Item: I don’t know if she’s living or dead, but wherever she is in the universe, Helena Bonham Carter’s mother saw her on the red carpet and said some English woman’s version of, ‘Oh for cryin’ out loud! As pretty as she is and as much as they pay her, she could have at least combed her hair!’ I noticed her husband, Tim Burton, had his arm in a sling. I hope he broke it trying to wrestle that tube of blood red lipstick out of her hand.
Item: Jennifer Lopez has apparently started drinking the same embalming fluid they gave to Evita Peron. Happily, Nicole Kidman seems to have given it up – she looked more lifelife than I’ve seen her in years outside of a movie.
Item: Taylor Swift can suck it.
Item: I don’t know what “Girls” is, but it sounds like “Sex and the City” for women with tattoos. This would not be a recommendation.
Item: Y’all, it is time to admit it. Will Ferrell and Kristen Wiig are not funny. They’re pitiful. Or rather, they’re cynical, mean-spirited assholes who have made a living pretending to be pitiful to make fun of the rest of us, whom they mistakenly believe to be both pitiful and too stupid to realize they’re putting us on. Oh wait . . . apparently some of us are that stupid. In any case, I’m with Tommy Lee Jones.
Item: Somebody is going to have to explain to me what the deal is with Bradley Cooper. Everybody talks about how hot he is, but he looks like yet another cream cheese boy (to borrow a phrase from my very clever brother-in-law), the mannequin they made to replace Kevin Costner when his face finally started to move somewhere in the mid 2000s, the kind of bland-looking handsome guy who could pose for that symbol they put on the men’s room door. (see also: Ryan What’s His Name, the guy who supposedly says “hey girl” all the time. What’s that all about?)
Item: Ewan McGregor was far and away the best-looking guy in the room, but when did he turn into Obi-Wan for real?
Item: Jodie Foster has known for weeks she was getting this award; why didn’t she write down her speech? I couldn’t care less who she sleeps with, and I’m perfectly comfortable with that being her business, not mine. I even sympathize tremendously with her being sick and tired of people telling her she needs to come out for the sake of a community of strangers. But honey bunny, if you don’t want to share, just don’t. Don’t talk about it. Don’t make excuses. And if you’re really pissed off enough to deliver some kind of scathing manifesto, make sure the bitches you’re telling off can understand what the heck you’re talking about.
Item: Mel Gibson looks more and more like ‘Mel Gibson’ on Southpark every day he lives. Bless his heart, he could haunt a house.
Item: Nobody cares who you forgot to thank in your speech, especially whoever it is you’re stomping over to get to the microphone to fit it in. Send them a nice note tomorrow. (And having your wife do it for you is a little bit cuter but still rude as hell.)
Item: Ben Affleck is apparently smarter than his hair.
Item: Anne Hathaway is gorgeous and gifted and deserves every accolade she gets. To play two such different characters – Fantine and Catwoman – so exquisitely in the same year is nothing short of phenomenal. So somebody needs to find that voodoo doll that Sally Field probably has hidden in her underwear drawer and de-magic it. Just remember, Sally, if you won this year, everybody would say it was because you’re an old lady who won’t be around much longer, and that’s ridiculous.
Item: Russell Crowe was GREAT in Les Miserables.
Item: Hugh Jackman’s wife is every bit as adorable as he is, so y’all jealous bitches need to just hush.
Item: [borrowed from my sister] When did Bill Murray sign the Santa Clause?
Item: Tina Fey can look more like Johnny Depp than she can Sarah Palin, which ought to be a tremendous comfort.
Item: Ricky Gervais never felt the need to make a joke about how he was almost too fat to fit into his suit. Shame, ladies, shame shame shame.
Item: Whoever custom designed Julianne Moore’s dress does not wish good things for her and needs to be punished. Did nobody hold up a mirror and show her how it looked from the back?
Item: Jennifer Lawrence’s comment about Harvey Weinstein made me like her a lot.
Item: That Dodge Dart II thing looks like a pretty cool car.
